You never know why a culture embraces certain celebrities. The Germans go gaga for David Hasselhoff. The French are cuckoo for Jerry Lewis. Midwesterners get mental over Adam Sandler. And oddly enough, the Mumbaiians fawn over Jean Claude Van Damme. So, did I think it odd at all that every night at 7pm the familiar sounds of the James Bond Theme wafted through every single boulevard, narrow street, and alley of Udaipur? No, my highly sensitive Strange-O-Meter wasn't picking up any readings. Maybe the Rajasthani's just prefer 007 to "The Muscle from Brussels". Who wouldn't? But that didn't explain why every bar and restaurant was only playing Octopussy. It wasn't until we ducked into a bar and grabbed several much needed beers while sitting in front of a overly large and very pixelated big screen TV that it all made sense to me. A large portion of Octopussy was filmed in Udaipur and the arch-villainess, aptly named by her long lost father...ahem...Octopussy, lived in what our very un-007 real-life is called The Lake Palace Hotel. One story we were told (bare in mind if you ask 10 Indians something you'll get 11 stories) was that the swanky stronghold was built when the lecherous son of an 18-century Maharaja got told off by his pop for having too many illicit affairs so in retaliation he built a huge, glowing white palace right smack dab in the middle of the lake so he could continue his amorous untidings in a stealthy manner. I must say, the place doesn't exactly scream discrete.

This dear friends, begins the fairytale of our honeymoon gift which was one night at the fantastical Lake Palace Hotel (girl's version).

So, 006, did I ever tell ya' about my big night at Octopussy's House (guy's version).

We checked in landside at the Maharaja's Palace. While I was sure they were running our names and prints through INTERPOL, our luggage was scuttled away on a private boat to a place where I'm confident it was x-rayed and sniffed by a pack of voracious ex-KGB trained hounds. The motorized gondola didn't fool me at all, I could see the drivers numchucks underneath his innocent looking sailor suit. I could see the blood in the eyes of the huge Rajasthani man who met us at the dock carrying what seemed to be a harmless umbrella (easily spotted as a hand operated helicopter) to escort Helen the three steps into the reception area. But the illusion fell apart upon arriving when I was devastated to find it was not inhabited by scantily clad kung-fu trained babes as in the movie. The only person that posed any kind of threat was the man who strolled the garden waving a white flag to keep the pigeons away....but in consolation, we were assigned a private butler named Amil who had a long scar across his forehead.....

Ahh, how does one describe the experience. Words defy me. I have stayed in some really exquisite hotels in my life, but none even come close to the splendor of the Lake Palace Hotel. The staff are very conscious of the very subtle fine line between being there for every whim humanly possible and smothering guests with sycophantic badgering. Within fifteen minutes of our arrival we were perched poolside, banana lassi in hand, scoffing at the paddle boaters that dared to come within the 50 meter limit of our new domain (even though the previous day we were of that ilk, we harbored no sympathy whatsoever!). After 8 months of Indian and Thai food we salivated over the grilled buffalo mozzarella and pesto sandwiches. When the sun moved a few degrees off our sizzling skin the lovely poolside attendants would ask if they could realign our chairs to perfect our bronze god tans. The first hour felt like 100 beautifully lingering years. After baking for the appropriate amount of time we decided to pop back into our room, watch some sorely missed BBC News on our disgustingly huge screen TV whilst interneting on their uberfast wifi. When we were digitally satiated Helen and I decided to go to a dance performance they were having in the courtyard. Sitting at the bar afterwards I got tremendous satisfaction in finding out my rear end was in the same spot Keith Richards' had been when he'd polished off two bottles of vodka a month prior. We'd made dinner reservations at the restaurant (a birthday present from Helen's magnificent parents), but we found out there were two eateries; the reserved one being only Indian food which, as previously stated, we were up to our back teeth with, so we decided to slum at the "lower end" 24-hour continental diner which turned out to be like eating at the Plaza Hotel on Central Park. Our table was just a few feet above the lake and we looked out upon the entire city, which from our previous experiences in the restaurants surrounding the lake, we knew was staring right back at us. The chef took great pains to make sure our menu changes were amazing and we were able to finally get a real bottle of red wine, not the typical rubbing alcohol/mouthwash/anti-freeze vintage that's found in most Indian establishments.

Four gin and tonics, two beers and a bottle of wine later we tumbled into our room to find a scrumptious chocolate mousse cake on our table with "Best Wishes" scripted on top. It seems Helen's best friends, Kelly and Melissa, the organizers of our little sojourn, told the management it was our honeymoon. I noticed something flickering in the bathroom and was floored to find a bathtub swimming with rose petals and floating candles. Next to the tub were two glasses of the same wine we were drinking at dinner . OK, I have to admit, I did for a split second feel like 007 (Sean Connery, naturally). Go ahead and laugh...I don't blame you...I'm just being honest here, but it's probably more of a tribute to Helen, who ya gotta admit, would make one helluva Bond chick (unlike me who just looked like a drunken fool with a rose-petal mohawk)..

The next morning we were brought to consciousness by the roving flutest. Wakinhhg up only mildly hung over (the blessings of good booze) Helen and I worked our way down to breakfast where we were able to look over the water to our new fabulous lakeside apartment that we're renting for 4 months when we get back from Christmas, a topic for which I'm afraid we'll have to delve into at a later time. Afterwards it was back to the pool and the mozzarella sandwiches until they dragged us kicking and screaming on to the boat which took us back to harsh reality. Helen handled the crash much better than I. We were walking down the street a few nights later and the theme song from Octopussy came prowling through the air...I cried like a 14 year old girl at a Justin Timberlake concert. Helen just draped her arm around my shoulder in consolation.

Chris and Dave, Steve, Rob, Shaya, Jade, Eden, Karma, Flea and especially Kel and Mishki; I love you. I love you. I love you.