Priest Houses, Knights without their Armour and Jodhpur at Sunset

The hotel is called Juno Mahal. It dates back to at least the time of the construction of the fort, 500 hundred years ago.

There is a legend that when the King started to build his fort on the nearby hill, the Holy Man who lived there was non too pleased. He cursed the King and the Fort and predicted that it would fall and the Kings family would end in bloodshed.

The King, being a superstitious sort, believed him, and was about to abandon the work when an old man came forward. 'I will take the curse for you, my Lord King'. And he sacrificed himself and his bones were buried in the Castle foundations.

The hotel was supposedly built for one of the priests who officiated at the ceremony of his immolation.

A beautiful iron studded door, leads into a marble courtyard, with plants in the alcoves, and divans to sit on. The owners live on the ground floor, which leads mysteriously off with the promises of more courtyards and perhaps fountains.

There is only one room on each floor - mine, the Lord Krishna room, was on the first over looking the courtyard at the front. It looked like a scene from a traditional painting of life in an idealised old indian city.

In my experience, India is a long way behind Europe in terms of the understanding of hotel aesthetics. It does not mean that a huge amount of money has to be spent - Thailand for instance does it amazingly, on almost any budget there are fabulously beautiful hotels, bungalows and guesthouses.

So I was up on the roof, admiring the view of the fort and blue city, when the two Knights walked in.

'Hi', the Black Knight extended his hand. 'I'm Sachin. I saw you on the road today. You have a 500cc bike? Nice'.

He was an Indian, in his mid to late twenties, hair cropped very short. He had changed from his biking clothes, but still wore black. He had a large, expensive looking camera with him, and wasted no time capturing the view.

'I'm Bart', said the Saffron Knight. 'You are going up to the fort?'. I replied that I was not sure, I was tired from the early start and hungry as I had not eaten all day.

'If you do, go soon'. He carried on. They close at 5.30. Its worth it. Maybe see you there, or maybe later'.

Bart was also Indian, still clad in his bright yellow shirt. Designer glasses, curly hair, and a big smile. Both of them spoke English so good, I suspected that they were professionals from Delhi.

After half an hour or so, I started to feel guilty about not going. I only planned to stay one night here, and the Fort, Mehringeh, was highly recommended, so I hauled myself out of the hotel to go.

I immediately lost myself in the tangle of lanes and alleyways round the hotel. Traffic, both pedestrian and motorized zoomed round me. I had no idea which way to go, so I jumped in a tuktuk.

The Rickshaws here are curiously narrow. They look almost like Daleks from the front. With no warning, my driver took, and we accelerated into the narrow streets like a cork from a champagne bottle.

Jodhpur old city is a bit like an old Italian town, Naples perhaps or Florence. Old stone buildings, cobbled streets and narrow alleyways. Driving in a turbo charged tuk tuk was like being one ball bearing of hundreds being shot into a steel tube.

We got to the top, in one piece though, and I got into the castle with enough time to take the audio tour. It was fascinating - the narrator had a rich warm voice, and spun tales of the warring princes and the history of the fort and palace and some of the things that happened there.

I finished just as it was closing, and hurried up to the battlements for Sunset. There were my two Knights, Sachin and Bart, taking photos in the rich evening light.

'Glad you made it man!' said Bart in greeting. Sachin was engrossed in his phtogrophy. 'We wont get a word out of him until it is dark!; He grinned at me.

I was really glad to see them. Not only would I get a chance to find out more about them, but I had also forgotten the name of our hotel, the address and was starting to get worried about how I might find it again.

So we enjoyed the last of the sun together. It was truly spectacular, the sky was lit up pink and slowly the lights of the city came on and started twinkling below, A cry from one of the temples began, I was not sure whether it was the cry of the Muezzin or a Hindu prayer, and was answered from across the city.

Afterwards, I walked back with Sachin and bart and found out a little more about them. They were indeed from Delhi, and both were management consultants for top firms.

It is really unusual to find Indians taking a motorbike trip. It is usually only Europeans who can see the romance in making such a journey - but these two were real converts. Sachin had made several adventures round India, including Spiti, and as soon as Bart heard about his desert ride, insisted on coming.

In some ways, they reminded me a little of myself and Dan - Bart is garrulous and talkative, always laughing and joking. Sachin more reserved and intense. Bart a littler more charismatic, Sachin a little more mysterious.

We wandered a little round the colourful alleys of the city, which were still bustling, before I left them to return to the hotel. We are heading in the same direction tomorrow and so will set off together.