On a recent five-week journey to that incomparable sub-continent, India, I stayed at 14 different accommodations.

Many were marbled mausoleums, some were undistinguished. Then there were experiences that were unique and unforgetable.

Here are three of the best.

SOMATHEERAM AYURVEDIC SPA

In Kovalam, a beach town in southern Kerala, sits the circular thatched-roof hut. It’s surrounded by others of its kind, discreetly placed so as to give some privacy but not too far away from one another as to feel lonely.

All these little huts are perched on land overlooking the Arabian Sea.

The bare simplicity of furnishings is softened by the white and airy mosquito netting covering my bed, like a cocoon.

The louvered windows allow in the warm breezes, and the overhead fan air-conditions on stifling nights.

The sweet smell of bougainvillea and other scented flowers wafts into my little home. The sun is hot and the mood lazy.

I stayed at Somatheeram Ayurvedic Spa for five days.

Each day was soothingly the same with slight variations: a yoga class led by a young man with a mesmerising voice; breakfast of southern India fare filled the air with aromatic scents of cardamom, ginger and coconut.

Ayurvedic massages are the specialty of this spa and I was slathered, on several occasions, with oil potions, and pummeled with cotton-covered pommels.

Down several flights of stone steps and alongside the wide sandy beach, is a thriving fishing village.

I spent a morning there, with the women dressed in colourful saris buying and selling fresh fish their husbands had caught the night before, and trading in luscious fruits and other produce.

At the end of each day, sipping sweet masala chai tea, I’d relax in my woven hammock – a fixture on the lawn in front of my hut – and sigh with pleasure as the red ball of the sun deferred to the horizon.

OBEROI UDAIVILAS

Pink rose petals falling from the sky signaled our arrival at the Oberoi Udaivilas, Udaipur.

Before I left for India, I had read “A Princess Remembers: Memoirs of the Maharani of Jaipur.”

She recounted her privileged life as the granddaughter and then wife of legendary Maharajas of India: the unimaginable wealth, the splendour of her palace and its 500 servants, her exquisite taste.

The Oberoi turned out to be gifted to me by a fairy godmother. A modern day palace in the grand style of those of Rajashtani legend.

The best of Indian Moghul architecture with its graceful arches, golden domes and gardens dotted with fountains and sculptures, married to the restrained style of the British legacy.

As I entered the main rotunda area with its black and white diamond-shaped marble floor, and gold dome, an elegant woman in a traditional Rajasthan sari served me a cold lime drink and a cool towel.

Her male counterpart, in his crisp kurta and turban, escorted me to my suite. It was elegant and cozy: rich Rajasthan colours and playful pillows on the bed and plush window seat that overlooked Lake Pichola.

Another door was opened to reveal a private patio framed in bougainvillea and shaded by an Indian umbrella.

An infinity pool was waiting, but I dipped into the spa first for a treatment.

Each of several spacious suites has its own bathing area and steam room. A scented foot bath and luxurious chaise-lounge bracketed the massage that was administered with miraculous hands.

This proved to be the tranquil respite that this weary but grateful traveller needed before plunging back from my maharani idyll into the real world that is India.

SARDARGARH HERITAGE HOTEL

My expert driver navigated the bad roads, the shepherds and their sheep, the crowded villages and never ending array of cows, to arrive at the grand hilltop fort of Sardargarh. The imposing facade harbours an intimate, 21-room boutique hotel.

This heritage property is owned and managed by royal descendants of a powerful Rajasthan Dhodhia, Sardar Singh, who masterminded the fort in the mid-18th century.

In front of each suite, sits an antique wooden swing, made for two, and fastened by ornate brass chains to the arched ceiling of the porch entry.

The suites, which were the original homes of Dhodhia’s wives and children, cluster around a landscaped garden and pergola.

The intriguing nooks and crannies of the old fort are filled with artfully placed antiquities, bowls filled with floral designs made from the petals of innumerable flowering trees and bushes.

Each meal was served in various open-aired spaces, sometimes on the ramparts overlooking the gentle valley, or in the garden, and on several occasions the owner and his charming wife, regaled us with stories of their colourful ancestry.

One of the highlights happened by chance: A master-class of Indian music was being given to two young staff, by one of the best known tabla players in India.

It turns out the Sardargarh’s owners not only want to preserve the fort, but also its vibrant cultural inheritance.