A village in two countries, where residents are both Indian and Burmese citizens, a world away from the “big city” modernity which lurks just 40-odd kilometres away in Mon, Longwa is like nowhere else you will ever go.
Looking down into the wild hills, this one street town is home to many of the last ethnic Konyak headhunters, a practice which ended the 1960s. Except for that outbreak in the 90s….and another one a decade later.
The Indo-Burma border at Longwa runs right through the local King's house, more or less along this corridor. It's one of India's more remote - and fascinating- places.
Transport info is usually inaccurate. Changing bus involves being dropped in the wrong spot, getting puzzled looks in another.
And that was just getting as far as Mon. With buses not happening, we rode along these mountain roads in an election vehicle.
With no idea what, if anything was headed to Longwa, we grabbed a quick fill.
The verdict of the army officers at the junction was we'd be staying in Mon.
With election day transport bans looming, this food transport truck was our savior. The road was rough and narrow, but at least we were on it.
There's only a couple of places to stay in town, and we stayed next door to the King's house.
A gaggle of kids gathered next door, playing the usual assortment of village games.
Sitting high on the ridge, we enjoyed views of the local church and football ground.
The town stretches along the main, and only, road, with houses and gardens falling away either side, this way Burma, that way India.
There are 17 major tribal groups in Nagaland state. Longwa is ethnically Konyak, one of the last groups to convert to Christianity in the region.
Everywhere you turn is evidence of a strong culture, from music, carvings, pre-Christian rituals.
The late arrival of god-botherers may have been due to Konyak villages' headhunting ways.
Christian missionaries were pestering the hills of Nagaland from the mid-1800s.
However, it wasn't until the 1960s that they convinced locals to stop taking heads from neighbouring village men.
The last of the headhunters are still alive today, mostly in their 80s and 90s. This warrior is now a deaf, blind old man.
Tattoos, and tattooing were not restricted to just men. Faces, as well as hand, arms, and legs were marked as rites of passage.
For men, facial tattoos were reserved for those who had taken a head, which also allowed men to choose their first wife.
A guide can introduce you to the few remaining head-hunters. If you have any tatts of your own, remember, though, sharing's caring.
Guides don't charge much, and can show you many aspects of village life in a day or less.
You can pop in to see the King, too. That's him on the left.
In his house, which functions as a meeting place, you can see the traditional kitchen and smoking methods, as well as see local handicrafts.
Without a guide, you're unlikely to be welcome in an opium smokers' gathering.
With the border being non-existent, opium is common, brought in soaked in cloth, then extracted for smoking. You'd be welcome to have a toke, if that's your thing.
One of the other interesting places we were shown was the metal workers' house. From furniture to guns and ornamental heads, they can do it all.
The Konyak culture is far more complex than I could describe. Our guesthouse had several books about this disappearing culture.
While you're unlikely to be asked in for a hit of o, you can wander the hills alone and watch the village do its thing.
You could walk a couple of days into Burma before meeting any Myanmar authority. Probably best don't try it though.
Small garden plots hug the hills, where communally built huts of thatched roofs are still the norm, not the exception.
As we were there during an election, virtually everything was shut. I don't think there is anywhere really to get a cuppa or a meal besides your guesthouse anyway.
While election rules shut down shops and roads, it does bring everyone out to vote, and gather and gossip, and vote again.
The gent in the hat is the local priest, and youngest surviving headhunter, in his mid 60s.
Outside one polling station, I asked a fellow with weathered facial tattoos and tusk-covered head-dress if I could take his photo. He replied by plunging a 2m spear into the ground between us! I took that as a no.....
Another facsinating aspect of Konyak life is a number of similarities with the Dayak headhunters of Borneo. Haircuts like this being just one.
How this two groups 7,000kms apart share common traits is an explanation best left for someone better qualified than me.