We declined to remove our shoes and were thus barred from entering the Temple - shame! Your intrepid travellers have ascended the Himalayas, run the gauntlet of the Indian Army in Kashmir, survived the traffic,`the food and the beggar molestation. But rats were an experience too far, ashamed as we were that local pilgrims appeared to show no fear or loathing.
Bikaner turned out to be a dusty outpost of Rajasthan, much favoured by camels and their drivers. Our modern hotel was on the outskirts of town, overlooking a gypsy encampment which`was totally subsumed in a dust storm, rapidly followed by`the tropical storm of biblical proportions. We felt really sorry for these poor people and their goats.
Bikaner's Fort was, for once, not sited on top of a hill and easily accessible to aged limbs. It appeared that the old Maharaja slept on a low lying bed because a previous incumbent had been attacked by kidnappers lurking beneath. He also had a mirrored ceiling in his summer bedroom so that he could spy anyone approaching. The interesting museum contained the usual fearsome weaponry but also a First World War De Havilland aircraft which was awarded to the Maharaja for his support during the conflict. There are only two remaining aircraft of this type and by coincidence we saw the other one in Peter Jackson's museum in Blenheim, New Zealand.
On to Mandawa, another dusty outpost of the Raj empire and a potentially pretty town with wonderfully decorated havelis. Again the roads were terrible with Bobby explaining that every year the monsoon destroyed the newly macadamed surfaces because local contractors were corrupt and used unsuitable materials.
We were befriended by an 18-year-old called Arun who led us to the local internet shop, bought us tea and then gave us a wonderful guided tour of the town. He even paid for a visit to the oldest haveli. "Would you like to meet my father who also speaks good English,"`he asked all innocent. "We'd love to," we said. And that's how we came to buy another painting - it was the subtlest of commercial seductions - quite brilliant in fact - and although we felt like suckers it was almost worth it. We now possess a rather beautiful miniature of a polo match, on ancient sanskrit paper, painted by Mr Shyam Singh.
Our own haveli was quite beautiful, too. But, sadly, the bed was uncomfortable and the food indescribably awful. Many Indians cannot get their heads around non vegetarian food and are also unhappy about serving alcohol. Perhaps they have witnessed the average Saturday night in England with its attendant problems.
To Delhi again and the need to become SKIers. Not that Delhi has suffered an influx of snow. Merely the fact that we felt like a hotel upgrade to recover our strength and to be truly comfortable for the final three nights. Spending the Kids' Inheritance seemed the only way out as we booked into the five star Park Hotel in Connaught Place.
The hotel manager informed us that he was sold out on the third night and that we would have to move out. But our travel agent Javed advised that as possession was 99 points of the law we would have no problem. Javed who revealed that India would remain a third world country while the principal occupation was corruption turned out to be right. Indeed it is hard to imagine how Delhi and Jaipur will be ready for the 2010 Commonwealth Games as construction of the Metro and other key developments appear way behind schedule.
India was awesome in so many ways but, as one friend put it, more of an experience than a vacation. As Colin read Barak Obama's memoirs beside the Park's swimming pool he was struck by how many Indians came up to discuss how wonderful the new occupant of the White House is and how much`hope he was giving the Third World. It was a Kennedy Moment, redolent of the early 1960s when the young and handsome JFK assumed the Presidency, giving so much inspiration to the West. There seems to be a genuine feeling that Obama, as a man of colour, can relate to the rest of the world in a manner that his immediate predecessors, especially George W, simply couldn't aspire to.
So many Indians fell into step with us trying to offer genuine advice and help - astonished that we had risked life and limb in Kashmir. They are a lovely, non-violent people with the total absence of road rage, in the face of truly appalling driving habits, a perfect example. We were distressed by some of the poverty and ill treatment of animals but retain affection for the country.
Nevertheless it was wonderful to get home, to a remarkably clean London, after a very smooth Virgin flight (and yes we indulged in a little upgrade). Our own little Bobbie (a 20-year-old Jack Russell bitch) had survived our absence and was in remarkable health, having been looked after magnificently by a raft of friends and family. Clearly change was as good as a rest for her. It will be wonderful to see our children, Cate, Tara, Georgia, Helen and Kate plus grandchildren William, Natasha and Purdy again. Purdy, aged seven months, had just returned from Hollywood where Dad Richard is in a new TV series. How she's changed.
And the best news of all was reserved for our return when we learned that Helen became engaged to Simon on the last leg of their four week holiday in Malaysia, Thailand and Lao. This Friday they came round to celebrate with champagne that tasted so good after the constant beer of India. 2010 will be weddings , weddings and weddings!
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