Nagaland is a state located in the far northeast corner of India on the border with Burma. Born and raised in the neighbouring state of Meghalaya, I grew up hearing stories about the ethnic clashes, separatist and underground movements that plagued the state. But then there were also the tales of the valour, indomitable spirit and fiercely independent nature of the Naga tribes. In fact, they were the last to come under British rule in the late 1880s. To prevent rebellion from the unruly Nagas, the British had to devise an administrative system which retained and respected Naga law so that the villages continued to operate almost unaltered.

Nagaland today is a peaceful state and insurgency problems have stopped. With its return to normalcy, the state has opened up to tourism and hosts one of the most extravagant and colourful festivals in the region – the internationally acclaimed Hornbill Festival (held in the first week of December every year).

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Coming lunchtime and just what I am looking for:- water running from a plastic pipe but with a drinking cup left beside the fuente de beber close to a crude table and bench. No need for signs attesting to the water quality, the locals – gente local, obviously use this spring. I unpack my bread, Mahou, sausage and cheese (pan, cerveza, chorizo y manchego) and catch a large draft of clear, cold spring water. What a feast. A warbler sings a few phrases in the brush, but gives up. It is siesta time… I stretch out on the table and …

I had bronchitis a couple of weeks before I was due to travel to Sri Lanka. I suddenly did not want to go. I felt really vulnerable and depressed, but I also had faith that sunshine and a change of environment (I live in London) would be good medicine for me. My first mistake was to use the £10 voucher I was given by Sri Lankan airlines because of a 2 hour flight delay, to eat 3 oysters. Straight away I did not feel right.. but was it just nerves? I was not sick. I could not sleep on the plane and arrived zonked … and nauseous. So I meekly allowed a taxi tout to lead me to a taxi. I probably paid more than I should have but didn’t care. I am someone who normally avoids taxis but I was that desperately weary.

Comic book capers arriving in Sakaiminato on the Eastern DreamBy Pete Martin

It’s weird to be in Japan. It’s my first time and I really do feel like I’m on the other side of the world. Actually I am, after traveling across Russia on the Trans Siberia Railway and now across the Sea of Japan by ferry. A free shuttle bus takes me from the Eastern Dream into the centre of Sakaiminato. To my surprise, the bus drives on the right side of the road; by that, I mean the correct side, the left side, like in the UK.

As if to say a big konnichiwa (hello) and to my surprise there are colourful models of cartoon characters all over town. Every few metres along the main road, on rocks on the pavement cartoon caricatures have been placed. There are huge colourful comic posters on the walls of the buildings and the station too.

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My first long-distance travel experience was accepting a one-year studentship to work at Guanajuato University Library in Mexico in the mid-1980s. I extended my time in Mexico for another year by working for the British Council in Mexico City. I loved Mexico and living there gave me a wonderful insight into the Mexican way of life. I spent holidays and weekends exploring Mexico and even ventured on a student trip to Cuba one week. I still have good friends in Mexico from this time.

After 2 years I returned to the UK and joined the British Council. This gave me the opportunity to travel during my 22 years working for them. My first trip was to run a 2-week librarianship course up in the copper belt of Zambia. Needless to say I stayed on to take a short safari and visit Victoria Falls, stopping off in Egypt on the way home.

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The only lake of any size in the northern province of Tigray, Lake Hashinge feels like the Como of Ethiopia. It joins two large areas of lush flatland to the north and south where droves of cattle and other livestock are brought to graze and water. At a 2500m elevation the lake waters rest calmly, enclosed to the east and west by beautifully terraced foothills. A church flashed like an aquamarine stone on a hillside as the sunlight caught it, the rays then abruptly cut off by an angry cloud rolling in to the higher peaks. I walked west along the south side of the lake, enjoying the shading of the water created by the rippling breeze, greeted by shepherds herding huge-horned cattle coming the other way. My plan was to walk up into the mountains on the west side of the lake, head north for two days, come down into the small town of Maychew, then summit Mt. Tsibet. Situated to the northwest of the town at 3935m, it is the highest in mountain in Tigray. I had not heard of anyone doing the walk and didn’t bring a tent, assuming there would be plenty of mountain villages there upon whose hospitality I could rely.

The walk up into the foothills through grass-thatched villages was beautiful. The lake shimmered on my right hand side and everything was green.

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‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina’ was resonating from loudspeakers throughout the Sunday market in the San Telmo district of Buenos Aires, sounding even more wonderfully romantic sung in Spanish as ‘No Llores Por Mi Argentina’.

It was balm to my spirits, having just experienced one of the great scams inflicted on foreigners in that city. Heading to the market that morning I suddenly felt splodges fall on my head and shoulders from a balcony above.

A young woman immediately approached with a handkerchief, offering to wipe away the mess.‘Please remove your rucksack’, she said haltingly in English. No chance, I thought, having been told earlier that morning by a young Frenchman that he’d lost his passport, wallet, camera and all the pictures he’d taken in a year’s travelling in a similar scam just the day before. The scam was tried on me not once, but twice that same day without success, but thankfully did not diminish one jot my enjoyment of the city. Buenos Aires is a city of contrasts.

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