On beginnings

I am terrified of travel.

I have loved every minute I have ever been on the road and have never been home sick throughout all my travels, but I’ll be damned if there isn’t a knot in my stomach whenever I carry my bags out my door. At that point, all I want to do is run back, unpack my bags and pretend that nothing is changed and that I’m perfectly content with how I was. No matter how many times I’ve packed and planned, the punch to my gut always arrives in the last minute, never changing. Perhaps it is the fear of the unknown, or maybe my heart cannot bear to be parted from ones I love? It doesn’t matter what it is. I close my eyes. I take the leap.

Where am I off to?

I’m going on an adventure.

 

Snow

The bus to Manali showed up about 45 minutes late and was packed to the brim. After latching my bag onto the roof, I squeezed myself into the bus and payed my fare (Rs. 360 something) and remained standing for about two hours. As we were tossed around on the hilly roads, I met my third Bangalorean of the day, also Tibetian, who had taken this holiday to meet friends. We parted ways soon after and I managed to find a seat.

We stopped for a dinner of rotis with mutton curry (Rs.80) before continuing. The rest of the night faded into a blur of flashing lights and exhaustion. I woke up at around five about to the sight of the River Beas flowing in all is force. We were struck in an hour long traffic jam, only to discover that the bus stand was only 500 metres from where I stood. I gobbled up a bread omelette and a chai (Rs. 40) before finding out about buses to Keylong.

With the next bus being only at ten, I walked up to Hidimba temple, about two km from the main square. The path steeply ascended with snow capped peaks in the background, and finally ended in a forest with the temple itself hidden among the trees. The temple was a three storey simple wooden affair that was beautiful, emphasised by the picturesque background. After paying my respects, I headed back, got another cuppa and boarded the bus to Keylong (Rs.170).

Keylong is a small little town on the way to Leh that remains inaccessible during the winter months. My friend told me about it, and it piqued my curiosity far more than Manali did. The bus slowly and carefully took the road up to Rohtang pass, with each bend bringing more beautiful sights than the last. Then we reached it, the snow. I think when I saw the snow I giggled like a child and while we were struck on the narrow roads (for up to three hours. Rohtang is full of tourists who cannot park and so block the road), I jumped out of the bus and started pelting people with snow balls until i couldn’t feel my fingers. Slightly worried about frost bite, I got back onto the bus and cuddled under a thin little shawl.

We continued past uninhabited hill side except for little villages that dotted them. Some parts of the road were in horrible disrepair and under the frequent threat of landmines, the BRO workers kept clearing away the debris. We stopped for a plate of mutton momos and tea (Rs.110) which were delicious. Eight hours after the journey commenced (with an initial travel time of four hours), I reached Keylong and found a place to stay. (Roughly Rs. 500 a night, but cheaper places are available). I went down into the main bazaar in the search of some warm clothing (having worn shorts in 6 degree weather) and some food to eat. I managed to buy some socks and half a kilo of peaches (Rs.50). I found a decent looking hotel where I feasted on chowmein, momos and chilly chicken (Rs.300) before heading back to the room to stare at the night sky.

The clear cloudless sky free from all pollution, seemed to extend forever with the shadows of the peaks remaining omnipresent. I wormed my way under the thick blankets and after a bit of shivering, I feel asleep.

 

Of spiritual elation and physical exhaustion

I got a bus from the sprawling Sector 43 to Dharamshala (Rs. 356) without much delay. The bus was empty for the most part, so I managed to get three seats to myself. That, however, proved absolutely useless as I still couldn’t catch a wink of sleep. The driver hurtled through the night on the mountainous terrain, flinging me every which way.

Resigned to my fate, I sat and started at the vehicles passing by until we reached our destination. I reached at about 4:30 on the rainy morning and was left stranded in the middle of a highway. A taxi finally arrived, which I hired (Rs.300) to take me up to McLeod Ganj (the Tibetian settlement). The taxi dropped me off at the main square. Dark, damp and shivering, I half considered getting a room just to dump my bags. I walked up to the closest chaiwala to get something that would warm my bones. As I sipped on a cup of tea, a cop who had just finished his duty for the night stopped by.
Somewhere along the line as the conversation progressed, I was offered a drink that I gladly accepted. Four stiff drinks after, both Rakesh (the chaiwala) and Sandeep (the cop) adopted me as their brother of sorts and even offered to take me wherever I wanted to go in the area. My plans were still quite nascent at this stage so I told them I would let them know.

I left my bags with Rakesh and headed to the Dalai Llamas temple. Located about a kilometre from the main square, it is a modern looking building which houses numerous pressure wheels and two distinctive shrines. Whilst small, the aura of spirituality hangs around it, further compounded by devotees deep in prayer and the constant chanting of the Llamas. I stayed for a few minutes in silence, staring at the snowy peaks in the background. Feeling unburdened and energetic, I headed to Bhagsun to see the temple and the waterfall. The temple is a minor affair but it stands adjacent to this public pool which overlooks the mountains. The waterfall involves a bit of a walk, but as you reach, you see this clear body of water crashing into this crystal clear pool that formed at its base. I sat at this picturesque spot for a breakfast of cheese toast, and as I left, I tossed a coin into the gurgling waters for good luck.

I’ve always had a childhood obsession with snow. When my parents offered my sisters and I the opportunity to travel the world, all I asked for was to go to Shimla and see the snow. Having noticed the snow capped peaks earlier, I resolved to trek up to Triund. Based on the advice of my friend who took that route, who stated that it was only six kilometres, relatively easy and would take only three hours. Unfortunately all of that was untrue. It was ten kilometres, the gradient was hell and because of what he said, I ended up carrying all my luggage (weighing about eighteen kilos) up the mountain with me. I started off from McLeod at around 8:30am and was utterly exhausted not fifteen minutes later. As I wandered through the path, there were times where I went for fifteen to twenty minutes without seeing anyone else. About three fourth of the way to the start point, I hitched a ride to the start point on the back of a utility truck. I profusely thanked them and started again. You can get a taxi to the start point in Dharamkot, something I would strongly suggest to those who aren’t trekkers or who aren’t as robustly built.

The initial climb was relatively easy and the gradient not as steep. I finally reached the first checkpoint where I ate Maggi (which is not banned in H.P.). I considered leaving my bag there but decided otherwise as I figured it couldn’t be that much further. I couldn’t be further from reality, it took me an hour to the next checkpoint with a much steeper gradient, narrower paths and fallen rocks everywhere. At this stage I’d gone through all of the seven stages of acceptance before finally reaching. I took a fifteen minute break to re-hydrate and left my bags with the shop owner before sprinting up the rest of the way. Well, five seconds of the rest of the way to be exact. It took me forty five minutes longer to reach the summit as the gradient was at its harshest during the final climb. Finally, I had reached. As I lay exhausted on the mountaintop, waves of exhaustion, relief and dread washed over me. They, however, quickly subsided with what I saw before me. The mountains behind Triund were twice as tall and were coveted in snows that would never melt. I took the time to lunch on an aloo paratha, while savouring the view of the snow capped mountains, with their peaks obscured by the snow.

I bid adieu to the mountain and began my descent of 2,800 metres. I picked up my bags along the way and continued downward. Unfortunately, I got lost.

Completely and utterly lost.

I couldn’t recall where I took the wrong turn when I saw that someone had followed me. As my luck would have it, my compatriot was a fellow Bangalorean on holiday. We trudged down the path together trying to find our way, scoping ahead for viable routes. We would have remained well and truly lost if we hadn’t run into another Bangalorean, the ex-manager of Monkey Bar and a native of Dharamshala. We took fifteen minutes to rest and chat before proceeding. We finally trekked through wilderness and reached my companions hotel, where I bid my leave. Unable to place one foot before the other after my eight hour trek, I hired a taxi to take me to town where I had a bowl of thupka and went to look for presents. Unfortunately all the handmade and cooperative shops were closed by five.

I caught a bus to Dharamshala. As we meandered down the slopes the clouds cleared and the snow capped peaks stood, stoic, watchful protectors, in all their splendour, standing vigil over its people. As i stood waiting for my bus, the evening ended as the sun never set.

 

The maze within the planned city

Having stayed up extremely late, my departure to Chandigarh was delayed because I overslept. I finally woke up at seven and booked a cab to Kashmere Gate, the inter-state bus terminal. I managed to hop into a local bus (Rs.215) for the five-hour journey. I tried to catch some sleep, but that plan was collectively foiled by the driver speeding (in a tin can, for all intents and purposes) and the gale of hot wind. The wind itself made me sweat, dried it up and repeated the process, until I wore a visage layers thick. The journey itself was smooth owing to the eight lane highway connecting the cities.

Fast forward five hours in the future and I was dropped off at the Sector 17 bus stand. After checking in my bags for the cloakroom, I began to inquire about where I could get a bus for my next day’s adventure. I was redirected to sector 43 and so I hopped onto an air-conditioned bus and bought a pass (Rs.40) amid stares and general inquiry about its nature and purpose by the locals. Well, not locals per se, apparently hardly anyone in Chandigarh was from there so wherever I went I had to plead ignorance as to locations of places or how to get there.

I found the bus I had to take that night and heeding the grumblings of my stomach I set it to look for some asli Punjabi food. Except I couldn’t. As I crisscrossed sector upon sector all I could see were wide roads, nameless buildings and the conductors (who all looked so normal that the thought that citizens had to compulsory serve as a conductor seemed plausible) wondering why I wasn’t budging from my spot.

I finally gave up and got off at Sector 17 where I started my journey and decided to roll the five with my luck. I approached a cycle rickshaw-wala and asked him to take me to the best Dhaba he knew. That ploy worked and we were on our way to Sector X (the number escapes me, like it does everyone in Chandigarh). As he peddled, the rickshaw-wala here told me about his family in Lucknow, how he’d been there for 17 years and how he was just waiting on the rains to head back to his field. We discussed how difficult it was for outsiders to find anything in Chandigarh owing to it’s planning.

That really struck a chord with me because as I wandered through the city, I felt like it was gimmicy with no culture of is own. We finally arrived at Pal Dhaba where I had the most stereotypical dish there, the butter chicken and the lassi.

Having eaten a meal for two, I decided to do some sight seeing at Rock Park (Rs.20). The park was built by its creator to preserve the memory of his and other villages that were lost. The creations range from the abstract to the grotesque, with recreations of entire village scenes. The highlights of course was the waterfalls and the giant swings that hang from fifteen fit steel chains.

My next destination was Sukhna Lake. It was evening at this point, so most of the inhabitants had come out in force to either go peddle boating or to get their exercise by jogging along the adjoining park. The lake, filled with comical looking animals was a sight to behold. On the advice of my friends, I went to the shopping area of Sector 17.

Filled with couples of all ages, it seemed to be the community centre of sorts with everyone getting together to enjoy the food together or even frantically cheer the laser fountain show. This revelry was interrupted by a dust storm that forced everyone indoors for fifteen minutes. After the interruption, I had my dinner of bhel and a mango dipped softy and headed to the station. While waiting for the bus, I got to musing, that while Chandigarh was new, the sense of community they shared in all they did was a good sign, and perhaps in time it would be a sign of its character.

 

It’s broasting time

Sometimes you just have make tough decisions even if they go against your better judgement, like saying “yes!” to a fourth helping or travelling to Delhi during one of the worst heat waves recorded. The fallacy of my decision was evident the minute I stepped off the train. I was hit by a stream of hot air that reduced me to a puddle. After grudgingly trudging along for fifteen minutes, I acclimatised to temperature just as I stepped into the air conditioned comfort of Adrija’s (my friend of nearly five years and hostess extrodinaire) place. It took half an hour of lying on the floor and two bottles of water to recuperate from the initial assault.

Fully confident in my ability to weather the weather, I joined my friend for a quick lunch and brainstorming session before I was left to my own devices. My first stop was Sam’s cafe in Paharganj. Finding the place was a bit of a challenge, but one worth the reward. Located on the rooftop, it affords great views of the narrow streets below, filled with tiny shops and backpacking foreigners trying to soak in ‘Indian culture’.

A warning to those new to Delhi thought, Paharganj has a fearsome reputation and you might want to avoid it in the evenings. I had a lemon tea (Rs.30) and a lemon soda to re-hydrate myself and then set off to my next hang out. Thugs shares the same building as Chor Bazaar and Broadway on Asaf Ali Road. All three of them come highly rated but Thugs was the chosen destination for the day. The paintings on the wall stood as an homage to all the Bollywood baddies of yore, adding to the ambiance of the place. The food was giant sized, the drink cheap and with classic Bollywood tubes being crooned over the speakers, it gave me all the comfort I needed to while away the time.

Having wasted just about enough time for Priyam (a friend with an unfortunate case of lost malyali identity) to get done with work, I headed off to meet her and with the help of serendipitous bus timings, we met and went out to dinner. Priyam had picked SodaBottleOpenerWala, a rather upscale Parsi food joint in Khan Market. We ordered the Parsi mutton masala and to drink we had a mint-plum drink (I forget what it is called). The mutton was tender and well spiced and the came in an old fashion twist cap glass milk bottle, it was incredibly refreshing. The tab was picked up by her, on the condition that the favour is repaid once I get a job. It was nice to catch up, as all old friends must.

 

On route to the Capital (and also why I love trains)

Some of my fondest memories are of me travelling by train. The gentle rocking of the bogey, the myriad passengers (with each representing a different demographic), the food… I love it all. I will admit that this is not for everyone, but those who shun it outright are losing out an invaluable experience. Travelling in the air conditioned sections also tends to sterilise the entire experience.

I boarded the train on Sunday evening, to begin my journey of 2406 km spanning two nights and a day. My companions were a young bunch of friends who were travelling on partially confirmed tickets, a pair from Gulbarga and many others who crowded at our berths, their actual seats or tickets a mystery.

The next day, I took the time to walk around the train a few times to get a feel for the people in it. There were hard-line Hindus who were singing bajans all morning to twittering old kannadiga aunties who seemed a bit nervous. The highlight, of course, were views. From lush green fields to sparse sand dunes, we hurtled past them all.

For the last time, the train slowed down at Delhi and I jumped off to my next adventure.

 

Rambling Man

I was left in travel in limbo because of my exams.

I had some time to kill, but not enough to complete the next leg of my journey. I decided to take the next couple of days to wander around Guwahati and finish buying some gifts for the folks back home.

The first thing I ended up doing was looking for some tea. The place has some fantastic wholesale tea shops, that sell loose leaves at very competitive prices. These make great gifts, and I’ve received rave reviews from my family and friends about them.

The second day was spent wandering the town. I ended up taking the ferry to North Guwahati (Rs.10). The actual boat is a tiny ramshackle affair but the views as you gently chug across the river cannot be matched. As we passed by Umananda, I tossed a coin into the river for luck.

North Guwahati stands in stark contrast with the city, with its lush greenery and rustic vibes. I took the time to enjoy a cup of chai and a couple of biscuits while admiring the surprisingly tiny goats. After a fair bit of lounging, I returned to look for some Bhoot Jolakia, the recently dethroned spiciest chilli in the world. A regular green chilli measures roughly 30,000 on the Scoville scale, while the Bhoot averages a million. The actual search was fruitless, since it was out of season. Fortunately though I managed to find the only remaining ones in all of Guwahati (or so it seems) and I bought them all. Famished at this stage, I headed to Khorika, a traditional Assamese restaurant. There I feasted on their meat thali and pigeon fry (Rs. 340). The khorika (a kind of grilling technique) pork was mouth watering and really hit the spot.

My last day was spent packing, and after bidding my farewell to my wonderful hosts, I headed to the airport. An hour into the flight, I mused over all the memories I made and reaffirmed to always sate my wanderlust. As the ocean of clouds sat serene and the sun set, I decided, I’m coming back.

 

Of Things Beyond Control

Whilst in Cherrapunji wandering among the caves, the fates were conspiring to bring an early end to my trip. My exams were posted much earlier than expected, leaving me with the unenviable position of either giving up an entire year or continuing on my trip. The choice was inevitable and unfortunately pragmatism won over wanderlust. It was a horrible end to something that gave me so much peace, but sometimes you’ve just got to play the cards life has dealt you.

But do I regret my decision to travel? No, a million times no. Every moment I was on the road was a testament to that and I intend to keep trotting to new and exciting places till the day I am no more. I intend to return to the places I missed out more than ever and might still be able to finish the last leg of my original journey. Here’s to hoping that I am dealt a kinder hand then.

I intend to spend my last two days here wandering around the city and once I’m back I intend to add greater detail to the accounts of my adventure. Maybe I’ll add a few posts about travel essentials, costs and what not. The fact of the matter is that as soon as the smallest opportunity presents itself I’m off again, for the world is vast and needs an exploring!

Till then.

 

I Can See Clearly Now the Rain has Gone

The rain poured incessantly through the night, leaving our entire itinerary in Sohra in jeopardy. There was a brief respite in the morning where the sun actually peeped through the heavy clouds, warming us up. during the brief respite, I took the opportunity to walk through the resort. The place itself was pretty isolated, but afforded some spectacular views. The rainfall had created a miniature river of sorts that coursed through the property, with an actual river flowing at the borders of its 67 acres. The weather was a fickle mistress, with the sun shining for a minute, followed by immediate rain, a clear view and a minute later a heavy fog.

Leaving our fate in the hands of mother nature, we sat down for a cup of hot tea and an aloo paratha in the cafe at the resort. The cafe stood as an homage to rock and roll and their view of music was a strong reflection of the musical sensibilities of the people in Sohra as a whole. We took the time to talk to Atonu, an Assamese native who’s musical influences were in part enriched by his stint in Bangalore. He started Sa-I-Mika in an attempt to enrich and enjoy the local lifestyle and culture and was a bit torn by its increasing popularity. Under his advisement and with the blessings of the rain gods, we hired a taxi (Rs. 300 per location) from town to take us around. Our taxi guy, Bit, was jovial and fun loving, and served as our guide for the entire journey.

With the weather having turned for the better, we left for our first stop, Nohkalikai Falls through the lush green countryside. With our entry fee paid (Rs. 20), we climbed up a few steps before our jaws hit the floor. The waterfall itself was gorgeous as it dropped nearly a thousand feet to the valley below, erupting in a spray of mist. It is the highest waterfall in India, but also comes with a macabre legend of a mother who ate her own child unwittingly, and in her grief, she flung herself from the cliffs to form the cascade.

The waterfalls themselves are picturesque and we spent quite a while captivated by their beauty. Running short on time, we peeled ourselves away from the view and headed to the a Seven Sisters Falls (Rs. 20). The steady stream of the multiple streams over the sheer rock face was breath taking. In the distance, on a clear day (which thankfully it was), you can see the flat plains of Bangladesh, which stands in stark contrast to the ever present hills. On the opposite side of the road too, there was this little stream for any interested passersby to dip their feet in or take a swim.

Our last stop was Mawsmai Caves (Rs.20). The caves themselves extended deep into the hill side, with multiple unlit paths for the more adventurous to explore. Apparently the forest around the caves are full of snakes, but I could not spot any. The stalactites were beautiful and in some places formed this intricate pattern much akin to tree rings. The path through the cave itself was partially submerged and precarious for those unprepared. Fair warning though, I wouldn’t recommend it to those who are claustrophobic or have any leg or spinal issues as squeezing through narrow orifices and stepping on slippery rocks can be a bit challenging. There is a naturally existing skylight towards the end of the cave which is visually stunning.

Having finished most of our list, we headed back to town to get a shared jeep (Rs. 70) back to Shillong, before the roads were closed due to the Bandh. As we waited for more passengers, we enjoyed some traditional food in the form of Pork soup and fish with rice, and ended our meal with some tea (Rs. 40). Fully satisfied, we boarded the Jeep and headed for Shillong. On the way back, we noticed that the area that was fog covered the previous evening was a steep valley between the hills, covered in lush greenery.

We arrived in Shillong and took the first shared taxi out of there. The prices were increased due to the bandh, and the traffic leaving the city, atrocious. We went slightly faster once we put some distance between us and Shillong, and rode past Barapani as the sun started to set, burning the memory of the friendly faces and gorgeous views into my mind forever.

 

The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Rainfall

My companions (Tushar and his friend Raja) and I left for Shillong at six in the morning. The route itself is quite popular with the locals so you find plenty of shared cars (Rs. 300 for the smaller ones and Rs. 170 for Sumos) plying the route from Paltan Bazaar. Once you’re out of the city, it takes all of five minutes to reach the border and cross over into a magnificent four lane highway that meanders through the hills. You know you have crossed the border from the overabundance of liquor shops (with the state having the lowest tax on liquor among the surrounding states). The journey itself took a little less than three hours, with spectacular views of Bara Pani lake along the way.

We knew our destination was near by the horrendous never ending traffic. All the vehicles moved at snails place as the narrow roads were incapable of keeping up with the traffic. it could easily take upward of an hour to reach the centre from the outskirts, a distance of less than 10kms. This problem according to my friends was further exacerbated during the weekends. Frustrated by the slow pace, we got off the bus and decided to hoof it to our destination at Police Bazaar.

Along the way we stopped at Bamboo Hut, a moderately upscale restaurant for brunch. We feasted on pork fried rice and chilly pork (Rs. 240) and continued onwards. Our pitstop along the way was Wards Lake (Rs. 10) a beautiful well maintained place, albeit a bit small. Like all parks in India it was filled with lovers taking strolls or lounging among  the trees. Onward we continued and after a healthy dose of getting completely and utterly lost, we found our way through narrow gullies and steep steps to our initial destination, Police Bazaar.

We spent our initial time there trying to figure out where to eat and how we could proceed to our final stop of the day, Cherrapunji (Sohra). We wandered through the shops looking for advice as to how to proceed. Finally on the directions of some locals we headed to Bara Bazaar on the local bus (Rs. 10). Once there we went looking for the local bus/shared taxi stand which we could not find. Instead, we wandered through the Khasi Market (Lew Duh) which was full of gorgeous local fruits and vegetables and other local implements. The red and green berries were particular beautiful with each costing only Rs. 10 per packet and packing a distinct sweet/sour taste. Having worked up quite an appetite, we headed back to Police Bazaar and greedily devoured typical Khasi cuisine in the form of a pork meal (Rs.130) at Trattoria. The owner was incredibly friendly and redirected us again to where the bus stop was. Armed with this knowledge, I left my companions and ventured off on my own in search of the place. After another dose of getting hopelessly lost, I serendipitously ended up in Bara Bazaar again and after appropriate redirection by the locals, I found myself in Anjali, the local bus stop. Honestly, it isn’t in a very open part of town, but the locals are incredibly friendly and hospitable and redirected me to the appropriate bus heading to Sohra.

The ground floor houses the buses (Rs. 40) while the first floor contains the shared Jeeps (Rs.70) that connect all the nearby villages to Shillong. Having found our transit point, I headed back to fetch my companions through the inner roads. Raja and I bid farewell to Tushar and after walking back, boarded the bus to Sohra. The bus was quickly filled with huge bags of rice and other supplies and at some points in our journey, we were literally sitting on the bags of rice, but it all added to the charm.

The scenery along the way was breath taking to say the least, but as dusk fell, a heavy fog rolled in. The fog was so thick that it reduced visibility to about five feet with occasional flashes of lightning illuminating trees and houses. At one stage, we were passing by a sheer drop to the left, with the actual bottom being obscured by the fog itself. This created an illusion of a bottomless pit where monstrous creatures lived, with the shadows cast by the lightning projecting grotesque shapes. We stopped frequently closer to Sohra to unload the rice resulting in the journey taking a little more than two and a half hours.

As soon as we stepped off the bus were battered by a thunderstorm and a sheer wall of icy wind that cut to the very bone. We quickly found shelter and warmed ourselves on a plate of steaming hot momos and pork fried rice (Rs. 80) at a local restaurant near the bus stand. After our meal, we spent the next fifteen minutes getting drenched in an effort to look for a taxi to take us to our accommodation, which resulted in a miserable failure. Luckily for us, an angel in the guise of a local shop owner called her family to drop us off at a nominal rate (Rs. 100).

We reached Sa-I-Mika and were showed our dorm by the owner, who was extremely hospitable. He even knocked down the price of the accommodation (normally Rs. 350 a night) because he felt bad that there were clothes hung to dry there. At that stage we were willing to sell our firstborns for respite from the rain, so his words were icing on the cake. We quickly changed out of our clothing and after a nightcap to warm up our bones, we wrapped ourselves up in blankets and drifted off to the sounds of the heavy rainfall crashing against the roof.

 

Journey Along Snake Way

I reached Guwahati in the wee hours of the morning, a shared auto and a brisk walk after I reached Tushar’s place and promptly fell asleep. I spent the rest of the day on personal visits, one of which afforded me some spectacular views of the Brahmaputra and the others which provided invaluable information to base my travel plans on.

On reading my earlier posts, I realised that they lacked specific details for budding travellers who wished to travel the same route. It is an unfortunate truth that constant travel only affords me a limited time to write. I apologise for my brevity, but rest assured, I intend to expand my posts once my trip is finished. I thought I’d take the time today to discuss three aspects of my trip to Kohima which I consider especially important for first time travelers.

1) Of the travel

For the budget conscious, the bus from Dimapur is your best bet as they cost only Rs.120. The buses are rather uncomfortable though especially on the winding narrow roads, so a good alternative is a shared taxi (Rs.220). You can get one directly from the railway station and return journeys during off-seasons may continue till 8 p.m. giving you some extra time in Kohima, as the last bus leaves at around 4p.m.

As for local transport within the city, the buses (Rs. 10) travel often but communication is a barrier so often we just got off and walked to our destination. Some of the attractions are atop hills, so those looking for a comfortable journey should hire a taxi.

2) Of the people

Good Lord, Naga women are beautiful. It seemed that nearly every one I passed by, my heart broke a little. The men and women at Kohima were at their fashionable best, hipster in every sense and dressed to the nines. One could say that every day was fashion week there.

That being said, getting around is hard because of the language barriers. People shut you off or completely ignore you if you speak English or Hindi. While this may seem as rude, it is only a small bit of insecurity on their part, especially the men since the language really does not come easy to them, making them quite uncomfortable. The way around this is to ask the older people i.e. shop keepers and vendors who are more than willing to help you out, that or the younger generation of kids, especially women.

We had the distinct pleasure of three college girls who went out of their way to take us to our destination and only then did they take their leave. As a word of advice though, the entire state is strongly Catholic, so you might be given literature or preached to. It’s best to take those moments lightly.

3) Of the food

My biggest gripe with Kohima was the absolute lack of any Naga food at all. Noodles, rice and momos are available at every nook and corner but no hint of Naga food. The only place where we did find it was right opposite the bus stop, on the top floor of a blue and white building. The smoked pork there was delicious.
My actual craving for Naga food was sated at Dimapur, on Eros Road which is about a kilometre from the railway station. It has many small Naga eating joints that are very similar looking, and all run by families. This provided the ambiance of a nice home cooked meal.

All of that being said, Nagaland is truly a beautiful place and I hope that I’ll be afforded the opportunity to visit for a longer time the next time I come to the North-East.