It was an early morning and a beautiful dawn start with the early morning sun stretching over the Naga Hills. Auntie was up early getting some Puri ready for breakfast and soon Albert arrived to ferry us up to the Sumo Terminal at 5.30am.


Unfortunately the Sumo was far from new and the tyres were an interesting mix of bald, very bald and the last with homemade retread . Hardly inspiring any confidence. The driver though was smiling and cheerful. The good news was that we were joined by a French couple from Normandy, Ben and Elodie. After the obligatory 30 min delay (“Naga Time”, said Langa) we bounced off in a cloud of dust only to experience a prolonged stop abut 500m up the road at a petrol station.


Eventually we left on this famed journey to Mon. Mon is the capital of the Konyaks, the infamous aggressive tribe of Northern Nagaland. Renowned for their ferocity and fearless nature they are one of the most populous of the Naga tribes and also one of the most colourful. Here the men who have successfully headhunted are tattooed on their faces like some giant face mask and have a large v or w shape tattooed on their chests. Several of the older generation still sport these tattoos, a reminder of the old days before 1968, the official end of headhunting. As with each Naga tribe, their food and tea is also slightly different . There are plenty of tea plantations in the Konyak area and the Konyaks themselves prefer tea black, very strong and with no sugar. A complete contrast to the rest of India. Unfortunately opium is a real problem in this area and many people are addicted. The Konyak people straddle the border with Burma, crossing backwards and forwards, sometimes raising their cattle on the other side of the border and sometimes educating their children in a different country. There are no controls here between the two countries. The Konyaks also have a system of Anghs or Village Chiefs. These still play a sizeable role in the life of the village and demand a visit from all travellers plus a payment, which unfortunately is used for opium most of the time.


One of the other things that the Konyak area is famous for is the state of the roads. Whilst I thought it would be difficult to beat the poor state of the road in Tawang, India which I had experienced in 2013, I had heard some appalling stories from other foreigners . So much so that I embarked on this journey with some in-trepidation. Langa on the other hand was visiting Konyak for the first time and keen to meet up with his old friend Ayoun in Mon. Ayoun works as a Forest Ranger and lives in Mon with his sister although his home village is Wakching, about 30 kms south.


The road from Mokokchung was surprisingly good and we entered Assam (again) without any issues. Here the road to Mon travels through Assam for part of the way so inevitably this meant road blocks, searches and incessant travel document inspection. The road through Assam was narrow and in places potholed, but we managed to weave our way through this rural area back up and into Nagaland and the Konyak area. On the way through Assam we passed beautiful tea plantations with tea pickers in saris collecting the leaves, it was idyllic.


Now we entered the Konyak area, and the road deteriorated to what was essentially a dirt road with small inter-dispersed pieces of bitumen. These islands of bitumen, (just metres in diameter) were broken, weather worn and seemed to be floating islands in a sea of dust and large stones. Travel became slow, bumpy and in a permanent dust cloud. Unfortunately all windows remained open despite my pleas. Langa entertained me with stories of the Nagaland minister for roads and bridges who had purchased a red Jaguar with the road building budget only to find that the road conditions were so bad he could not drive it . I decided to call him Captain Corruption.


As we passed by small villages covered in dust by the poor roads we also passed Nagaland tea plantations, rock splitting machinery and small hamlets. Village life unfolded in front of us (when I could see it) and I soon managed to glimpse a former warrior with the telltale tattoos on his face walking along the rice fields. Soon the road started to weave its way up the mountains and within three hours (50 kms) we were descending down into Mon on a road that was worse than any dirt road I had driven on in Africa - and this was the national highway.


Mon itself was a gaggle of ramshackle buildings clinging to the side of a hill offering great views of the Naga Hills. The poor roads continued into town as the sporadic bitumen just disappeared leaving yellow staining dirt with large stones, pot holes and vast clouds of dust. How anybody worked here, was beyond me. Lining the side of the road here where many tiny stalls and carpets where local women were trying to sell a variety of fruit and vegetables all coated with this yellow dust. One lady even had a small collection of dried and roasted rats on her stall. We parked in the sumo terminal next to some green shacks covered in inches of dust and watched Ayoun arrive on the back of an impressive motorcycle. Dressed immaculately, he looked out of place in this dust bowl and we were pleased to see him. We introduced him to Ben & Elodea and he immediately recommended a government run guesthouse next to his sister’s house.


Accommodation in Mon is both expensive and in short supply. The Casino Guesthouse was quite uninspiring and definitely in the Indian Clean category. One blessing was that the dust roads ended the further you climbed up the hills of Mon, so at least it was dust free. However, in my room the sheets were not clean. Luckily the staff were happy to change them. The floor had several inches of accumulated dirt and the least said about the bathroom the better. The smell indicated behind which door it was located. The staff however were friendly and appeared pleased to help. The rooms were priced differently, almost double the price for foreigners which greatly upset Ben and me. However as it was now dark and after eight hours in a dusty Sumo, I was not going to look for another place. Ayoun softened the blow by inviting us all for supper.


Ayoun’s sisters house was just a few meters down the road and it appeared that she and her daughters had been cooking for ages when we arrived. The Konyak meal was large and tasty with pork (the Naga delicacy), dhal, squash, fabulous home made chutney and huge quantities of rice. I was defeated early on. It was that night we decided to go straight to Longwa (the village on the border with Burma) and accompany Ben & Elodea. I also invited Ayoun and we made a reservation at the Longwa Village Guesthouse, whilst the French couple were staying at another place recommended by an Italian traveller they had met.


Again this involved an early morning start and I was pleased to have experienced a good nights sleep at the Circuit Guesthouse. We walked down to the Sumo terminal as taxi’s in Mon are virtually non existent and those that are found are astronomically expensive compared to those in the rest of India (probably the roads I imagine).


The Sumo journey was very scenic right along the hills, up to Longwa some 45 kms from Mon straddling the Burmese boarder. Village after village glided past, some hidden some perched on the road overlooking the valleys. I saw tantalising glimpses of life from a bygone agricultural past plus some men with tattoos and one with some huge pieces of wood threaded through his earlobes. The women seemed less interestingly dressed.


Eventually we started climbing the hills up to Longwa passing broken down vehicles and a large school. All the while the roads were in far better condition to that one from the previous day. At the entrance to the village we were met by the host family’s son, who looked remarkably like a Naga version of the actor Don Cheadle. The Sumo dropped us where he was waiting in front of the huge old family Morong, unfortunately three kilometres down the hill from the main village. That would entail a good climb up to town every morning I thought.


Our accommodation was next to the Morong in two tiny huts constructed of reeds. Opposite was a new, nearly finished construction where the family was building a permanent facility to house visitors. “Running water, en suite bathrooms and good beds” proclaimed Don Cheadle’s father. He was an engaging gentleman, tall thin and 62 years old, he said he was the man who introduced Longwa and its neighbouring Burmese villages to Christianity. I knew I needed a long chat with him.


We settled into our temporary huts and then entered the impressive Morong for a welcoming cup of tea. This building was vast with a communal area at the front where all the local families had come to watch TV. When we arrived there were some fifteen kids there watching something involving death and destruction. Above the dirt floor the walls were adorned with animal skulls and two large carved tree trunks depicting hunting scenes and animals. “100 years old,” the owner said. There was a small table lined with souvenirs before we rounded a dividing reed wall and into the Naga kitchen. This Morong was huge and high, big enough to play tennis inside. In the kitchen area there was a large fire surrounded by traditional stools with racks hanging over the fire. On these metal racks were corns, chilis and fresh pieces of pork smoking away. Our tea was made inside bamboo and it was delicious.


Conscious that the clock was ticking we decided to walk up into the village along the potholed road. Children seemed quite weary of us as we walked up and when I greeted them they ran off. Don Cheadle informed us that whilst tourists do visit this village, very few stay and as these day trippers arrive in a 4x4 and leave in a 4x4, most of these children don't see the foreigners in such close proximity.


The four of us moved along the road up into the main village and I went to the main government building to register my arrival with the police/officials. This one was strangely friendly. Next up we were left to met the Angh. The etiquette for a visit is to introduce yourself to the Angh on arrival and give him your gift (money). This however (we now found out) was not going to be possible today as the Angh’s Morong was surrounded by Indian and Burmese soldiers. There appeared to be a border dispute and the two forces were meeting to sort out the problem. Unfortunately before we arrived a party of day tripping foreigners had further inflamed the situation, by turning up and photographing the scene as the soldiers faced off around the Angh’s building which literally bisects the border. The result was that the day trippers were chased off by the Indians and we were told not to come close to the meeting. Hence we were unable to visit the Angh. Bearing this in mind, Don Cheadle offered to show us a gun makers house.


Entering the gunsmith’s hut we were greeted by bellows of smoke, not from gun manufacture, but opium preparation. Whilst one gunsmith (troublingly off his head) tried to illustrate how he prepared the explosive for the bullets, the other tried to illustrate how the barrels and the wood was shaped. Enthusiasm for my visit soon died as more opium pipes were produced and the two went back to smoking.


We trundled past the large church overlooking the Burmese hills and wandered down the road into Burma. There were no Burmese border guards here as the Konyaks are left to there own devices, and the only customs and controls are about 40 minutes walk into the country. Quite a different picture to what exists on the Chinese and Pakistan border, but similar to my experience with the Nepalese border the previous year.


As we returned to India we bumped into the French couple and we decided to climb up to the lookout overlooking the town. The five of us marched off passing women leaving to work in the fields, inquisitive children and the occasional tattooed veteran warrior as we climbed up to the lookout. At the top the view was spectacular but the clouds were rolling in. The stone plinth at the top welcomed walkers to India on one side and to Burma on the other. One side in Burmese and the other in Hindi.


Convinced it was going to rain we returned down to the village where we bumped into a young man who turned out to the heir to the Angh. Kindly he invited us into his Morong for some Konyak tea and there we sat and chatted about the town, the history, becoming the chief and Morong life. During this conversation the heir’s father entered and he was somewhat hostile to Langa when he was introduced as a Chang. Obviously old hostilities are still felt by some of the older generation.


Soon it was getting dark and we returned to our family who were busily preparing a mountain of food. The Nagas really only eat twice in a day. A sort of early lunch mid morning and dinner early evening. Both big rice based meals and this was no exception. Delicious pork, stacks of rice and a few veggies. We ate first, then the men of the host family and then the women. The women certainly did all the work in the Morong.


Meanwhile I got that long chat with the owner. He talked about bring Christianity to the village in 1978 and then taking it to the villages in Burma. He also talked about the British and a British post on an adjacent hill, where there are still empty shells and other things scattered around from WW2. I said I would go next time. He also mentioned in one Konyak house over in Burma they half a British jet fighter plane in the living room. This must be also worth seeing.


That night I slept well inside the small hut, and we were up early again for a quick breakfast and then back up the hill on foot to finally meet the Angh. This time at 7.45 am there was no sign of the military and we entered the Morong immediately. The Angh was there sitting by the fire with his two “bodyguards” preparing his morning opium smoke. Actually he seemed high already, but was pleased to accept my gift and explain the impressive collection of brass drums, Mithun (the prized large animal of the Nagas which is a cross between a buffalo and a cow and very large) skulls and elephant tusks adorning his Morong.


Soon it was time to leave and we returned to the family, said goodbye to these friendly people and caught the next Sumo back to Mon.