I am not the same man, and the river has continued to flow. I think perhaps it was a mistake to come back to the greatest place of my travels, but I had no choice, the memory of it drove me here like a compulsion. Fatigued and exhausted from 6 days of frenzied journey I burst into Nongriat early in the morning, with only nagging fears in my mind. From this moment nothing sat right with me. The guesthouse was the same, the same friendly talented host, and the same adventurous travelers who have made the walk with their bags. But I could not feel the spark I felt on first arriving in paradise.
My rejection of change must be irrational, after all it is the only constant. But why did more tourists have to come to the place, why is the thrown rubbish greater, why did new buildings have to be built, why did the winding stone path clinging to the valley side need concrete steps, why did the betelnut plantation need to grow into the forest, is the frontier atmosphere less now? I can't put my finger on any one important thing that has changed, apart from it not being my fictional memory of itself.
The first time I arrived I may have been at the peak of myself. Strong after many days on the beach, restless but fulfilled by my travels, and seeing everything new. That time as now I stopped first in the guesthouse 'at the top', in a town called Sohra (British/tourist name Cherunpunji). It has a dormitory which helps to throw travelers together. Meeting one or two others I heard some details about Nongriat, but still had not quite constructed a mental image. Only the basic landmarks were filled in from the stories: some large number of steps into a deep stoney valley, and a guest house beside a root bridge in an otherwise vast blackness of unconstructed backdrop.
To reach the village you have to descend quite a few steps (thousands) down the side of the valley. The old and less-used stone path begins from the plateau where Sohra is located, at Mawmaluh which is 7km down the road, noteworthy for it's cement plant. The views of the valley are something on the way down. About half way you reach Tyrna which is where many people begin the walk, at the cost of a taxi. From here the steps are concrete, a product of the Mahatma Gandhi rural employment scheme or other government program. The concrete is no bad thing, aside from the small size of the steps it's a very steep descent through the forest.
To reach Nongriat you have to cross the bottom of the valley. Two rivers are spanned by distinctly rusted cable bridges, formed of fresh cables and disintegrating cables held together by twisted bits of wire and bamboo. The bridges are around 40m in length and up to 10m above the valley floor, failure isn't a pleasant idea. After a couple of rises on the far side you reach the village, camouflaged by betelnut trees and surrounded by forest. There are many places to stay where there were once two, with the most popular foreign tourist spot right at the start of the village. The owner speaks good English, which makes things simple.
Within a few kilometers of stone (now concrete) paths in each direction are beautiful waterfalls, emerald pools, other villages. The guidebook attraction is the two storey 'living root bridge' which made the place famous. The temperature is pleasant, ranging on hot and humid in the late season.
If I try to describe what makes this place special it all stems from the absence of a road. The locals are hardy, and the tourists adventurous. There is no traffic problem here, and no pollution to speak of. The limited volume of tourist traffic keeps rubbish down. In essence nothing has changed. I realise my memory was a moment in time with a small group of people so in awe of the place we regressed to an almost childlike state. Everything was new. I remember painting with torches on slow camera exposures of the bridge, exploring the valley, accompanying a trip to the village to buy a local machete, riding on the roof of the Jeep, swimming, diving, sunbathing. The euphoria is gone, with just enough visitors now it's no longer a private party.
Naturally the tourist department wants to destroy this one thing that makes the place special. Despite the fact that Indian tourists do visit this place, and make the trek down the valley as part of their holiday... What would really improve this place is clearly a road, and a parking lot for hundreds of white tourist jeeps. This is the view of the people with money, the hotel developers of Sohra who want to turn the place into a government approved tourist site for government approved tourist vehicles to stop at for five minutes, throw their rubbish, and move on. I hope they never achieve this, but fear it is inevitable.
My rejection of change must be irrational, after all it is the only constant. But why did more tourists have to come to the place, why is the thrown rubbish greater, why did new buildings have to be built, why did the winding stone path clinging to the valley side need concrete steps, why did the betelnut plantation need to grow into the forest, is the frontier atmosphere less now? I can't put my finger on any one important thing that has changed, apart from it not being my fictional memory of itself.
The first time I arrived I may have been at the peak of myself. Strong after many days on the beach, restless but fulfilled by my travels, and seeing everything new. That time as now I stopped first in the guesthouse 'at the top', in a town called Sohra (British/tourist name Cherunpunji). It has a dormitory which helps to throw travelers together. Meeting one or two others I heard some details about Nongriat, but still had not quite constructed a mental image. Only the basic landmarks were filled in from the stories: some large number of steps into a deep stoney valley, and a guest house beside a root bridge in an otherwise vast blackness of unconstructed backdrop.
To reach the village you have to descend quite a few steps (thousands) down the side of the valley. The old and less-used stone path begins from the plateau where Sohra is located, at Mawmaluh which is 7km down the road, noteworthy for it's cement plant. The views of the valley are something on the way down. About half way you reach Tyrna which is where many people begin the walk, at the cost of a taxi. From here the steps are concrete, a product of the Mahatma Gandhi rural employment scheme or other government program. The concrete is no bad thing, aside from the small size of the steps it's a very steep descent through the forest.
To reach Nongriat you have to cross the bottom of the valley. Two rivers are spanned by distinctly rusted cable bridges, formed of fresh cables and disintegrating cables held together by twisted bits of wire and bamboo. The bridges are around 40m in length and up to 10m above the valley floor, failure isn't a pleasant idea. After a couple of rises on the far side you reach the village, camouflaged by betelnut trees and surrounded by forest. There are many places to stay where there were once two, with the most popular foreign tourist spot right at the start of the village. The owner speaks good English, which makes things simple.
Within a few kilometers of stone (now concrete) paths in each direction are beautiful waterfalls, emerald pools, other villages. The guidebook attraction is the two storey 'living root bridge' which made the place famous. The temperature is pleasant, ranging on hot and humid in the late season.
If I try to describe what makes this place special it all stems from the absence of a road. The locals are hardy, and the tourists adventurous. There is no traffic problem here, and no pollution to speak of. The limited volume of tourist traffic keeps rubbish down. In essence nothing has changed. I realise my memory was a moment in time with a small group of people so in awe of the place we regressed to an almost childlike state. Everything was new. I remember painting with torches on slow camera exposures of the bridge, exploring the valley, accompanying a trip to the village to buy a local machete, riding on the roof of the Jeep, swimming, diving, sunbathing. The euphoria is gone, with just enough visitors now it's no longer a private party.
Naturally the tourist department wants to destroy this one thing that makes the place special. Despite the fact that Indian tourists do visit this place, and make the trek down the valley as part of their holiday... What would really improve this place is clearly a road, and a parking lot for hundreds of white tourist jeeps. This is the view of the people with money, the hotel developers of Sohra who want to turn the place into a government approved tourist site for government approved tourist vehicles to stop at for five minutes, throw their rubbish, and move on. I hope they never achieve this, but fear it is inevitable.
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