Discovering Assam and Nagaland 2025

[:)] Cool! A new corner of India. I’ll be following this!

Welcome Erel, the adventure is just beginning.

Saturday, March 22 I had a good night’s sleep. The house is so quiet despite my very early wake-up. Ugh, I’d love to sleep longer, but I can tell that’s over for today. Breakfast is included, and the staff serves me an omelet, toast, butter, jam, and tea. Today, I’m dedicating my day to visiting temples outside the city center, so I leave the house in search of an auto-rickshaw. We start with the Kamakhya Temple, located on Nilachal Hill in Guwahati. The driver takes narrow alleys uphill—the traffic is intense here. He drops me off in the middle of the shops lining the street and goes to wait for me farther away, out of the hustle and bustle. I have to take a pedestrian-only path that leads up to the temple. Shops selling flowers, incense, and souvenirs line the alleys all the way to the temple. This temple is one of the oldest and most revered centers of Tantric practice. It’s dedicated to the goddess Kamakhya, who is considered the goddess of desire. I’m the only Western tourist here, and I’m amazed to see so many people with such devotion. The temple itself isn’t exceptional, but I have to admit that after seeing so many, I’ve become picky. Here, you come for the atmosphere. As I enter the grounds, I see a room on the left where priests and astrologers wait for devotees.



I walk around the temple. Devotees are queuing to enter and receive *darshan*, but the visit is forbidden for me.

I leave the site and head back to the driver, who’s keeping an eye on me in the crowd. We head back into the city and continue toward another hill, Chitrasal Hill or Navagraha Hill. This temple is dedicated to the nine celestial bodies, or *Navagrahas*, of Hindu astronomy. Inside, the temple houses nine *Shivalingams*, each representing a planet and adorned with different colored fabrics to distinguish them. Blue for Shani, god of the planet Saturn, is actually black, with a sword and two daggers in hand. His mount is a crow or a dog. Yellow for Guru, green for Venus, and so on... It’s very dark inside, and it takes a moment to adjust to the dim light. The atmosphere here is deeply spiritual, filled with the scent of incense and prayers.



Outside, incense burners and oil lamps fill the entrance with smoke.



And the monkeys have made themselves at home—some are even grooming each other for fleas.

I meet up with the driver again, who takes me near the Brahmaputra. I walk along the river to the cable car departure point. I have time, so I decide to see where the Brahmaputra crossing leads. There are a lot of us making the crossing. We arrive at a flat area where rickshaw drivers are waiting for customers to take us to temples. Everyone does the same as me and buys a return ticket (300 INR one way). Back on the other side, I continue my walk to the dock to go to Umananda Island, or Peacock Island (ticket: 200 INR). Here too, there are a lot of people. You have to climb a small hill to reach the temple, and the atmosphere is really friendly.





On the way back, I head toward my accommodation. I pass by the High Court and spot two beautiful colonial houses across from it. I stop in front of one, which is in a well-maintained park—the house is magnificent. A guard with a submachine gun slung over his shoulder approaches me and signals for me to leave. I don’t react and quickly leave the area. I pass by the planetarium—there’s a crowd waiting for the next show at 4 PM, but I’d rather go for lunch than wait. There are restaurants across the street, and I find a really nice one called *The Hangout*. I’ll have my first *masala dosa* there.



Afterward, I take the street to the left, which leads me to a small market. I retrace my steps, visit an emporium, and then head calmly toward the pastry shop. Today, I try a lemon macaron—okay, it’s not very Indian, but this pastry shop is so tempting that I can’t resist. Tonight, I try another restaurant. It’ll be mushrooms in cheese sauce with rice, and it’s really good (240 INR).

I don’t go to bed too late, but I’m tired after such a full day. As soon as I lie down, I feel my stomach isn’t happy. The night will be restless, and I’ll be making regular trips between the bed and the bathroom. I’m off to a great start on this trip if I get food poisoning on the first day. I’m not sure what made me sick, but I’ll be more careful about what I drink and eat in the coming days.

This time I’m flying again with Etihad Airways—I booked the ticket during my trip to Cambodia: Barcelona/Kolkata, Delhi/Barcelona for 567 €.

I’ve often had this idea, but when you add the travel costs to get to the chosen airport, plus potentially a night in a hotel, you realize the price you paid isn’t really a saving. Plus, the fatigue from this kind of flight compared to a Pau-India route with just a short layover in CDG and a direct flight afterward.

P.S.: What energy and thirst for travel journals!

There aren’t many people at immigration

Thanks, Marie Jo! 😊

I’m starting to feel really tired

Tell me about it!

I don't think I'll follow your travel journal for now. We'll see later... I like switching authors between every two or three reads... Don't take it the wrong way.

(I’ve often had this idea, but when you add in the travel costs to get to the chosen airport, plus possibly a night in a hotel, you realize the price you pay isn’t really a saving. + The fatigue from this kind of flight vs. a Pau–India route with just a short layover in CDG and then a direct flight afterward.)

(I don’t have a flight from Perpignan/CDG—it’d mean going to Orly, and I’d have to spend at least one night near an airport, so for me, it’s easier to go to Barcelona. Everyone around here leaves from Barcelona. I don’t think I’ll follow your travel journal now. We’ll see later.)

Thanks for your quick visit. It’s still something new, but you’re free to look elsewhere—no worries

thanks for your quick visit. It’s still something new, but feel free to look elsewhere—no worries!

But don’t take it the wrong way... I’ll definitely read your travel journal, of course. The topic interests me, but I might read it all in one go once it’s finished. I need a little time between different authors...

I don’t know how to tell you...

For example, I love chocolate mousse, but when I have some and then some more and then even more, it makes me sick, whereas if I space out the servings, I digest it just fine

Thanks for stopping by briefly. It’s definitely something new, but feel free to look elsewhere—no worries!

But don’t take it the wrong way... I’ll definitely read your travel journal, of course... the topic interests me, but I might read it all in one go when it’s finished. I need a little time between different authors...

No worries, all good! 😊😄

Monday, March 24th. I had a peaceful night and slept well. I have breakfast (omelette, toast) before leaving the house. I need to take a taxi (400 rs) to reach the bus stop, which is outside the city center. I'm heading to Kaziranga—the bus is comfortable, and everyone has a seat. It feels almost luxurious (500 rs). We leave around 9:30 AM. On the way, we make a half-hour stop for a meal.

At first, we pass by rice fields, then tea gardens take over. Tall trees are planted among the tea bushes. The landscape is stunning, and I’m glued to the window.

Before arriving in Kaziranga, we drive alongside the park. The speed limit is 30 km/h, and I spot rhinos and elephants. It’s so exciting to see all this!

The bus drops me off by the roadside, and I take a rickshaw to Green Gables Kairanga GH, which I booked on Booking.com (4088 rs for 2 nights, breakfast included). The house is new and run by a very friendly young couple. It’s in the countryside, close to the tea gardens.

Once settled, the host offers to take me to visit an orchid garden with 500 varieties (entry: 500 rs). The orchids grow in a large greenhouse, and the visit is guided. There are all kinds of colors—some individual, some in clusters. It’s amazing!





The greenhouse is in a large garden surrounded by bamboo, and a small dance performance is offered to visitors. My taxi is waiting at the exit, and we head back to the house, where I’ll have dinner.

Tuesday, March 25th. Had a really peaceful night—so nice and quiet. Since I arrived in Assam, I’ve noticed this area is much less noisy, with lighter traffic, so it’s way less tiring. I booked a jeep for this morning, and we’re set to leave at 7 AM (4000 rs for the jeep). I’ll grab breakfast when we get back. At the park entrance, there are at least thirty jeeps gathered. It’s a little worrying to see so many people in the same place at the same time.

The driver signs us in at the entrance, and we wait for the gates to open at 7:30 AM. Before entering, a guard searches my bag—plastic bottles and cigarettes are banned. I had a bottle, but luckily, the driver hid it with his things. All these jeeps starting up at once makes me a little nervous—it’s my first safari, and I didn’t imagine we’d be this crowded. Well, it’s India. We spot a wild boar, and in the distance, I see deer, an elephant, and one-horned rhinos. This species is unique to this region and only found in Asia.





A little further on, several jeeps are stopped. We approach slowly, and the driver checks with his colleagues before signaling me to look into the bushes. I see a big brown shape—a tiger—quickly disappearing into the jungle. I didn’t get a photo, but I hope we’ll see another one up closer. This is already getting exciting. We continue down a trail, the jeeps have spread out, and drivers call each other when they spot something interesting. A bit further, we see wild elephants—I’m so happy to see them up close. It’s a dream come true.



Rhinos are everywhere—what incredible animals.



The driver stops and points out a branch by the water where turtles are resting.



Further on, a Bengal monitor lizard on a tree trunk.



deer with beautiful antlers emerging from a thicket.



The morning flies by, and I’m absolutely enchanted by the visit. On the way back, a jeep is stopped, and the driver turns to me and says *tiger*. We stop, and now several jeeps are waiting. Five minutes, ten minutes pass, the other jeeps leave, but my driver waits another five good minutes before slowly starting up again. He drives past the thicket, and in the distance, across a pond, we spot a tiger swimming before it disappears into the jungle. I managed to take a photo—it’s not great, but what a memory!

We get back to the guesthouse at 10:30 AM, and I’m so thrilled that I ask the driver if he’s free this afternoon for another safari. I have breakfast—hard-boiled eggs, rotis, potatoes, and tea. I’ll make it till tonight. I go for a walk around the house, take a side street, follow the homes, and at the end, I come across a huge tea garden.

At 1:30 PM, the driver picks me up, and we head further for this new safari. At the start, there are far fewer of us than this morning. When I get in, my bag is thoroughly searched—I didn’t bring a water bottle this time. We drive a little, and very quickly, I spot rhinos quite close to the path.





A little further on, we stop, get out of the car, and a guard points out a cobra hidden in the bushes—impossible to photograph. We continue, and then there are elephants by the water. Further on, one crosses the path, and we follow it—it’s really exciting! Even further, they’re in a family group in the bushes.





a wading bird watches for fish



I’m truly happy and delighted with this day, even though we didn’t see a single tiger this afternoon. We return home around 5:30 PM—the day was packed with emotion.

Hi Marie-Jo,

Thanks for this new travel journal—I’ll be following it closely! You got so close to the animals; what an incredible experience, I can only imagine.

As for me, I don’t have the energy to start a new journal. Especially since you’ve already thoroughly documented West Bengal, where I wandered during my last two trips to India, drawing inspiration from your journal about the demonetization era. Such a great state, barely visited by Westerners, much like Assam, I’d guess. This year, we only crossed paths with about a dozen foreigners, mostly in Kolkata...

Hey there! So glad you're back on the forum—that’s great! During my trip to West Bengal, I didn’t come across any Westerners. This year, though, I saw a couple at the guesthouse in Kaziranga who I think were from New Zealand. At the guesthouse in Majuli, there was a young German couple and one from Switzerland, and I spotted 4 or 5 foreign tourists in Mon during the festival (Nagaland). Oh, and there was a French camper van without its passengers at the Myanmar border. I’ll tell you more about it later. It’s too bad if you’re not keeping up with your travel journals—mine’s really outdated now, and this year’s trip included a part in Sikkim! 😊😊 Come on, a little courage! 😉

Good evening Marie-Jo,

Well, just back from Chhattisgarh and off you go again to Assam! You really don’t slow down, do you? You’re churning out travel journals one after another and keeping up a cracking pace! You must be retired to do that! [:P] I’ve been retired much longer than you and I’m still procrastinating over my MyAtlas one.

Assam—we went there with a group of friends about fifteen years ago. The three-day cruise on the Brahmaputra was the highlight of the trip. I recognized the Kamakhya Temple. I have a, let’s say, macabre memory of it . I can still hear the screams of those poor little goats being sacrificed, and I can still see the pools of blood spilled on the ground that we walked through... barefoot, of course! As for Kaziranga, I’m shocked by the number of jeeps packed with Indian tourists. We didn’t experience that. It must have been really noisy. It *is* India, after all! The rangers have even started banning plastic bottles to prevent them from ending up in nature! It *is* India! Bring a reusable water bottle next time! [;)]

I’ll be following the Nagaland part with interest. Best,

Michel

Hey, I couldn't resist. I wanted to compare it with my trip to Assam in 2019. I'm glad you're so happy despite these tough conditions. That Indian woman in a sun hat in a jeep heading into the jungle is the very symbol of that bourgeois India—I hate it—on vacation. It reminds me of the French woman in Guadeloupe who claimed she was climbing La Soufrière in stilettos. I never saw her reach the top... When I went to Kaziranga, we set off almost at nightfall, riding elephants so as not to disturb or scare the animals, including the rhinos. And there weren’t many of us. And the "little ones" were following their mothers on walks...



I see things have changed a lot, and Indians will do anything for money, even violate nature and the jungle. In 20 years, India will be nothing more than a distant memory of a terrestrial paradise. Luckily, I’ll be dead and won’t have to see it. Clearly, in a very different style, we share the same approach to discovering the unknown India. But hurry up and finish your discoveries because in 2 or 3 years, it’ll all be ruined—none of this will exist anymore. You’re really lucky to have seen the tiger. In 16 years, I haven’t even managed to spot the ears or tail of one. I’m only posting one photo so I don’t clutter your travel journal with mine, even though I’m itching to show them...

The goat sacrifices François mentioned, on the other hand, didn’t appeal to me at all...

Hi Marie-Jo,

in the distance, in a pond, we spot a tiger swimming and disappearing into the jungle.

The Bengal Tiger—we were lucky enough to see one strutting disdainfully in front of us for several long minutes in Nagarhole National Park, on the border of Kerala and Karnataka. No doubt the guide had slipped him a little *bakshish* so we could admire him!

See here

Hello, I’m going to clutter the travel journal a bit... tiger sightings have become more frequent in Kaziranga in recent years. I’ve been visiting parks in India since... 1991, and regularly (several times a year) since 2000. From a tourist perspective, in many parks (except Ranthambore, Kanha, and Bandhavgarh), it was practically deserted until around 2010—just 1 to 5 jeeps. Then, with the rise of the internet and the growth of India’s middle class, locals started visiting their own parks. After COVID, it’s been an "invasion." I think it’s completely normal and really interesting for wildlife conservation—even if the animals are disturbed—along with environmental efforts (like banning plastic bottles) that locals are exploring their parks. Unlike the rest of India, there’s no litter. Guides or drivers scold local tourists if they throw trash outside the jeep. If they could keep up this habit in daily life, it’d be great for fighting pollution. Sometimes, we don’t do much better in France... For marien33, I’d be happy to share 1 or 2 safaris with you to show you a tiger. To give you an idea, during my last trip to Tadoba in April, out of 22 safaris, only one was tiger-free, and I was lucky enough to see 41 different tigers—66 in total, counting repeat sightings...

For marien33, I’d be happy to share 1 or 2 safaris with you to show you a tiger.

Let’s take this to PM so we don’t derail this travel journal any further

Hi Marie Jo So, you're not continuing? I'm not too keen on your new profile picture choice. You look so sad... so unhappy....

Hey Michel, Sure enough, the tip must’ve been big to see it that close. I know where I need to go to hope for an even closer look ;)

March 26 to March 30. MAJULI My host walks me to the side of the road, and we wait 5 minutes for the bus to arrive. Here, everyone travels seated, which is really nice. Along the way, we pass tea gardens on both sides of the road. It’s the start of the picking season, and the women are at work.

In Jorhat, I take a rickshaw to Neematighat, 12 km away, where the ferry terminal to Majuli Island is located. The crossing takes an hour by ferry—it’s pretty slow, and the ferry is full. It carries cars, motorcycles, goods, and pedestrians.

We arrive at Dakhinpat, and as soon as I get off the ferry, I’m quickly picked up by a shared taxi driver. We have to wait until the car is full to leave—that means 10 passengers—and we head to Garamur. When we arrive, I easily find a tuk-tuk that takes me to Ananda’s place. We stop by the restaurant, and an employee leads me down the path to the accommodations—simple, clean bamboo bungalows side by side. The place is really nice and peaceful. I spend the afternoon relaxing. I meet the owner, who suggests a tuk-tuk tour for the next day. We go to the restaurant, where maps of this part of the island are displayed. We plan the next day’s visit to the most important satras. The distances are too far to cover by bike, so I’ll need to hire a tuk-tuk for the day.

satra = Hindu monastery. Of the 65 satras that once existed on the island, only 22 remain today, all dedicated to Vishnu and also serving as cultural centers. The monks are known for their traditional dances and songs, but you have to come during the festivals—unfortunately, there aren’t any right now.



Thursday, March 27. The rickshaw driver, Binud, picks me up at 8:15 AM and takes me to Chamagari Satra. This is the center of mask culture in Majuli. When we arrive, I see the masks displayed on the outer walls.



A small room on the side is filled with heads representing various mythological characters and creatures.





Across from it, another room where young monks are working on making new masks. These masks are used in bhaonas, traditional plays where actors wear them to portray mythological stories. The masks representing demons are the most beautiful.

Some masks are made for sale to tourists.



A little farther on, the monastery resembles a large hall with openings on the sides where devotees come to pray. At the back of the hall, a section is reserved for the sacred, with deities. The prayer hall is called a namghar.



Around the monastery, rows of living quarters for the monks. Each has a room with a shared kitchen and toilet. Young monks often arrive at the monastery as early as age seven. They’re taken in by the elders and receive an education, spending years mastering the arts taught at the satra.

We head to the potters’ village, Salmora Gaon. When we arrive, Binud stops near a very traditional kiln. The fire is at the bottom, and on the upper level, pots are stacked on top of each other and covered with earth, which hardens during firing.





A woman and two men are unloading the still-warm pots. She ties the pots together with bamboo vines to lower them to the side of the road.

A little further into the courtyard of a house, a woman is working seated on a stool close to the ground, creating a pot.



She doesn’t have a wheel; the very dark clay is rolled into a coil, and she places it in a saucer that she spins with her foot while shaping the coil with her hands. She adds more clay as the piece takes form until she achieves a pot. The clay comes from the riverbed.

The pots then dry in the sun before she picks them up again and taps them to give them their final shape. After this step, they’ll be fired. From there, we head to the banks of the Brahmaputra, where women are doing laundry, men are fishing from boats, and pots are stored before being loaded onto boats bound for Jorhat, where they’ll be sold at the markets.



Along the road, we pass Mishing houses, built on stilts and made of bamboo mats with palm roofs. Each house has its own boat, stored under the stilts, which they use during the monsoon season from June to September when the water can rise very high.





There’s also a loom, and the women often work on it.



Here, she’s making a *gamosa*. It’s a cloth that can be used as a towel, handkerchief, or belt. It holds an important place in Assamese culture and is used during social, cultural, and religious ceremonies. The *gamosa* is also a symbol of hospitality, friendship, and respect. I’ll be given several during my stay.

Next stop at the *satra* of Dakhinpat. It’s very old and very important in Majuli. Photos are not allowed here. We continue to Uttar Kamalabari *satra*, also very significant. This is where *Sattriya Nritya*, one of the eight forms of classical Indian dance, is practiced.



the people in the photo above are wearing the *gamosa* as a scarf.



On the way, we stop to see two women preparing the warp for their next weaving. We finish at Auniati *satra* with its museum.





Back to the guesthouse after this beautiful day.

Hi Marie-Jo, What memories... I’m rediscovering places I’ve visited. We took almost the same photos [;)] My trip to Assam left me with a sense of unfinished business. Given how I travel, I didn’t stay long enough—just a week, I think. Weirdly, I can’t find any documents from that trip except the photos... I loved Majuli. But I remember it rained a lot...

two women preparing the warp for their next weaving.

No, those threads are the warp. The weft is the thread on the shuttle that’s passed through the warp. I was a weaver for over 15 years...

Hi Jean-Marie and Marie-Jo,

I’ve always called the stretched threads the "trame" too—it makes sense if you think of it like "the plot of a story," which is the structure of a novel, for example. Thanks for the insight, JM; I’ll sleep a little smarter tonight and try to use the right term from now on.

Thanks, MJ, for your photos and your travel journal.

Have a great day, both of you!

Christine

Don’t worry, actually, only specialists know that the right term for these threads is the *chain*.[;)]

No worries, actually, it’s really only the experts who know that the right term for these threads is "chaîne."[;)]

Actually, I had a feeling that wasn’t the right word, and since I couldn’t remember it, I just put "trame," figuring Marien would correct me anyway... and here we are. Thanks!😅

Actually, I thought it didn’t sound right, and since I couldn’t remember the correct word, I just left the template, figuring Marien would correct me anyway... and here we are.

If that’s how you’re taking it... Write whatever you want, however you want. I’ll stop following this travel journal to avoid the temptation of adding my two cents...

Did you see a tiger... amazing

This travel journal seems really different from the others—you highlight so many of India’s attractions, thank youuu [:)]

Friday, March 28 Since 5 AM this morning, the rain has been falling. It's now 7 AM, and it's still going, so I'm staying in bed with a book, hoping it'll stop soon. An hour later, I head out for breakfast—the sky is gray, but the rain has stopped.

I order an omelet with toast, and they serve me a stuffed omelet with 3 slices of soggy white bread. Not great—I’ll be more careful in the coming days.

The owner of the guesthouse comes to get me and explains the route I need to take by bike today. We head to the rental shop at the end of the street. I’ve photographed the route and noted the names of the villages I need to pass through.

I wander through the countryside, accompanied by birds, and cross villages with stilt houses.

I stop in a village to watch some young people playing carrom—it doesn’t look easy.

A little further on, a woman is working at her loom, and I stop—I’m always fascinated by looms. I stay for a while, watching her work.



I follow a river, and a kid in a boat waves at me—maybe he’s fishing. We exchange big waves.



I reach a bamboo bridge—the passage is toll-based: 20 rs.



Further on, there’s a raft crossing. Bikes and motorcycles are allowed on board. A rope is stretched along the crossing, and the guy operating the raft uses it to pull himself along. It’s a pretty archaic but effective method. (Crossing: 100 rs)

I cross two more bridges. The first is in bad shape—after crossing, I realize you can actually go underneath it. The second is busier, and a concrete bridge is under construction, which will make life easier for locals, even if it loses some of its charm.

All day, I follow a river with fishing nets, birds, and rice fields. The ride is lovely—the nature is beautiful, I see local life, and I’m loving it.



I must’ve biked longer than planned because I had to backtrack several times and ask for help to find the right path. The route is a loop, and the day was really enjoyable. On the way back, I return the bike and pay 150 rs. I head back for a well-deserved snack after this active day

Hi Marie Jo,

The colors and pattern woven by that woman are gorgeous. Did you see this kind of fabric for sale? It’s so original and contemporary.

Those raft-ferry crossings for rivers or bridges in Majuli were really expensive—or did you get the tourist price? In Murshidabad, we paid 5 rupees several times to cross on foot by raft, 5 rupees per passenger in Kalna, and 250 rupees for the car. Locals can’t afford 100 rupees—that’s a fortune for them...

This year, I learned how to "play" carrom at a guesthouse. What a laugh we had... I’m absolutely hopeless at making the right move with two fingers to flick the piece. My friends and the Indians were stunned. And yet, I tried *so* many times. I managed to score a few points, but it was pure luck.

Saturday, March 29. I head out again with Binud, the rickshaw driver. He’s so kind that I’m happy to give him work. We set off to visit some satras, the first one being Utal Kumabalari Satra, which is very old. A group of women arrives at the same time, and the selfie sessions start in good spirits. They’re really impressed to see me traveling alone from France, ask my age, and then want more photos. I find these moments fun and enjoy myself. Several times during my stay, people ask how long the flight is from France to India, and every time, it leaves them dreaming.

On the way out, I spot a beautiful bird.



Next, he takes me to visit an association that employs women. The room is filled with weaving looms.

Farther on, we arrive in a larger village, and I hear music and see children parading. We quickly stop—I want to see what’s happening.







The children are in traditional outfits, accompanied by adults. I follow them and have a great time. We arrived at just the right moment—these are kids from several schools, all in different outfits, boys and girls, young and older. The most beautiful outfits will certainly be rewarded.



We pass by rice fields where we’re staying. Women fish along the riverbank. We go by the old abandoned pier—the stretch of sand is vast.



We head to Kamalabari Satra. This satra is very important, and the monks’ living quarters, or *hutis*, are around the monastery.





The day was nice and relaxed.

for fabric, there’s no shop since everyone has a loom at home. for the raft, I doubt there’s a tourist rate since very few people do this tour. Maybe I got ripped off—I don’t know if I misunderstood or added a zero when I wrote it in my travel journal that night. But it seemed expensive to me.

How lovely it is to follow you along the river, from village to temple and workshop, so close to the people. I’d happily hop on a bicycle! No wonder they shower you with gamosas—you seem so kind. Could you tell us more about your new profile picture?

Welcome Jean Luc, and thanks for your message.

"Could you tell us more about your new profile picture?" Yes, coming soon—just a little patience ;)

Sunday, March 30th Woke up at 5:15 AM. At 6 AM, the hostel owner takes me to Binud, who had fallen asleep. We head to Dakhinpat Gate—no shared taxis today since it's Sunday. The electric tuk-tuk ride feels a bit long, and time is ticking. I need to catch the 8 AM ferry. We arrive at 7:20 AM, and there’s already a crowd at the ticket stand, but it’s closed. The ferry is already full and leaves at 8 AM. Once it departs, two men show up, the counter opens, and there’s a bit of a scramble—one line for men, one for women. The ferry arrives but won’t leave again until 8:20 AM, which worries me because I have a train to catch in Jorhat.

Binud suggests calling a taxi in Jorhat to take me to the station faster; otherwise, I’ll miss my train. I accept his offer. Before leaving, Binud offers me tea and a biscuit—much appreciated.

When I disembark, the taxi is already waiting for me. It’s easy for him to spot me—I’m the only tourist. We leave quickly. The ride is pretty long, and Binud calls the driver to make sure he found me and gives him instructions to take me all the way to the train.

We arrive at the station, but we don’t take the main entrance. Instead, we climb a staircase overlooking the tracks, then go down and walk the entire platform to the ticket counter at the other end. I hurry—luckily, there’s no one at the counter. I buy my ticket. The driver catches up with me, and the train pulls in. We rush to an almost-empty carriage. The driver helps me with my bag, gets off quickly, and the train departs. So many emotions—the driver was about to call Birud to reassure him.

For a large part of the journey, we pass tea plantations—it’s stunning. I arrive in Dimapur, get off the train, and a police officer spots me. He takes me to the police station to register. I have to show my passport, visa, and entry permit for Nagaland. He asks for the dates of my stay in Nagaland and the places I’ll visit. He notes everything in a register and asks for the address of the hostel where I’ll be staying in Kohima.

At the exit, I take a tuk-tuk to Cedar Hotel, which I booked by email. It’s 300 meters from the station. The hotel is great—young, friendly staff at the reception. The room is spacious, clean, with a big bed for 1680 Rs, and there’s a restaurant I’ll try later.

I go visit the Kachari ruins, which close 10 minutes after I arrive. They’re mushroom-shaped dome pillars. The purpose of these monoliths remains a mystery to this day.

Only the fort gate remains.

There isn’t much to see in Dimapur—the city is dirty, dusty, and everything is closed. It’s strange to see a city that feels almost dead, especially in India. I head back to the hotel around 5 PM.

Monday, March 31st I leave Dimapur at 9:15 AM in a shared taxi for Kohima. The driver is speedy, the road is quite winding and often two-way. We arrive safely at 10:45 AM. Now I need to take another taxi to Khonoma—only 22 km, but it takes an hour to get there. Upon arrival, the taxi drops me off at the registration office where I have to show all my documents again. Then he takes me to Hills View Cottage Khonoma. The house is beautifully flowered with lovely views of the mountains and rice fields, but it’s misty.



The house is empty when I arrive. I call out, knock on the door—no one answers. I wait on a stool, and I pique the curiosity of a neighbor who calls the daughter of the house, who seems fast asleep. She shows me to a small, simple, and clean room with a bathroom. The owner arrives around 2 PM and offers me lunch. I need to hire a guide to visit the village, and he comes to pick me up at the house. We return to the registration office and take the street that goes up with lots of steps. In this small village, there are three forts that were once occupied by the "Nagas Angamis," who resisted the British until 1880. "The Angamis were originally warriors and headhunters. They spent much of their time fighting neighboring villages. As a symbol of their power, they would cut off the heads of their enemies. This ended with the arrival of the British."



A man sitting on the fort steps agrees to a few photos.



Nagaland was animist, but since the British, they’ve adopted the Baptist religion. In December, the great Hornbill Festival takes place, gathering most of the tribal communities for cultural demonstrations. We head down to the village square, which is used for meetings. On either side of the square, I discover the morungs, beautifully decorated with Mithun horns and other animal skulls, wood carvings... Guns, decorations, the jewelry they wear during the festival, and woven baskets adorn the walls.









Unmarried men gather here to learn the customs and traditions of the tribe. The Naga elders orally pass down religious practices, folk music and songs, wood carving, bamboo weaving, and tribal dialects. The crops are terraced—they’ve just harvested garlic and are now growing potatoes. The monsoon lasts from June to September, and during these four months, the land transforms into rice fields.



The guide leaves me, and I continue on another road that leads nowhere. I have no choice but to turn back and return to the homestay, where I get to know the whole family. Before arriving at the house, I play with this adorable little girl.

Tuesday, April 1st I set off with the guide and a taxi to explore the surroundings of Khonoma. We take dusty tracks that lead us to beautiful viewpoints.



We stop by the roadside, and the guide shows me the cliff where natural beehives are hanging—it’s quite fascinating. Beekeepers have to climb the cliff to collect the honey; what an acrobatic feat to get there!



We continue along the track, which takes us to a large, clean picnic area—it’s really pleasant.



We cross the pink bridge and follow the path that leads us near a waterfall in a small gorge. Too bad the trail doesn’t go any further; I would’ve loved to hike for the day.



Back at the car, we continue to the village of Poilwa. In this valley, the houses have electricity but no phone service. It’s hard to believe that in this day and age, you still can’t get a phone signal here. We take a track that passes by the Poilwa sheep farm. The site has become a popular attraction thanks to its landscapes. A sign points to Hepuidoi, and we arrive at a large, rolling meadow with views of the mountains and forest.



I get out and spot a group of people who’ve set out a row of large pots. Curious, I approach them—they’re organizing a massive picnic, and all the dishes look delicious. They invite me to join them, but this morning at the guesthouse, they packed our picnic, which won’t be nearly as tasty, and I can’t just abandon the guide. What a shame!

The rhododendrons are in bloom here, and they’re actually trees—impressive!



We turn back and stop at the farm. The guide has me hop over the fence, and we go meet the couple who live here. The area is hilly, with sheep roaming freely.

On one side, there are houses, and lower down, a large, sprawling barn where the sheep spend the night on one side, and the other side is used to store rice and potatoes.



Before heading back, we go see another viewpoint facing Khonoma. The village is quite spread out, and the guide points out the guesthouse in the distance. The day in nature has been really enjoyable.

Wednesday, April 2nd I’m heading out for the day again with the guide and the taxi. We’re visiting Khonoma, starting with the ethnic museum. It’s very large, but the exhibits aren’t well highlighted. The lighting through the display cases creates reflections, so photos aren’t great. You can see traditional clothing from different tribes, along with jewelry, weapons, and pottery.

Here are the tattoos from different tribes, and you can recognize the Konyak tattoo from the photo on my profile.

We continue to the large Baptist church, which is built on a hill and overlooks the town.



The interior is rounded with benches all around, a few stained-glass windows, and paintings of biblical scenes.



We head to the site of the Hornbill Festival. The hornbill is the emblem of Nagaland and symbolizes bravery. The hornbill’s feather represents prestige and honor among the Nagas. The bird is symbolically depicted on all traditional headgear worn during the festival. Elephants and tigers are also represented. The *morungs* (youth dormitories) are all different depending on the tribe.







After the picnic, we visit the Khonoma War Cemetery, which is very well maintained. This cemetery dates back to World War II and holds the graves of British and Indian soldiers killed by the Japanese. The view of the town is interesting. Some young girls are dressed in traditional attire, posing for photos—it’s a strange idea to take pictures in a cemetery. Once the session is over, they change back into their regular clothes and head out.

Before heading back, we visit the market where they sell grilled bees and beehives. Farther along, there are live toads and large, wriggling larvae. The woman selling them offers me a taste, but no thanks—my grimace makes her laugh.



We take the road back to Kohima while listening to French songs the driver added to his playlist for me—so sweet!

Thursday, April 3 I leave the homestay at 9:30 AM and return to Khonoma by taxi. Upon arrival, a shared taxi is about to leave, so it takes my bag, puts it on the roof, I get in the car, and we set off. This driver goes slower than the one on the way there.

We arrive in Dimapur, and the stop is in the station parking lot, which is close to the hotel I walk back to. The staff welcomes me warmly with big smiles and puts me in a room next to the one I had last time.

Once settled, I head to the station to check the train schedule for the next morning. It’s indeed at 9:10 AM and doesn’t require a reservation.

Today, the city is livelier, and I take the opportunity to browse the local craft shops. The temptation is strong, but the trip is still long, and my bag is heavy, so I stay wise.

As I continue my walk, I spot a covered market, and I can’t resist taking a look. So many surprises await me, but not knowing what they are, I head in confidently.

Vegetables sit alongside more or less large toads—now I’m "used to it"—and slugs are also well represented.



This market spans three rows. I’m at one end and head to the third row, where I see fruit stalls. I pick a few mandarins and two mangoes.



I see and hear chickens and roosters in the middle aisle. I walk past a red meat stand without paying attention and head straight to see the chickens. Before I get there, I stop short—my heart races, and I can’t believe my eyes. With a mix of surprise, disgust, and fear, I approach the cages slowly. It’s not a vision; they’re really white mice in cages above guinea pigs.





The vendor looks amused. I step back nervously—yes, I have a panic fear of mice—and ask if they eat them. With a big smile, he nods, says it’s very good, and tries to sell me some. No thanks, but I’m still in shock. Disgusted, I take the exit, skirting that aisle.

I come back to the red meat and this time, I pay attention, wondering what animal it could be. I think it’s a sheep, but no, that’s not it. I see legs sticking out of a basin and ask the vendor.



"Dog," sorry, I ask again, "dog?" Yes, dog. Oh no, really? Mice now dogs—where am I? I look at all the basins, and in the last one, there’s even a head.



In burlap sacks, tied up, I see dogs waiting for the slaughterhouse.



I leave with my hands on my head. Never, never would I have imagined that people eat like this in India. In Vietnam, I knew they ate dog, but in India? It seems unreal. This country will always surprise me.

On my way out, I come across a basket-weaving shop. They’re beautiful, but a bit bulky to bring back to France.

Another amazing trip and a fantastic travel journal! You were so lucky to see a tiger that close... ... And I was also really surprised to see all those animals at the market—mice and dogs! Even in Vietnam, where you see tons of animals of all kinds in markets, I’ve never seen dog heads displayed like that or dogs waiting to be killed... Poor things, it’s awful. I didn’t think that happened in India. Last winter, in Varkala, Kerala, we often had lunch at a restaurant run by people who looked really Vietnamese, but they told me they were from Nagaland... (They didn’t serve dog, thank goodness!) So they were definitely Indian... but really had that Southeast Asian look. Did you notice that too? Anyway, thanks, Marie Jo, for this story...

"Last winter, in Varkala, Kerala, we often had lunch at a restaurant run by people who looked really Vietnamese but told me they were from Nagaland... (They didn’t serve dog, by the way!!!). So they were indeed Indian... but really had that Southeast Asian look. Have you noticed that too?"

Hi Anne, Thanks for joining us! I was surprised no one reacted to that market and all the food they eat in that part of Nagaland. It’s only around Dimapur and Kohima-Khonoma. Indeed, in Nagaland, they have a Southeast Asian appearance. Later, when you visit Mon, Myanmar isn’t far, and you won’t feel like you’re in India anymore. Nagaland is so unique and fascinating to visit—the hospitality in Assam, Nagaland, and Meghalaya is incredible.... I’ll post more soon; I don’t have much Wi-Fi right now, so I’m not making much progress... hopefully tomorrow! 🌍😊

Friday, April 4 The train is on time, and it’s already quite crowded inside. Still, I manage to find a seat easily—doors and windows are open, so we’re nicely ventilated. We pass by tea plantations dotted with shade trees, and it’s always beautiful seeing all those greens blending together in nature. This train stops often, and the smells from the latrines spread through the carriage. I can’t wait to get moving again—once we’re rolling, the odors disappear. My fellow travelers are friendly. We make a stop that lasts a good hour, and the long delays continue until Bhoji, where I get off with a two-hour delay. I’m exhausted. I take a rickshaw to the Majestic Hotel in Sonari. The hotel is run by a very welcoming young couple. A small room (1400 rs) will do for the night. The restaurant is open, and I go to grab a bite since breakfast feels like ages ago, and I’m starting to get hungry. I’m so tired that I go to bed at 9 PM and fall asleep quickly.

Saturday, April 5 After a good breakfast, I leave the hotel in a tuk-tuk that takes me to where the sumo is supposed to depart. Today, it’s not running because there’s a festival in Mon. I have to go to Tiznit, a few kilometers away. The tuk-tuk, with its electric car, can’t make the trip, so the driver takes me to one of his colleagues. We pass by tea plantations again—it’s always impressive to see all these vast stretches. Along the road, I see people dressed in traditional attire.

We arrive in Tiznit at 9:20 AM, and there I learn that because of the festival in Mon, there’s only one car leaving at 11:30 AM. Oh no, I’m so disappointed—it’s the last day of the festival, and I won’t be able to attend. I tried to book a room at the homestay before Christmas, but it was already fully booked until today. I couldn’t find any other accommodation, and now I don’t have transportation.

In the end, there are a lot of us waiting for the car, and the driver decides to leave at 10:30 AM. There are 10 adults plus the driver and 3 kids on their moms’ laps. Safety standards here are very different from France. The driver stops often during the trip to add water to the radiator. Will we make it safely? That’s the question I ask myself at every stop. Tiznit is 35 km from Mon, and it takes us an hour and a half to get there. When I get out of the car, I find a taxi that takes me to Aihan Homestay. The owners are away for the week, but the staff member who welcomes me is very kind and does his best to help. The festival is over 4 km away, and I have to take a tuk-tuk to get there. The caretaker accompanies me to the village center to find a taxi. On the main road, a car with a young couple stops next to me and offers me a ride to the festival. I’m thrilled, and we speed off, but there are so many people heading to the same place that we waste a lot of time finding a parking spot. Time is flying, and with the traffic jams, the woman suggests I get out and walk to the festival—and she’s absolutely right. I never saw them again.

The first performance of the afternoon is already over. Two groups of women in different outfits are sitting under the tent.





Here too, there are morungs—they’re different from those in Khonoma, and today they’re full of people. I can take photos, and with the festival atmosphere, everyone is happy to pose with a smile. A small group of men is gathered around a fire.





Some younger men are playing wooden drums.



Outside, I can’t resist photographing these men in their unique outfits and jewelry.





There aren’t many tourists here—I counted about ten under the open-air tent. Once again on this trip, I’m experiencing an extraordinary and unique moment. I see different troupes parading, and they go to set up under the tent.



The show is about to start again, so I follow the crowd and look for a spot with a good view. Each tribe has different outfits, and it’s amazing to be part of this event.



The women dance barefoot, some carry rifles and aren’t afraid to use them—they fire toward the ground while jumping. I hope they’re using blanks—it makes a lot of noise and kicks up dust.

A storm hits us around 4 PM and lasts for quite a while. Most of the spectators head back to their vehicles, but I take shelter in a morung and hesitate to leave. Once the rain stops, I go back outside, and a man in a car steps out with a bottle of water and a carton of fruit juice to offer me. He tells me to stay because the festival will resume, and if I can’t find a ride back after the show, he’ll take me to Mon. What an incredible welcome—I head back to the tent with peace of mind. Several people are photographing the seated troupes, so I grab my camera and do the same.



Men begin with rifles in hand





Several dances happen at the same time. A group of men takes the stage and lets out cries like New Zealand’s haka—it’s impressive.

Women are also present



The tattooed men let themselves be photographed today without charging.



After the show, I head back to the car, but the driver is gone. A woman nearby spots me and calls me over—she wants selfies. We take several photos, and she offers to drive me back to Mon, where they live. I ask if the festival will happen tomorrow, Sunday, but no—it’s over because Sunday is a sacred day, so everything is closed. People go to church and stay home. Back in my room, I message the owner to ask if I can get a guide and a car to explore the region tomorrow. Well, since no one works on Sundays, I’m stuck in Mon. Sunday evening, a guide will come by the house, and we’ll plan Monday’s day. Tonight, the power goes out, making the evening feel long, even though a bulb runs on battery power.

Incredible Nagaland! Thanks and congratulations for the quality of this trip report.

Back home, I’m sending a message to the owner asking what I can do tomorrow, Sunday

You’re insatiable but selective (no dog, no mouse )

Hi there, I’m still following your story with interest... When we went to Myanmar, in the mountains to the west near the border with India, we saw women with their faces fully tattooed... Not the men, and on the Nagaland side, it’s apparently the men who are tattooed. Good luck with the rest of your trip...

You're insatiable but selective (neither dog nor mouse )

That's exactly it—I don't travel to stay cooped up in a room no way

"We had seen women with their faces completely tattooed... Not the men, and on the Nagaland side, it seems the men are the ones who are tattooed."

Hi Anne, Yes, indeed, I only saw tattooed men. The younger ones no longer have tattoos.

Sunday, April 6 I had a good night’s sleep but woke up super early. The power still hasn’t come back on, and my phone’s dead.

Akai, the housekeeper, brings me a thermos of hot water and shows me the terrace. A little later, he returns with my breakfast—two fried eggs, milk tea, and three bananas. I ask for toast, but he’s out, and since it’s Sunday, all the shops are closed. I start eating, and soon he comes back, beaming—he managed to find me two slices of toast. Better than nothing!

A bit later, Akai returns with a special multi-socket adapter for charging batteries. I’m saved—I can finally recharge my phone!

Since everything’s closed today, I decide to visit the church. I leave around 9:30 AM, and I’m not the only one—there are *so* many people. The courtyard is packed with cars, and the underground parking beneath the church is full too.



Everyone’s dressed in their Sunday best. At the entrance, churchgoers hand envelopes to two people sitting behind a table. I squeeze in and stay at the back, but soon, people sitting nearby wave me forward so I can see better. The church is even bigger than the one in Kohima—same rounded style with a second floor. It slowly fills up, and the crowd is impressive.



I came just to visit, but now I’m stuck—everyone’s seated and praying. A man steps up to a podium and starts listing donors’ names and amounts. It goes on *forever* since almost everyone arrived with an envelope. Several people take turns at the podium. Then, a choir and musicians perform three pieces. After that, the men go back to listing donors—it never ends.



Finally, the mass begins. Everyone has a missal and sings along with the choir and musicians. Prayers follow one after another, and for me, it’s *so* long. The service is broadcast on a big screen for those upstairs. Next to me, people are following along on their phones. I might’ve dozed off a little, but at 12:30 PM, the first people start leaving, and I follow them—I can’t take any more. Outside, locals head home in a quiet line, no chitchat, no bars open for an apéritif like I remember from childhood. I don’t even know how it is back home now.

I desperately look for an open restaurant or grocery store, but everything’s shut. Nagaland is *so* different from the rest of India—I feel like I’ve stepped into another country since arriving here.

I go back to the house to grab my now-charged phone (still no power, though). I head out again, searching for something to snack on—I’m starving. I walk to the market and find a man waiting on the sidewalk. I ask where I can get lunch, but the answer’s the same: today’s Sunday, everything’s closed. He thinks for a moment and takes me to a shop. We go behind the counter, and I manage to buy water, chips, and biscuits. Better than nothing.

In the evening, the guide comes by as planned, and we plan the next two days’ visits. I won’t be able to see all the villages I’d noted—the distances are too far, and the roads aren’t great. The guide tells me that photos of tattooed men cost 100 Rs per person, and in the village, as soon as they spot a tourist, they gather in groups of four or five to pose. 500 Rs for photos is *way* too much. Neither the guide nor I like the idea, so we decide to skip that village.

The guide needs to check about booking my next sumo to Mokokchung, and it doesn’t sound easy.

Dinner’s another story—still no power or Wi-Fi, and the day’s been *long*. Tonight’s menu: tough pork, cauliflower, and rice. Finally, a vegetable that’s not potatoes!

No electricity, so bedtime at 9 PM.