Hoping to catch a glimpse into the unknown we flew up to the rarely visited 7 North Eastern States of India. North of Bangladesh and sandwiched between Myanmar and Bhutan, these often forgotten states are home to many interesting tribes people, forests, tea plantations and wildlife reserves. Needing permits in all but three states and running out of time on our visa, we decided to spend the extra $10 and risk flying into Nagaland without a permit. We have followed the thread of the ‘Nagas’ ( lizard /dragon people) and their symbolism through many continents and cultures and here was our chance to visit their namesake homeland. For centuries over 20 headhunting Naga tribes fought off any outside intruders, and when things slowed down they fought each other. With inter village wars happening as late as the 1980’s it is still common to see skull motifs in art designs. Each ridge top village, sporting a new church that replaces their animist traditions, prominently displays its ‘treaty stone’ declaring peace agreements between previously warring villages. Nowadays they are content to just cause trouble once in a while in hopes of separating from Mother India. Considering India swooped up all these little states and former kingdoms against their will, from Tripura all the way west to Kashmir, it’s not surprising that her children are rebelling to reclaim their independence.

We landed in the airport in Dimapur and were immediately invited into the airport security office to show our RAP or restricted area permit. They told us “Yes!” we could obtain a permit in Kohima but they couldn’t allow us to make the 2 hour journey without a permit. Catch 22. We were then provided free transport to the local police station in the cab of a military truck. While sipping tea and looking at photos of local tribes people we couldn’t help but notice the folders hanging on the wall: Gangsters, Habitual Offenders, Absconders Roll, Surveillance, Bad Characters A & B, etc and we breathed a sigh of relief not to fit into any of the sought after categories. The friendly police chief sent us off in a jeep to talk to the Superintendent of Police 10km away. Hey this free transport is ok and winding our way through the rolling hills and forests we thought everything would work out. Walking through the doorway marked ‘Criminal Section’ we came face to face with the grouchiest Superintendent on the face of the planet and were informed through his head honcho that we would be deported immediately to Assam. (Simply meaning they would drive us to the train station, making sure we bought a ticket to Guwahati). As we sped along on the night train bound for Assam we figured that we had just had possibly one of the shortest visits to Nagaland in history. Reading in the newspapers the following day that 10 people had been killed in fighting in Dimapur we figured it was meant to be.

With a new respect for the necessity of RAP permits we enquired about Arunachal Pradesh and had a series of shady travel agencies offer to help obtain the necessary permits for outrageous fees from $300-$400. Scratch that idea. Not needing permits to enter Assam and Meghalaya, we decided to discover what these states had to offer. Guwahati is a busy, dirty city but the area along the Brahmaputra River and the fertility temple on the hill, 7 km from downtown, is worth a look. Off in search of the infamous wild one horned rhino we couldn’t find transport anywhere. After being sent to 5 different counters at the public bus station we were directed into the station manager’s office. He helped arrange for one of his long distance drivers to drop us off at the Sera (?) sumo stop on his run to Sonapur. Following along Assam’s mighty Brahmaputra River, the bus slowed down and we jumped off at the crossroad, hiring an auto rickshaw down the dusty ‘non-road’ towards Pabitora Wildlife Sanctuary. As we bumped along we couldn’t believe our eyes as wild rhinos, some with new babies, grazed lazily in the green fields along the road. We just sat on the ridge above these massive creatures and enjoyed watching their antics amongst the small ponds full of lotus with massive green leaves. As pointed out in “The Gods Must be Crazy”, we wondered if these characters, like their African cousins, were notorious for stamping out any campfires they see?! Having had an up close encounter with over 10 rhinos we turned around 2 km before the park, saving the $25 pp entrance fee. Back down to the highway we caught a speeding sumo or jeep to Shillong.

Shillong is a curious combination of old British colonial hill station and modern Indian city. Crawling along the ridge tops it has butterfly and cultural museums, shops, lakes and parks but by far the most interesting place is the large hillside market full of colorful Khasi tribes people chewing ‘kwai’ or betel nut. Everyone is busy selling their vibrant, freshly harvested vegetables. It is worth an afternoon to just sit in various spots watching and interacting with these fun, welcoming folk. If you hear a strange noise look quickly and get out of the way of a strong, sinewy man carrying in excess of 100 lbs of cabbage, etc on his back, sweat dripping off his brow, heading straight up the winding hills.

Set on dramatic cliffs looming high above the Bengal Plains is Cherrapunjee, statistically one of the wettest places on earth, receiving up to 800 in. of rain in one year. Three guesses – what was it doing when we arrived in the little village? Against all odds the grey rainy skies parted and sunny, blue skies guided us out to Thangkharang viewpoint and back to Mawsami and thundering Nohkalikai Falls (supposedly India’s 4th highest). At the viewpoint we started talking to a large Indian family from Mumbai and they invited us to join in their picnic. Such tasty food out in literally the middle of nowhere! Down in Mawshamok there are a number of ‘living root’ bridges that the ingenious Khasi people have trained to span the streams and provide ‘living’ pathways or bridges between isolated villages. On the sumo into town we met Lin and were invited back to her family home for tea and fresh bread. Khasi women generally control all household and financial matters in this matrilineal society, so it is best to approach the females first, with the greeting: “Kumno kong” (hello, madam) or “Kumno bih” for a young woman. Visiting with her father and family of 6 brothers and sisters it was the perfect place to learn about the Khasi culture while waiting out the deluge. Once the skies cleared we enjoyed the lively weekly market and arranged transport to the stunning natural sites in the area. As we parted we thanked them with “Khublei” or thank you, (easily remembered after our 14 months up in the land of Kublai Khan!)

On the trail of ancient giants of the Jainta Hills led us to the fascinating old village of Nartiang, home of the Pnar people. These descendants of Mongolia, Thailand and/or Cambodia are animists and still practice ‘magic’ and may have multiple wives, in contrast to the surrounding Christian settlements. Their Durga temple was once used for human sacrifices (stopped by the British) and the “endless hole” next to the alter was used to dump the heads of the unfortunate victims. The hole now holds only candy wrappers and fruit – being used to slaughter goats once a year when a visiting Bangladeshi priest presides over the ceremony. Up on a small tree filled rise behind the market is one of those high energy places we come across from time to time, full of hundreds of stone monoliths, some 28 ft tall, honoring ancient Jainta Kings and used as walking sticks by giants of old. There were enough monoliths here to construct a dozen ‘Stonehenges’. Supposedly giants lived amongst the villagers and these strong fellows could haul these large stones for hundreds of miles. They were so big that their rings later became arm bracelets for their Pnar descendants. We spent an enjoyable afternoon with Elambha, the taxi driver we hired at the junction and when the hotel in Jowai was so disgusting even for a local, Elambha invited us home to his simple little place in the forest. We stopped at the market and bought enough vegetables to feed a dozen people. Cooking over a smoky fire we whipped up a meal enjoyed by many of the family and friends who stopped by. At least 30 faces popped in for a look at us and after relaxing on their porch overlooking the forest at sunset, we spent the evening taking family photos and visiting with the family, using Elambha’s translation skills. He is an avid reader and his wife, Tesly is illiterate. He promised to teach Tesly how to read so she could share his treasured world of literature and to also teach his family how to speak English. Both the Pnar and Khasi people use a matrilineal system of inheritance with land being passed down from the mother. Children take the mother’s name, so both 7 year old Isaac and 4 year old Roezene proudly carry their mother’s last name. This system has worked well for centuries but now the churches are pushing for a switch to a patriarchal system, which has the locals confused and questioning their traditions. Why can’t these officious churches just leave well enough alone?

Elambha is hoping for a better life or opportunity somewhere else in India. We reminded him and Tesly how fortunate they were to be living out in the country with clean air and gardens to grow their food. Searching for more money in the big Indian cities would only degrade their wholesome standard of living. Besides the candles providing light were more romantic than that pesky Indian electricity that was always turning off and on. Who needs it?? Sleeping on a very hard board bed, with only a sheet as a ‘mattress’ we were up at daybreak and off on the only bus of the day at 6:30am to Haflong, in neighboring Assam state. What a warm, wonderful experience sharing lives with these genuine, welcoming Khasi folks.

Meghalaya, (The Abode of Clouds) has only been open to outside visitors since the 90’s and the mountains of this fascinating state hide many treasures, just waiting to be discovered by travelers with enough time to transverse the winding, narrow roads. These lush forests and meadows are home to over 300 varieties of orchids and we saw one large 20 ft high tree that was completely bright pink, with hundreds of orchid blooms covering it. Also many rare animals and birds are found hiding in the thick foliage.

Tears streaming down the cheeks of the women and children and grimaces of anger painted on the faces of the men, made us want to cry. Cry for the violence inherent in mankind and the waste of our life force and energy on anything other than the betterment of this planet and it’s unique people. Why? Why do these things happen, over and over and over? I know all the metaphysical answers but when the body of someone just shot is paraded by amidst hundreds of mourners, not to mention the 3 killed yesterday, the eight the day before, and the hundreds over the previous years, this scream of our hearts to the heavens wants an answer or even a clue to such needless pain and suffering of these simple mountain villagers. This conflict has spanned 2 generations, the young man at our hotel quietly stated his reality, “It is not good. It is not bad. It only is.” Numb. As in Ireland, Africa, Palestine or too many other places on earth, the younger generations have forgotten what the original cause was. These young people are only reminded of the need for revenge when their father, brother or uncle is killed. An eye for an eye makes for a lot of blind people. Blind and wandering in the dark as the fighting continues. The odd thing is that this is a turf dispute between different factions of the same mountain tribes, for control of this area. With names like the ‘Black Widows’ or DHD, everyone calls them the ‘terrorists’, but knows they are only angry friends or relatives caught up in the relentless circle of violence. Until 2003 violence was limited to a few deaths or houses being burned. But now someone has funded a group of these angry young men, ages 16-22 and provided machine guns. The violence has escalated. To what end?

There are only 3 times we now know of when it is quiet in a small city or town in India, otherwise constant motion and commotion prevail. Once is in the wee small hours of the night; another during a ‘bon’ or strike (all shops are closed, people are home, and all transportation is stopped, thus the end of the primary noise). We unknowingly walked right into the third time; coming over the rise we were enveloped by a sea of hundreds of people wearing black or carrying black flags. This normally loud town was absolutely silent, like an eerie scene from a movie. The sound of our bags rolling down the street was the only sound, aside from the squeaking of the wagon wheels carrying the body of the shot man, and the muffled footfalls of the hundreds gathered. We had arrived here via Tata ‘sumo’ – a sort of 4 wheel drive jeep – through the mountains from Meghalaya. As our route had been altered by the only available transport we were totally unaware of any conflict in the region. There hadn’t been any problems in these NC Hills for over 8 months. Not purposely looking for trouble, like Mr. & Mrs. Magoo, we arrived to see the beauty of the mountains on our way north. Besides Haflong was Assam’s only hill station and hill stations generally have a little bit of tourist infrastructure. A bumpy but uneventful ride brought us into town and the first hotel we looked at was full, with no less than 50 soldiers with helmets, bullet proof vests and machine guns guarding the front. Joseph noted that at least it would have been one of our safest accommodations! The next hotel option was deserted and closed for repairs. Walking back up the street a truck with beautifully dressed young women in traditional costumes pulled up and as they opened the door, one of the younger girls caught her heel and literally fell into my arms. Always interested in a festival, especially with music and dancing, we promised to come watch them perform at the lively annual ‘Bihu’ Spring Planting Festival that evening. We weren’t disappointed as the stage was filled with enthusiastic young people singing, dancing, drumming, reclaiming their traditions. The crowd of over 200 went wild and seemed oblivious to the armed soldiers everywhere. We stayed only a short time figuring those guards knew something we didn’t. One of the leaders of the opposing dissident groups had just been killed and trouble was flaring.

Besides soldiers everywhere, Haflong is a crumbling little hill station in need of a coat of paint. That facelift will come when the region is safe and the tourist dollars return. The view was stunning, the market was friendly, the vegetables were fresh, the 12 cent samosas were hot, and Joseph had discovered the only decent little guesthouse in town. Ready to go after 2 days I was feeling a little under the weather so we decided to not catch the train that day. Unbeknownst to us one of the ‘terrorist groups’ wanting money from the government owned railway, had stopped the only train two days in a row, killing the conductor and 2 others the first day and 8 passengers the proposed day of our departure. Thank you God, illness can be a great teacher in more ways than we realize. The trains were shut down for 15 days and there were no airplanes in this hilly region of Assam; one of the safest provinces and thus not requiring a permit to enter. As explained to us the bus and sumo companies are small and don’t have extra money for ‘free passage’ bribes and have never been the target of these thugs. “O.k. then, guess we’ll grab a sumo”. We were on our way out of “Dodge” when we encountered the mass demonstration described above and when getting to the transport office were quickly given our money back. “Sorry the roads are closed due to violence and fighting”. Off we trudged to the bus company. “Sorry no busses for at least 2 days, and the only safe route south, in the complete opposite direction we needed to go, is closed because of trouble outside of town”. Usually we would try to hitch out or something but we got the point in short order. Safely tucked back into our hotel room we were thankful for the turn of events that kept us from taking that train. There are no coincidences. “When – How will we get out of here”? “Who knows?”, but if you are reading this it means we found a way. In the meantime we have time to read some of those 80,000 books and watch a few of our 500 movies. Stay tuned and later … “the rest of the story”.

And still we waited. The next day we were told right away that all roads were closed and we heard sirens and helicopters for the first time. A couple of hours later we encountered another demonstration. This time it was a peace rally with hundreds of war weary townspeople carrying signs to change the violence to peace. May the wishes of these Dimasa and other villagers come true soon!

Eleven truck drivers shot and killed on the road north yesterday, effectively stopping all transportation or any movement of supplies. This is getting really serious. The northern town of Lanka where we would catch our train is also cut off and a 24 hour curfew imposed. Exactly one week after we arrived to stay 2 nights, we found the last two seats in the back of a jeep heading south through Silchar. Usually people scramble to sit in the front seat but this time we were told to sit up in the front with the driver. “Gee thanks”. We weren’t scared during the 7 hour trip through the stunning green hills as Mother Nature screened out the underlying trouble and showed us instead the beauty and peace that is possible in these remote mountains. We drove by hundreds of soldiers, through several roadblocks and we all gave a sigh of thanks and relief as we entered the next district and headed to the southern plains, through the tea plantations towards Silchar. Not able to head north we reluctantly gave up on our idea of visiting NE Assam and instead spent 14 hours retracing our steps through the mountains of Meghalaya, back to Guwahati. S— happens!

Staying in touch with friends and family in most of India isn’t a problem. My Mom and brother were spending a week in Colorado at Kevin’s new home, and we were counting down the days to call them, via Skype, to wish my great Mom Happy Mother’s Day. We didn’t want to call early in Shillong, but wished we had. She already had a present tucked away in her closet but it’s hard to replace talking over the phone. How’s this for a different set of excuses for missing this important call? People have no idea what we go through just to send emails sometimes, or to call for birthdays, holidays or those much treasured regular phone calls with family. Thinking Jowai would have internet we were told that the line has been down for months. Back at Elambha’s house there wasn’t even electricity, so no phones. The large border town was worse than Jowai and so we headed to Haflong – as the tourism agency booklet described “A quiet mountain hill station with picturesque, unspoiled environs. Perfect for extended stays.” So there we were – extending our stay against our will. Back to the call. The first night there we asked about making the call next morning (Sunday night in Colorado) Perfect, only 8 cents a minute. When we tried it was $4 a minute but my 83 yr old Mom was well worth a quick call. The connection never went through after repeated tries. The next morning we set our alarm to get up early and walk a mile or so to go try the internet. With the current time change, by 8:30 am it is already 10pm the night before back home, getting late. Our window of calling is narrowing as we head west and Hawaii is really tricky. That is why happening on wireless twice in a row in southern India was such a treat. We could call late at night or early morning from our room and we had some really great talks. The only internet in Haflong was down – had been for days. The official Deputy Commissioner’s office that might let us send a quick email or call was open from 10am – 2pm (11:30pm – 3:30am back in the States, with the time change). We tried to send an email but the electricity went out. We were able to talk to the local news correspondent at the internet shop and get the facts on the situation in this district, so all was not lost. Oh well, there is always the hope of the next town. This has happened rarely in the last 5 years. It is always more comforting to know that the channels of communication are open. I guess you could say we tried and reading this we hope everyone understands a bit more why calls or emails don’t always happen as planned. Someone up there is laughing as we attempt to make plans in these far off corners of the planet.

Talk about having to be flexible and go with the flow. Everything we had ‘planned’ had changed in the last month. We were thrown out of Nagaland, the price for a guaranteed permit for Arunachal Pradesh was upped to $400 for 10 days, (with winter conditions still lingering in the high mountain areas) and our loop through Assam was cut off with dangerous fighting in the hills near Haflong. When in doubt head to Sikkim – in the exact opposite direction!!

And so it goes…………………………………..Next month the remote Kingdom of Sikkim. Until then may we each remember to keep our inner spirit strong, allowing us to be more tolerant, patient and peaceful to those around us. Peace starts within.

We are glad you stopped by. Keep Smiling! Thanks for keeping in touch! Take care!