Rajasthan is the “land of kings,” where every city has a fort, and every fort has a history chock full of daring soldiers and captivating maidens—all the stuff fairy tales are made of.

Udaipur, our first stop in the state, was a fine place for me to live out my long-suppressed princess fantasies. There are no fewer than three stunning palaces in and around the lake-side city. The labyrinthine City Palace, built on a rise in the heart of town, draws the most visitors, with its fun house-style mirrored rooms, stained-glass windows and meticulously painted halls. If only “Cribs” was around in the 17th century.

Less maze-like but more magnificent was the Monsoon Palace, perched regally on a nearby mountain. On our way up the winding hillside, we passed a heap of mangled metal that was once an auto-rickshaw, much like the one we were riding in. With nervous, broken English and dramatic gestures, our driver painted a gruesome portrait of two German tourists, one unlucky rickshaw driver, and faulty breaks. It had just happened the day before.

Trying not to think of the carnage, we explored the now-abandoned palace, and Randy stumbled over a rock that turned out to be a large, and now rather frightened, tortoise. Udaipur’s third palace—the Lake Palace, which seems to float on water—was just a tiny speck from the heights of where we were.

Back in the narrow alleys of Udaipur’s central neighborhoods, we were entertained by the parades and processions that seemed to happen on a daily basis. Weddings, protests, festivals—to our untrained eyes they all looked the same: lively affairs with loud music, waving flags, and lots of cheering, chanting people, sometimes led by decorated elephants. Before a procession, people threw colored powder in thick lines on the streetsides to mark the route.

We were swept away by one parade, in which eager schoolboys slapped bindis on our foreheads with dollops of red paint, and Randy was nearly trampled by two cows spooked by celebratory fireworks. He felt lucky after hearing one horror story: A 72-year-old tourist was hospitalized after being gored by a bull that was jealous of peanuts the man was feeding to monkeys.

Udaipur is also a haven for shoppers: “You looking for place to spend your money?” one vendor called out to us as we walked by. Certainly there’s no shortage of options—heavy embroidered skirts, miniature paintings, mirror-work bags, and journals handcrafted from fabric or camel leather (one shady hawker whispered promises of cow leather). I was pretty much in heaven. After shipping home stacks of journals (more than I will be able to fill in a lifetime), we were ready to move on.

Next up: Pushkar, where we "played at Holi"--India's festival of color. Damn better get some photos up for that...