Day 5 was slow—exactly as discussed the night before. We skipped showers, just freshened up, and headed straight for checkout. There was no point wasting time because nothing would be available on the way. Our final destination for the day was Udaipur—the City of Lakes.
We woke up early, packed our bags, picked up our vehicle, and relied on Google Maps to guide us to our pre-booked hotel in Udaipur.
Desert Roads & a Small Act of Kindness
The morning was fresh. Trees appeared occasionally at a distance, but otherwise, it was sand everywhere—long, empty roads with hardly any people in sight. From what we had observed so far, most Rajasthani locals used camel carts or bicycles. Seeing four-wheelers or even two-wheelers was rare.
At one point, we spotted a small shop near a godown and stopped to buy some snacks. Soon after, a flock of sheep surrounded us, quietly asking for food through their hopeful eyes. We remembered the biscuits and Mathis, our parents had packed for the journey. Since it had been many days, we decided to offer everything to them.
Within seconds, the sheep rushed towards us, grabbing the biscuit packets. We emptied the bags at one spot, and soon everyone had their share. The constant “baa baa” echoed around, as if they were calling others to join. We stood at a distance, watched them happily, stretched our tired bodies, and then returned to the car.
Breakfast Stop – Shiv Dhani Dhaba
We were literally in night suits—T-shirts, lowers, no makeup, no filters—just raw and real. Soft music played as we enjoyed the calm views. Around 9 a.m., hunger kicked in, and we began searching for a decent place to eat.
That’s when we stopped at a beautifully decorated dhaba called Shiv Dhani. The open yard, colourful carts, cycles, bikes, artificial flowers, and umbrellas instantly attracted us. Though a big hall was available, we chose to sit outside and were guided to a party hut—a bamboo-made space with sofas, tables, and artificial décor.
We ordered aloo and gobi parathas with curd, butter, and tea. The food arrived quickly, and the taste was simply amazing. It happened to be Rose Day, so couples were being gifted artificial roses. We clicked pictures—inside the hut, near the bikes, and around the décor.
Inside the shop opposite the hut, we found a variety of gift items and purchased a few things (honestly, I don’t remember exactly what they were). After tea and a short chat with the dhaba manager, we packed our purchases along with some orange candies and headed back to the car.
A Sudden Detour to Kumbhalgarh Fort
While checking the route, Yaad casually mentioned,
“Kumbhalgarh Fort is just 57–59 km from here… chaliye?”
Without a second thought, we all agreed. Pyjamas on, excitement high—we changed our destination from Udaipur to Kumbhalgarh Fort.
The road soon turned into a zigzag roller coaster—narrow lanes, sharp turns, remote villages, uphill-downhill stretches, and constant doubt about whether the road would even continue. Sitting in the front, nausea hit me hard, and soon others felt the same.
We stopped at a spot with open air for some fresh air. Harsh stepped out, sat on a big stone, while I lay down in the back seat, focusing on slow breaths. Nearby was a pond with a tree in the centre, surrounded by hills—absolutely breathtaking. Ruby and I walked closer, soon joined by my husband.
Meanwhile, the others were climbing hills. Confused, Ruby called Yaad on the phone and asked.
“Kithe chale?”
He replied casually,
“Bas ethe hi… bathroom.”
I laughed and said,
“They’re clearly visible from here.”
He overheard and replied,
“Then turn your faces.”
We burst into laughter.
An old man arrived with his buffalo. We chatted briefly, tried asking about the fort’s history, but language barriers ended the conversation.
Jeep Safari & Hidden Serenity
By around 12:30 p.m., we reached the safari point. The tiger safari was closed. It was hot, the sun unforgiving. After asking around, someone offered us a road safari around the mountains along with a fort visit.
We bargained, agreed, and climbed into an open jeep—five of us at the back, driver-guide in front.
The journey was unexpectedly serene. He showed us nearby palaces, resorts, fields, narrow roads carved between hills, water wells used by locals, and settlements tucked far away from chaos. At one point, we stopped for sugarcane juice. I skipped it and rested on a rope cot, letting the breeze pass through me. The silence felt sacred.
We visited temples from the outside, listened to stories, stopped at Veeron Ka Math, and admired water bodies hidden between hills. Then, from a distance, we finally saw Kumbhalgarh Fort, standing tall on the highest hill—majestic and intimidating.
Kumbhalgarh: Built for Strength, Felt Through Weakness
By 2:30 p.m., we reached the fort, standing proudly atop the hills. The entrance gate was massive. Our guide warned us there wasn’t much to see and waited outside.
Inside, we bought coconut water, used the washroom, and mentally prepared for a long uphill walk. Gate after gate, breathless climbs, short rests—questioning why royals ever chose such heights.
The fort’s 36 km-long boundary wall surrounded everything. We explored Kumbha Palace, ancient temples, and finally reached Badal Mahal. Inside, there were halls, a Tulsi courtyard, an echo room, and narrow stairs leading to the top.
From above, the mountain views were mesmerising—endless hills, temples scattered everywhere. They say there are nearly 360 temples inside the fort. Exhausted but satisfied, we descended more easily than we climbed.
After visiting the fort, our driver took us to a small shopping stop—barely a cluster, really—one or two shops, a modest restaurant, and a few carts scattered around, at least as far as memory serves me. It wasn’t crowded or loud, just a quiet pause carved out for travellers before the road continued.
We stepped into one of the shops where stacks of block-printed bedsheets were being unfolded one by one. The shopkeeper spoke about vegetable dyes, about tradition and process, laying out quilts and dupattas as if each carried a story. We window-shopped for a while, touching fabrics, admiring patterns, letting time slow down. Eventually, Yaad and Ruby gave in and bought a Rajasthani quilt—a small, warm souvenir of the day.
After shopping, we moved toward the food carts and the tiny restaurant nearby. Hunger had returned gently, not demanding anything fancy. We ordered simple things—noodles, Maggi from a cart, and, of course, tea. That much I remember clearly. It felt like a brief, comforting break before reality resumed.
Soon after, we walked back to where our vehicle was parked, the fort now behind us, the road ahead waiting quietly.
Arrival in Udaipur
While driving, we kept talking about Kumbhalgarh—the fort, its strength, and the lives the royals must have lived there. Somewhere between those conversations and the long, quiet stretches of road, evening arrived. Around 6:30 p.m., we entered Udaipur.
The first glimpse felt unreal: a calm lake stretching ahead, mountains rising behind it, and the sun slowly setting, painting everything in soft gold. For a moment, no one spoke. I remember thinking, This city is going to be good to us.
Finding the Hotel: Confusion, Stairs, and a Pillar
We called our hotel (Hotel Panorama Haveli By Storica Stays) for directions and were told it was located deep inside an interior area, with no parking available nearby. Instead, we were asked to park our car at a shared location, which, according to them, was “not very far,” though it didn’t feel that way at all.
Eventually, we reached a vacant plot in a quiet residential neighbourhood where two or three other cars were already parked. After leaving our vehicle there, we called the hotel again, only to realise that their transfer still hadn’t arrived. We collected our luggage and waited until a car finally came, loaded our bags onto the carrier, and took us further in.
The drive itself only added to the confusion. Wide roads slowly narrowed, interior lanes opened unexpectedly into what looked like a residential colony, and local shops lined the streets. People sat outside their homes, chatting comfortably in the evening air. Inside the car, we exchanged silent glances—are we going to the right place? Nothing around us resembled a hotel.
Then the car stopped.
A Hotel That Didn’t Announce Itself
Tucked into one corner of an open space was a small, almost hidden entrance. Inside, there was no welcoming reception desk—just a quiet waiting area, a powder room to one side, and further in, a small room with a register, a phone, and a table. There was no staff in sight, no manager, no one to confirm that we had actually arrived where we were supposed to.
We peeked around, confused and tired, until a man appeared and casually informed us that the manager would arrive in five minutes. Until then, he suggested we mark our entry in the register if we had a booking. Five minutes later, the manager showed up, confirmed our reservation, and assigned rooms—two on the second floor and one on the third.
We immediately decided that the couples would stay on the second floor while Harsh would take the third. That decision, however, was not accepted peacefully. Harsh protested instantly, almost like a crybaby, complaining about being alone on the third floor and insisting he wanted to stay with Yaad. We joked that the easiest solution would be for him to shift into their room instead. Laughing through the tiredness, we started climbing the stairs.
Both couples were placed on the second floor—one room at the end and one right next to it. The moment we entered our room, irritation washed over us. The room was already compact, divided into a sleeping area, an almirah, a table, and a bathroom, and right in the centre stood a huge pillar. It felt completely unnecessary and strangely intrusive.
The hotel was clearly a haveli converted into a stay, and the pillar was probably structural, but logic didn’t soften the frustration. We switched on the geyser, pushed our exhaustion aside, and went to check Yaad and Ruby’s room. The difference was obvious—their room was noticeably bigger. Later, when they came to inspect ours, their reaction matched ours exactly: “Why is there a pillar in the middle of the room?” We laughed, half amused and half annoyed, especially since the rooms we had booked online looked spacious, lake-facing, and nothing like this.
Upgrading the Room
After freshening up, we called the manager again to ask if any other room was available. He told us that after 8 p.m., one room on the first floor would become vacant once it was cleaned. The charges were slightly higher, but we didn’t hesitate and asked him to book it immediately.
That decision scattered us across three floors—us on the first, Yaad and Ruby on the second, and Harsh on the third. Before heading out for dinner, we went to see our new room. To our surprise, it felt like a small reward for all the earlier confusion. The room had an attached open sitting area, a beautiful porch, and a large fountain at the centre of the haveli. From the windows, the lake was visible—distant, subtle, but calming enough to make the chaos feel worth it.
Dinner Plans After a Long Day
Satisfied with the room upgrade, we packed our bags, locked the rooms, and stepped out in search of dinner. The street nearby was lined with restaurants offering meals, one after another. But we were in the mood for something special—a lakeside dinner.
And soon enough, we found one.
A Lakeside Table and High Expectations
We walked into the lakeside restaurant just a short distance from our hotel. When the manager asked whether we wanted to sit on the ground floor or the first floor, we chose the first floor without hesitation. Climbing up, we caught sight of beautifully arranged seating right along the lake—low tables, cushions, soft lighting, and water stretching endlessly beside them.
It looked perfect.
Unfortunately, all the lakeside seats were occupied. The manager requested that we wait for a while and offered us chairs and a table slightly away from the edge. Since we had our hearts set on the lake view, we agreed to wait.
After some time, a large group finally got up. Almost immediately, we were guided to the coveted spot by the lake. The staff cleared the table, adjusted the cushions, and asked us to make ourselves comfortable.
Settling In… Too Comfortably
The seating was traditional—low wooden stools with cushions, and a small table placed in the centre. We sat down, adjusting ourselves, soaking in the view, still riding the excitement of finally being there.
While we were settling in, Yaad mentioned he wanted to stretch his legs. Before we could react, Harsh followed suit. In an instant, the table tilted.
Everything on it slid toward us—tissue papers, spice boxes, room keys, and our mobile phones. For a terrifying second, it felt like time slowed down. Just a few inches beyond the table was the lake.
Panic took over.
We lunged forward, grabbing whatever we could, hearts racing at the thought of our phones disappearing into the water. Somehow, miraculously, everything was saved.
From Panic to Anger
Once we realised nothing had fallen into the lake, the relief quickly turned into anger. Ruby and I both raised our voices—What were you two thinking? Our phones could have gone straight into the water!
They defended themselves lightly, saying they only wanted to stretch their legs. That explanation didn’t help. The table was small, the setup delicate, and their “giant legs” clearly didn’t fit across it. Words flew. The mood shifted sharply.
And then Ruby went silent.
Tears, Guilt, and Sudden Stillness
In the chaos, Ruby had hurt her hand. She had nail extensions, and one nail had taken a hard push. It was bent badly, and the pain hit her all at once. Tears rolled down her face, genuine and uncontrollable.
The laughter disappeared.
Yaad and Harsh immediately went quiet, guilt written all over their faces. The blame didn’t need to be spoken—it was already heavy in the air. We gathered around her, asking where it hurt, trying to comfort her.
Yaad slipped into his soft, lovey-dovey mode, focused entirely on her. Slowly, the tension melted, replaced by concern.
Dinner, Finally
About ten to fifteen minutes later, we tried to lighten the mood—clicking pictures, making short videos, joking softly, anything to distract her from the pain. The emotional roller coaster had already peaked, and our dinner hadn’t even arrived.
When the food finally came, it felt grounding.
Dal makhani, paneer butter masala, fresh salad, garlic naan, and chapatis filled the table. We ate slowly, enjoying the flavours, the breeze from the lake, and the music playing in the background—songs perfectly matching the vibe, though we hadn’t even noticed them earlier.
The manager kept checking on us, asking if everything was fine, if we were enjoying the food. Toward the end, he suggested dessert. We ordered hot gulab jamuns.
They were worth it.
Ruby was still in pain, but calmer now. We sat there a little longer, taking in the view, the lights reflecting on the water, the calm finally settling in.
Back to the Hotel, Back to Stillness
We thanked the manager and staff and stepped out. The restaurant was just a short walk from our hotel. Exhaustion hit us all at once.
Everyone headed straight to their rooms.
My husband and I picked up our bags and moved to our first-floor room. It was spacious, with a cemented floor bed, a TV, an almirah, a dressing table, chairs, and a large washroom. Without wasting a minute, we collapsed onto the bed.
Warm blankets, tired bodies, and a mind finally ready to rest.
Sleep came quickly.
That day felt complete in its own way—history, adventure, confusion, laughter, irritation, panic, food, emotions, and a peaceful lake view tying it all together.
Udaipur didn’t arrive gently.
It arrived honestly.
And that was enough.