A small yet proud-hearted state of Nagaland lies at the border of India and Myanmar, on the steep slopes of Naga Hills and Patkai Hills. In any other place of the world these hills would have a proud designation of mountains, but here, in the shadow of Himalayas, their 2000 meters look dwarfish…
I’ve been just introduced to awsome software – Autopano Giga, software for automatic pics stitching into panoramas. Last night before going to bed I fed my Giga to a folder with all our Rainbow pictures – more than 22000 photos. And fell sound asleep. I shall be frank, Giga “died” not being able to digest even half of this heap. But what it did to the first part – by itself, no hands applied to it – is, I think, absolutely fantastic!
Here’s some dozen of its masterpieces (uploaded “as is”, no cropping, no processing):
Salween in Yunnan, near the border of Tibet
We finally managed to escape from the “Safety Zone” of Imphal. And up to the Myanmar border, we hoped to meet no police nor military troops. Only some villages found on satellite images – no other information, no maps, no reports. Seems like nobody ever ventured into these hills – or kept silent about his explorations.
Pictures from the state of Manipur – with lots of rebels and abundance of military forces, trying to keep them in order.
There are two major groups of people, living in the state – peoople of the plains, Meitei and some others. And the hill tribes – kuki, zo, paite, and several clans of nagas.
Only pictures here. The main entry is only available in Russian, sorry.
Our last little story on Meghalayans, before we plunge into the dusty clouds of Manipur.
This woman also has a talking name, Bethel – and she is to some point a very picture of the whole khasi people.
We met no more human ashes, nor voodoo dolls on our way to the cave. The mystic cave turned out to be a hole in a limestone sink, about one meter in diameter. The khasi stayed away from the hole, trying to peep into the vertical hole from a distance.
On and on, ever turning and turning, and sliding up and down the hills of Meghalaya, we pedal to the East. Towards the state of Manipur, burning in the flames of a revolt. Behind us, in front of us, side by side with us Tata trucks roar they way from the coal mines, huge, rubbed, all heavily loaded with coal. “Give way, you little nuisances!” they horn to us huskily. When tired of climbing up the hills, Roma and Gleb speed up and clutch at the frame of the nearest truck. Tata usually doesn’t like this, but the driver sticks out of the window, looking back at them, smiling and absolutely nonchalant about the road safety.