Discovering Assam and Nagaland 2025 (page 2 of 6)

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!