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Sunday , January 26th – Udaipur, catch bus to Mumbai
It is sunny and cool this morning as I take a walk Frank before we stop for breakfast. We first walk to the base of City Palace and to its intimidatingly high walls, with its many turrets crowned with pagoda-styled observation posts that look like gazebos. It is so massive. We follow the base of the walls down to the lake, and from there we follow the lake shore for a kilometre, circling the lake in a clockwise direction.
It’s a lovely Sunday morning, perfect for a walk along the shore. At first, there is a haze or smog that hanging over the valley that keeps the city in shadows. By the time we are across the lake from the City Palace the morning sun is high enough now
to light up its walls with a golden glow. The distance mountains to the south still have a layer of mist along their base, but the Lake Palace stands out clearly in front of them. The island it sits on is completely consumed by the palace, so the buildings seems to float on the surface of the lake. From what I can see, it seems to be a shallow lake. We pass several women washing clothes at one of the lakeside ghats, dressed in their colourful Indian saris. This place is so beautiful. 
We cut back into the city streets that slope up from the lake to reach the bus depot. We find the ticket booth and learn that there is a bus leaving at 4 pm for Mumbai. It will arrive around 8:30 tomorrow morning. After purchasing our tickets we wander back into the centre of the city looking for a place to have breakfast.
I dread this coming bus trip. It already sounds like an ordeal. I realize that I am resisting leaving Udaipur so soon, and even resisting ending my trip, as tired as I am or traveling. I won’t be able to deny that it’s the end of the trip once I have arrived in the city I will be flying home from, even if it’s still almost three weeks away. We walk back to our hotel and complete our check out, leaving our bikes and bags there until later this afternoon.
Frank is anxious to see about his rear wheel so we search together to find the address of the bike shop that Edward told us about last night. It takes us half an hour. By the time we get there it is already noon. One of the mechanics is familiar with Western mountain bikes. He tells Frank that the spokes are too tight and that is why they are breaking. He shows him how much looser the front ones are.
Finally knowing why the spokes of his rear wheel have been breaking puts Frank in a jovial mood. We return to the hotel and they let him work on his bike on the rear patio. He doesn’t need my help so I set off looking for a pharmacy. The manager of the hotel points me towards the nearest one. It turns out to be very small and doesn’t have any hair bleach except for small tubs of bleach cream used by Indian women to bleach their moustaches. I search around for other pharmacies but only find one. It too has nothing else. The proprietor looks at me very puzzled. He has never heard of hair bleach for men. I decide to wait and look in stores in Mumbai, which should be better stocked and more international. Now that we have check out of our hotel I have no place to bleach my hair here anyway.
Frank has almost finished truing his wheel by the time I return. I watch wrap it up and then we load up our bikes and head to the bus depot to be there an hour early. We see the bus to Mumbai sitting in one of the bays and walk over to it. It is a modern one with air conditioning, which is a great relief to both of us. The driver tells us we are too early and recommends we wait inside the station for half an hour. We follow his instructions but when we return at the prescribed time, he tells us it is full.
He says not to worry because a back up bus has been ordered. It pulls up five minutes later, creaking and shuddering as come to a stop. It is an old one terrible condition, undoubtedly without air conditioning or suspension. Frank goes to the first driver and complains that he has not saved a seat for us when we were first and we returned when he told us to, but the driver says there is nothing he can do now that the seats are all taken.
The one consolation is that our bus is only half full. At least until we get to Ahmedabad three hours later. From that point on it is packed and dark as the bus driver hurtles our bus along the highway with dangerous aggression. On Indian highways, metre-high concrete barriers separate the lanes on curves so drivers like ours won’t try to pass on blind corners. No doubt they would if not. One often reads about buses colliding head on in India, killing and maiming most of the passengers as well as the drivers.
There are also speed bumps of all the highways to discourage drivers from speeding, but they speed anyway. Before I boarded I had visions of leaning my head on one of Frank’s ample and firm shoulders as I snoozed, but there is no chance of dozing off. Each time we hit a speed bump at 60 miles/hr I am almost thrown out of my seat. I have to brace my arms against the seat in front of me most of the trip, until they are sore from doing so. I am sure even Frank would prefer enduring my head on his shoulder instead.
PHOTO 1: at the base of City Palace
PHOTO 2: Lake Palace on its island
PHOTO 3: City Palace from across the lake
PHOTO 4: women doing laundry a the cleaning ghat
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