Rawla Narlai

From the top of Elephant Hill, Rawla Narlai is just a tiny speck – surrounded by vast plains, reservoirs and the Aravali mountain range. But by the time that Mr Smith and I have trekked back down, the hotel is the dominant feature again, with its elaborate arches and crenulated bastions standing out in the rural hamlet.

The 17th-century hunting lodge has drawn tourists to Narlai for centuries. Rajasthani royals would travel to this outpost – between Jodhpur and Udaipur – for some of the best hunting in the state. Now guests come to be treated like a Maharajah at the heritage hotel, while dabbling in some of the traditional activities: perhaps a leopard safari or trek on Marwari horses.

Coming from nearby Rohet Garh, where I’d become used to the royal treatment alarmingly quickly, I was keen to see my state room – and wasn’t disappointed. The hotel has a modern wing, but for the full experience it’s all about bagging a bedroom in the old quarters.

Mr Smith and I were lead through a network of courtyards to a grand room, which began with an accidental antechamber where one of the old corridors had been hemmed off. The bedroom itself had periwinkle blue walls, antique carved furniture and lofty proportions which aided our time travel. As, alas, did a pokey bathroom – but then the historic touches and authenticity more than compensated for the lack of any flashy en suite.

Wooden shutters lead out onto a balcony, where we could see Elephant Hill – the granite rock which towers over Narlai. The childish need to reach the highest point for the best lookout proved too much. Despite a note in our room offering to accompany us on an ‘invigorating walk’ up the 700 steps carved into the granite, we decided to strap on our trainers and go it alone.

A false start led us up steps to a temple carved into the rocks – a welcome detour – but having descended and found another route up, we were back on track. The stairs wound round the rock. Sometimes robust, sometimes slippery-smooth and steep, but eminently doable, particularly at a steady plod. Gentle vertigo started to set in as I reached the top, but not enough to stop me staggering over to the white elephant sculpture at the summit, where the views stretched for miles.

By the time we make it back down, other groups were setting-off to watch the sunset from the summit. Instead, a Kingfisher from the mini bar beckoned, meaning that Mr Smith and I spent our sundowner at ground level, watching others make their steady ascent from our balcony – tiny dots moving round the peak as the sun dipped out of sight.

As night fell, we made our way to the main courtyard, where candles flickered and the melodic hum of a puja rose above the chatter of pre-dinner drinks. We were ushered into the outdoor restaurant, where buttery curries were followed by taste-of-home desserts – chocolate brownies and banana splits. With tired legs and full bellies, we happily stumbled back to the room and collapsed into a deeply comfortable bed, sleeping through until mid-morning thanks to the shutters blocking out the bright morning sun.

After a buffet breakfast, we decided to hit the pool – which is by far one of the standout features at Rawla Narlai. Hot pink bursts of bougainvillea drape over the garden walls round the pool, creating a tropical sanctuary. Day beds and loungers are lined up, with waiters keenly ferrying chilled drinks and kathi rolls from the kitchen.

In anticipation of another trek up Elephant Hill later that day, I decided to have a massage in one of the Mughal-style tents next to the pool. There’s a choice of acupressure and deep tissue massages, as well as different aroma massages: eucalyptus and black pepper to ‘fight fatigue’, or jasmine and mogra to ‘tone, relax and nourish the skin and muscle tissues.’

Though the material tent provided shade from the searing midday sun, it was warm enough leave me drifting in and out of consciousness as the masseuse’s hands teased out knots and strains. By the end of the 45 minutes, I’d given in to the overwhelming wave of lethargy. Then – and here comes the only clincher – as soon as the masseuse’s hands had stopped working, I was jerked awake by a pen and pad of paper being shoved under my nose to sign-off the massage bill for reception.

The only gentle criticism of staying at Rawla Narlai is that an old-school bureaucracy still lingers in this heritage hotel. The European traveller might find that the charged efficiency takes the edge off total relaxation, though it could be viewed from a different perspective. Perhaps the scrupulously attentive service was what suited Rajasthani royals – in which case it’s the final authentic touch in this gloriously old-school experience.