In Rural India, It (Finally) Took a Village

Finding rural paradise turned out to be not so easy.

An hour's drive from Jaipur, Samode is surrounded by the Aravali hills, one of the oldest mountain ranges in the world. The HBO production of "The Far Pavilions" was shot here. The village itself -- rows of stone houses, some with thatched roofs -- is home to gemstone cutters and other craftsmen.

The first glimpse of Samode wasn't pretty; boars darted across the arched stone gate to the village, and children with too-old faces rushed our car. The dirt path gave way to a winding road. Up a steep hill and past a towering gate, we reached a world far different from the one below.

Ahead was Samode Palace, a 400-year-old yellow fortress built on three levels, each with its own courtyard. Adorned with marble floors and walls covered with paintings of hunting and courtship, the palace sits on grounds that were once home to a nobleman from Jaipur. In 1987, the palace was made into a hotel and has rooms with whirlpool baths and satellite TVs. A Greek and Italian restaurant is being built on the grounds. "Ninety-nine percent of our business is European," said K.K. Sharma, the hotel's manager. "That is the logic."

Mr. Agrawal was still dead set against villagers' food, so we ordered at the palace. Nothing Rajasthani on the menu, though.

Sharma, a village native, had a suggestion: A descendant of the grounds' owner was entertaining tourists at his nearby farmhouse. We'd find food prepared there in the "traditional way," he said.

He was half-right. Beside a wheat field, tourists sat under a canopy eating lunch prepared by men in the sort of crisp white chef suits you'd expect at Le Cordon Bleu, not here. A nearby table included macaroni, brownies and vanilla mousse. There were a few rural touches, though: Women with faces shrouded by saris churned buttermilk in clay pots and cooked millet roti over a horseshoe-shaped stove made of cow dung.

Music filled the air. Men in turbans played harmoniums, sitars and drums. One crooned a song, " At ithi devo bhava" -- "Our guests are like gods." A few yards away, artisans showed off crafts: hand-cut gemstones, hand-woven fans, pots.

By the edge of the field, a man in a dhoti stood by his camel and beckoned with his hand.

The camel ride was great -- all three minutes -- until the man demanded about $25. Later, at the banglemaker's shop, I encountered a similar scene. After lunch, the owner offered a picture frame for $6.50. As I fished through my wallet, he upped the price to $11.

Samode was starting to feel a lot like city life, so we stopped by a 20-acre garden, Samode Bagh. It was built 150 years ago by the son of a rajput-prince (part of a centuries-old military caste) and is lined with rosebushes, mango trees and, nowadays, air-conditioned tents with marble bathrooms. Like Samode Palace, the grounds are separated from the village by a high gate.

All well and good, but was this the closest a traveler could come to appreciating rural India -- by holing up in a pricey retreat?