Kohima is a place I’d wanted to visit for a very long time, ever since I learnt about the epic siege that took place in the Second World War. The town is in Nagaland, on the border of Burma and due to political problems here was one of the North East States that you needed special permission to travel to, and that was only given to organized groups. In 2011 that restriction was removed and travellers could go to the area without an ‘inner line permit’ as it was called.

Groups had visited in the past to visit the Commonwealth War Cemetery which is in the center of the town and which has been laid out on the site of some of the fiercest fighting during the siege of the Kohima in April 1944; most of the rest of the battlefield has now been built over.

Kohima has expanded out onto the neighbouring hills and there is now a population of over a quarter of million. The built up area is spread over the top of the steep hills and the jungle below laps up against the houses. Looking east towards Burma, the mountainous country is still covered in thick forest. Most of the people in Kohima are Nagas, the ethnic group of tribes people that lived in villages in the surrounding jungle but who now live mainly in towns. They look very different from the few Indians who live here, being quite small, with Chinese\Burmese features and darker skins.

The ethnic difference has been a problem since the war, as although the Nagas were fairly content under British rule and helped them in the fight against the Japanese; when India gained independence, the Nagas wanted their own independence as well. This has led to a long running insurgency which continues to this day. One’s first impressions of Nagaland are that it’s an area under military occupation. The town has armed soldiers continually patrolling it, and they are in addition to the numerous police on the streets. There’s no curfew but after dark, the businesses shut up quickly and by the early evening the only people moving on the streets are groups of soldiers. There are always lots of Army Lorries on the move, and often the cars of senior officers, surrounded by jeeps full of soldiers force their way through the traffic with sirens blaring. The unit in residence at the moment are the ‘Assam Rifles’, motto “Friends of the Hill People”, who were one of the Indian Army units who defended the town against the Japanese; generations later, they’re still there.

The large scale insurgency has ended, although there is a war memorial in the centre of the town which commemorates Indian soldiers killed in recent operations. Certainly it’s quiet enough for tourists to be let in, although I had to register at the police station, ‘for my security’ but this is not a place to visit if you are nervous around firearms.

The Nagas are also very different from the few plains Indians that live in town in that they are Christians. The British suppressed Headhunting but otherwise didn’t interfere with the Naga way of life and they restricted outside access to the area and that included access by missionaries. With independence America missionaries moved in on soul saving missions and now most of the population are one brand of Baptist or another; the Nagas had always believed in one Supreme Being so making the transition wasn’t too difficult for them. There are huge number of churches in the town as well as boy and girls hostels, bible study centres, church halls and even a ‘Billy Graham’ Road. On Sundays nearly everything is shut and families walk together to church clutching their bibles, usually heavily thumbed leather bound or ‘Good News’ editions. Everyone is dressed in their Sunday best with the women and girls in some fantastic outfits. Walking around throughout the day, it’s always possible to hear hymns and inspirational songs being belted out somewhere in the town.

On Sunday the Naga shawls and waistcoats also appear, probably the only time Naga culture is on display. Apart from a few ‘ceremonial’ entrances made from corrugated iron the traditional way of building has been replaced by poured concrete, and there almost no signs of the Nagas former way of life to be seen anywhere.  A ‘made for tourists’ Naga village has been constructed outside Kohima, and this has an arena where the annual Hornbill festival is held each December. Even though this has always been a traditional Naga festival, the fact that there lots of other events going on at the same time, like the Hornbill Half Marathon, the Hornbill Car Rally and weeklong series of Rock concerts (Heavy Metal is very popular in the North East), I imagine most of the population will be doing other things, and not watching traditional dancing.

Anyone going to Kohima expecting a cultural experience are going to be disappointed, the main reason to go there is to see the site of one of the great feats of courage and endurance in the history of the British Army, but that is another story. (more to follow)

I stopped off in Oman on my way to India, mainly because the plane landed there and it was a country I’d never been too. Arriving in Muscat and heading out of the Airport it seem very much like other Gulf States with plenty of land, and it has sprawled along the coast line, motorways, modern malls and the big trophy buildings which here are the Grand Mosque and the Opera House.

I was staying in the area of Mutrah one of the older parts. What was different here is that bare, rocky hills crowd around the coast and the developments are built between them. Even more interesting was the fact that many of them had turrets and Forts built on top of them, and if Oman could be said to have an architectural style, desert fort would be it, as many of the new buildings have castle like features on them as if they could also be used to repel attackers. Down at the centre of Mutrah is the corniche which has a promenade, places to eat, and a view of the harbour. Tied up is the sultans ship but I’m sure he considers it just a yacht. There is also a large covered souk selling mainly clothes and spices and at the corniche end, souvenirs for tourist so that they don’t have to walk so far.

And with good reason, as one thing that can be said about Oman is that it is hot, killing hot, 40 o C + when I was there. The place pretty much shuts down in the afternoon. Nobody walks anywhere and even at night it’s too hot to sit outside and eat.

Like many of these newly developing countries public transport seems to be none existent, as if they got stuck between cheap and cheerful mini buses fighting for trade and everyone owning a car. Interestingly they have bus stops but they seem to have forgotten about the buses. So to get anywhere I had to hail cabs, which are all owned by Omanis, all of whom only had a rudimentary grasp of the principal attractions in their own city. In fact I was quoted a price for a trip where it turned out that the driver had no idea where the place was. It turned out to be very close and I walked back to the hotel.

I took a cab from Mutrah to Old Muscat, the cities first settlement which is where the sultans palace is. There’s something rather nice about there being a least one Sultan left in the world.  The Palace is a fine building with a wide parade leading up to it, no doubt used for ceremonial purposes. There are a few ministries scattered about and you walk down to the harbour for a look at the Sultans back door. A large fort was being renovated here, one of many scattered around the surrounding hills. What was strange about the whole place was that it was deserted apart from workers tending the gardens and every blade of grass is on life support in this climate, and the usual Army guards. If the public buildings around about had people in them, there was no evidence of this. I found one place to have something to eat, so I guess most of them bring their own lunch.

The workers tending the gardens were Bangladeshi following the pecking order in this part of the world where the Pakistani and Bangladeshi’s do the donkey work, the Indians run the commerce while the Omanis drive taxis and do whatever nice jobs need to be done. At dusk I saw groups of Bangladeshi’s in blue overalls and their tiffin boxes getting into mini buses to be driven to building sites for the night shift, definitely the one to have.  All the Omanis I spoke to were all very friendly and it seemed a very relaxed. As my cabbie from the airport told me, we don’t mind people wearing shorts and there’s no problem walking around at night. They are traditional in certain ways in that they all seemed to wear traditional dress, the white jelabia and round skull cap, while the woman were dressed in black but unveiled; and although one hears the call to prayer I never saw anyone actually praying and it seems generally very tolerant. My hotel served alcohol.    

One attraction I went to was the Armed Forces Museum, which is housed in one of the original forts so it’s worth going to see it just for that. It’s  still managed by the Military and you have to have a solider accompanying you around, although it wasn’t clear why as he only announced what was in each room which I could read for myself, or maybe it was to stop you stealing the rifles that were just hanging on the walls? It is a very informative museum and a good introduction to Omani history. It seems that they spent most of the twentieth century engaged in internecine tribal warfare, hence the need for all those forts. They have strong ties to the British army, Royals and Sultans sticking together, and most of the weapons and kit on display were British although I looked in vain for any mention of the help we gave them putting down the Doufan Rebellion in the 1970’s or the 24 British soldiers killed along the way but I suppose it’s their museum.

The grounds are lots of big kit, like a small ship, some aircraft and a group of manikins in uniform having a pay parade.

Cost wise, I paid £36 for one of the few budget hotels which I booked online, and it was pretty good and managed and run by Indians. If you eat with the locals food is about £5 - £8 for a reasonable meal. What does push the cost up is getting around with the ‘think of a number’ cab negotiation. When cabbies are ignoring the locals and insisting in taking the foreigner first you can be pretty sure it’s not to improve their English; which by the way is spoken by just about everyone. As a guide the cab fare to the airport was around £13.

If money isn’t a problem and you can hire a car I’m sure there’s a lot to see out in the countryside but my impressions from the Army museum are that Oman is very big, very empty and there is not a lot to see apart from forts, of which there is no shortage. So a return trip is not on my ‘to do’ list.