November 2015: An Expedition to India’s Remote Tribal Islands

Venturing into the Wild Andaman Archipelago

In November 2015, Paula and I set out on a spontaneous five-day journey to one of India’s most remote and mysterious regions—the Andaman Islands. These scattered isles in the Bay of Bengal, though Indian-administered, feel geographically and culturally more akin to Africa or Myanmar. As part of a broader two-week adventure that also included South India and the Maldives, we were drawn to the Andamans by their raw beauty and rapidly vanishing way of life.

The Tribes of the Andamans

Living Echoes of Prehistoric Humanity

The Andaman Islands are among the last bastions of primary rainforest in the region—and more significantly, they are home to some of the world’s last uncontacted tribes. These indigenous groups have remained largely untouched by the outside world for thousands of years.

Among the most well-known are the Jarawa, who inhabit the southern part of South Andaman Island. Though they have cautiously tolerated limited contact in recent years, they remain highly vulnerable to outside influence. Even more enigmatic are the Sentinelese of North Sentinel Island, who are famously hostile to outsiders. Their fierce defense of their isolation has turned deadly on multiple occasions—including the killing of a young missionary who attempted to make contact.

Environmental Threats and Cultural Erosion

Colonization in the Name of Progress

Despite their protected status, the Andaman Islands are under increasing threat. The Indian government, in an effort to relieve population pressure on the mainland, has encouraged migration to the islands. As settlers move in, forests are cleared for agriculture, roads, and housing developments. Logging, construction, and tourism are pushing deeper into fragile ecosystems, jeopardizing not only the flora and fauna but also the ancient tribal cultures that depend on the land for survival.

A Journey Against the Clock

Witnessing the Islands Before They Disappear

With this awareness, Paula and I felt a sense of urgency. We wanted to witness the Andamans while they still retained their untamed beauty and cultural richness. Our goal wasn’t to seek out the tribes—many of whom are off-limits to outsiders—but to immerse ourselves in the atmosphere of a place teetering between untouched wilderness and the encroaching modern world. It was a brief, intense window into a region that, once changed, can never return to what it was.

Location of Andaman Islands

Arrival in the Andaman Islands

A Narrow Escape from the Monsoon in Chennai

Our journey to the Andaman Islands began with an intense brush with nature. Paula and I boarded a flight from Chennai during a severe monsoonal thunderstorm. The turbulence was nerve-wracking, but we made it out just in time—later we learned that the airport flooded shortly after our departure, stranding passengers for days.

Touchdown in Port Blair

We landed in Port Blair, the capital of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, where a separate visa process awaited us. After being processed and stamped with permission to explore the islands—excluding the restricted tribal zones—we were officially cleared to begin our adventure.

Exploring Port Blair

First Impressions of a Laidback Tropical Town

We spent our first night in the old British colonial capital, staying at a lovely hotel with a view of the ocean right from our room. Port Blair felt distinctly Indian, yet noticeably more relaxed and less chaotic than mainland cities of a similar size. The usual crowding and poverty common in Indian urban centers seemed less pronounced here.

A Walk Through History

The Cellular Jail: Echoes of the British Raj

One of the most impactful experiences in Port Blair was our visit to the old British-era prison, now converted into a museum. Known as the Cellular Jail, it once held Indian separatists who resisted British rule. As we drove to the site, our taxi driver—a kind, soft-spoken Indian man—shared something unexpected: his father had been a freedom fighter imprisoned there during the independence movement. Hearing that made the visit all the more poignant.

Untouched Cell Blocks and Gallows

The prison itself was haunting and fascinating. Many of the cell blocks remain untouched, preserved in their original state. Standing before the old hanging gallows—still intact after all these years—was chilling. It’s sobering to think of the many lives that ended right there, in the name of freedom.

Fort Blair British Prison

Fort Blair British Prison

Encountering the Jarawa: A Glimpse Into a Vanishing World

An Isolated Tribe at the Edge of Modern India

The Jarawa, a dark-skinned hunter-gatherer tribe living in the southern part of South Andaman Island, number only about 200 individuals. Despite their small population and centuries of outside pressure, they have remarkably resisted assimilation. They’ve survived disease outbreaks, a road that splits their forest in half, and colonial attempts—from the British, Japanese, and now Indians—to either eradicate or absorb them into mainstream society.

For most of their history, the Jarawa had almost no contact with the outside world. It wasn’t until the early 2000s that limited interaction began. Now, their territory is designated as a protected reserve, and the Indian government provides some assistance. Still, the Jarawa continue to live as they always have—deep in the forest, clad mostly in loincloths, living off the land in ways that haven’t changed in centuries.

Their attitudes toward outsiders vary. Some remain wary or outright hostile, while others, particularly younger members, now approach vehicles to beg for food or gifts—reflecting a growing, complicated awareness of the modern world.

The Trunk Road Through the Jarawa Forest

A Road That Shouldn’t Exist

One of the most controversial developments in Jarawa territory is the Andaman Trunk Road, constructed in the 1970s. It slices directly through the Jarawa Reserve, granting outsiders direct passage through their forest.

In the past, unethical tour operators ran so-called “human safaris”—taking tourists into the forest to gawk at the Jarawa. These operations often lured tribal members with food in exchange for photos, dancing, and entertainment. When footage of these degrading interactions went viral, there was international outrage. The Indian government responded by banning the tours and imposing stricter regulations on travel through Jarawa land.

Strict Rules for Passage

Convoys, Military Escorts, and No Stopping

Today, all vehicles traveling through the Jarawa Forest must move in military-led convoys, with a jeep at both the front and rear. Convoys are scheduled at set times each day, and once you’re in, no stopping is allowed. There are signs at the forest entrance spelling out the rules: no photography, no giving food, and no littering. These rules are intended not only to protect the Jarawa, but to protect travelers as well—given that only a few decades ago, hostility toward outsiders was still the norm.

Driving Through Jarawa Territory

A Journey into the Cultural Unknown

From Port Blair, Paula and I hired a taxi to travel the Andaman Trunk Road en route to Baratang Island. The journey felt almost surreal—like a real-life version of Cultural Jurassic Park. As someone deeply interested in indigenous groups and their traditions, I was excited but also conflicted. I didn’t want a “drive-by photo” experience. I wanted to understand, to witness respectfully, and if possible, to connect.

The road itself was in poor shape—narrow, bumpy, and closer to a bike path than a proper vehicle route. At times, it disappeared under a cathedral-like canopy of primary rainforest, which only added to the dreamlike feel of the journey. I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to trek into the jungle and stay with the Jarawa—though I knew that wasn’t possible or permitted.

A Brief Encounter

Children of the Forest Emerge

For most of the trip through Jarawa territory, we saw no one. Then, just once, a group of young Jarawa boys emerged from the forest, running barefoot across the road. They wore traditional palm-frond headbands and chased after the convoy, calling out and gesturing for food or gifts.

Though we didn’t stop, I managed to take a few photos discreetly. It was a fleeting, complicated moment—beautiful, raw, and a little sad. A reminder of how fragile this world is and how easily it can slip away with every passing car, every tossed-out snack, and every camera lens raised without thought.

Sign stating rules at the beginning of the trunk road where we waited for our military jeep to lead our convoy

Trunk Road

Jarawa Boy

Jarawa Boy

Signs of Encroachment

Logging Camps and Working Elephants

Outside the boundaries of the Jarawa Reserve, the forest quickly changes. Not long after exiting the protected area, we passed several logging camps set up along the side of the road—clear evidence of the growing human footprint across the Andamans.

What struck us most was the sight of Indian elephants being used to haul massive logs from the jungle. It’s a practice that still persists in the Andamans and in parts of Southeast Asia. The elephants, often adorned with chains and guided by mahouts (handlers), have been trained to navigate difficult terrain and extract felled trees where machines cannot go.

The image was both impressive and unsettling—a reminder of how even the most majestic creatures are drawn into human industry. In contrast to the untouched world of the Jarawa, this was a different face of the islands: one shaped by development, resource extraction, and economic need.

Logging Camp

Onward to Baratang Island

A Journey by Road, Ferry, and Jungle Trail

After our convoy through the Jarawa Reserve and a sobering glimpse of the logging camps, we continued toward our next destination: Baratang Island. This would be our second night in the Andamans, and the town we stayed in had a distinctly Indian atmosphere—busy, a bit chaotic, but welcoming in its own way.

Crossing by Vehicle Ferry

To reach Baratang Island, we needed to cross a narrow channel via a vehicle ferry. Our taxi drove aboard along with a few other local vehicles, and we floated slowly across the water while locals stood on the deck chatting, snapping selfies, or simply enjoying the ride.

Exploring Baratang’s Limestone Cave

A Short Adventure into the Jungle

While waiting near the ferry port, we decided to organize a quick side trip to the Baratang Cave, a popular spot for both Indian tourists and the occasional foreign traveler. We joined a small group and boarded a motorboat that whisked us across a calm waterway lined with mangroves. The ride was peaceful, with kingfishers darting overhead and the dense jungle crowding the banks.

After docking, we set off on a short jungle hike, weaving our way through palm-fringed trails and damp earth until we reached the cave. The limestone formations inside were beautiful in their own quiet way—stalactites and stalagmites shaped by centuries of dripping water and time.

It wasn’t a long excursion, but it added a fun and adventurous element to the day—a reminder that even in areas increasingly touched by development, nature still has its secrets to share.

Baratang Island Cave

Ferry from baratang Island

Whispers from the Forest

Rumors of a Hidden Jarawa Camp

During the ferry crossing to Baratang Island, I found myself in conversation with a few Indian workers standing near the bow. As we drifted past the thick jungle banks, they casually shared something that sparked my imagination—a remote Jarawa camp hidden deep in the forest, just a few hours away by boat. According to them, this group was still highly traditional, living much as their ancestors had for centuries.

Intrigued, I asked if the camp could be visited. They responded with laughter—not mocking, but amused—shaking their heads as if the question had an obvious answer. “No, not possible,” one of them said, almost dismissively. Government laws, tribal protections, and common sense all made that kind of contact off-limits.

A Quiet Temptation

Still, as we stood watching the forest pass by, the thought lodged itself in my mind. What if I wasn’t with Paula? What if I were alone, or with a willing local guide? Would I be tempted to venture off the map—to hike into the jungle, find that elusive camp, and stay a few nights with them?

Part of me knows it’s not right. The Jarawa are not an attraction, and their privacy should be protected. But there’s another part of me—the explorer, the seeker of vanishing cultures—that aches to witness these last fragments of a world untouched by ours.

I didn’t go, of course. But the thought stayed with me long after the ferry docked. There are still places in this world where ancient ways endure… just out of reach.

Ferry to Baratang Island

Mangroves

A Night in Baratang

Not Exactly Paradise

After a long day of travel and jungle exploration, we finally arrived in Baratang town—and truthfully, it was nothing to write home about. The town was small, dusty, and had a generally run-down feel. There was little in the way of charm or scenery, and not much to explore beyond the main strip.

A Rough Place to Rest

We checked into one of the only accommodations available—a cheap wooden shack-style hotel that offered little more than a place to sleep. Below the rooms, a dark and smoky bar occupied the basement. Inside, a group of Indian men sat on plastic chairs, beers in hand, while screaming Hindi music blared from blown-out speakers.

It wasn’t exactly the peaceful tropical escape some imagine when they think of the Andamans, but it was all part of the experience. Baratang may not have had beauty or comfort, but it had character—and a raw, gritty slice of life we wouldn’t soon forget.

Baratang Town where we stayed one night

Into the Wild: Journey to Long Island

A Ferry Ride Through the Forgotten Isles

Leaving Baratang behind, we climbed back into our dusty taxi and drove for several hours down a rough dirt road, winding through dense forest. Eventually, we reached a remote ferry port—a quiet gateway connecting the mainland of South Andaman with the outer islands scattered across the Bay of Bengal.

We boarded a local ferry bound for Long Island, accompanied by a handful of Indian passengers, many of whom lived in the tiny fishing villages sprinkled across the archipelago. As the ferry chugged along, it meandered through a maze of remote islands, most of them uninhabited and cloaked in thick, untouched rainforest. We passed only a few signs of human life—scattered huts, a pier here or there, but otherwise, it felt like we were drifting through the edge of the world.

Arrival at Long Island

Rainforest, Bungalows, and a Warning

Long Island was a world away from Baratang. Heavily forested and largely undeveloped, the island is blanketed in pristine rainforest, save for one small village community tucked near the shoreline. There, a few rustic bungalows offered simple lodging for the handful of travelers who make it this far.

As we stepped off the ferry, we were met with a jarring sight: a large warning sign near the dock advising visitors not to swim—due to the presence of large saltwater crocodiles.

It wasn’t an exaggeration. Crocodiles are a serious threat in the Andamans and have occasionally attacked—and even killed—people. A young American tourist was tragically taken while swimming just a few years before our visit, a chilling reminder that paradise here comes with real risks.

Ferry to Long Island

Villages from the ferry to Long Island

Entrance to village on Long Island

A Village Lost in Time

No Restaurants, No Roads, Just Raw Simplicity

Long Island’s village was tiny and remote, and with its isolation came simplicity—perhaps too much simplicity. There were no restaurants, no cafés, and aside from our rustic bungalow hotel, the only food available was a handful of stale cookies and warm sodas sold from a rickety roadside hut. It wasn’t exactly a culinary destination, but it added to the sense that we were far from the rest of the world.

Into the Interior

A Permit to Explore the Rainforest

We arrived early enough in the day to have time to explore the island, which, while not enormous, was large enough to get lost in—especially in the rainforest-covered hills of its interior. But before Paula and I could hike the trails, we had to obtain a forest permit from the local Forest Reserve Office.

The office itself was a scene out of another century—a weathered wooden building that looked like it hadn’t been updated since British colonial times. Inside, the permitting process felt just as old-world. We presented our passports, then signed our names across dozens of aging ledger books, the pages yellowing and brittle, on the verge of falling apart. The office walls were lined with shelves stacked with hundreds of old ledger books, each one seemingly more fragile than the last. It felt like we were writing ourselves into history.

A Local Guide Through the Jungle

Following Forest Trails with Barefoot Knowledge

Permit in hand, we were assigned a local village boy to act as our guide. Barefoot, soft-spoken, and clearly familiar with every twist of the forest, he led us into the interior with quiet confidence. Though still young, he carried himself with the calm assurance of someone who had grown up in this environment—navigating its hidden trails, listening to its birdcalls, and knowing exactly where to step.

Village on Long Island

Forest Service permit office

Trekking through the forest

Jungle Trek to a Hidden Beach

From Fruit Groves to Towering Rainforest

Our forest hike began innocently enough, weaving through banana and fruit plantations just outside the village. The terrain was gentle, and the weather fair—at first. But as we pressed deeper into the island, the cultivated land gave way to dense primary rainforest, its towering canopy closing in above us, ancient and alive.

Soon, dark clouds rolled in, and thunderstorms cracked through the jungle silence. Still, Paula and I pressed on, determined to reach the remote beach on the far side of the island, where we planned to swim—carefully, of course, while staying vigilant for any signs of saltwater crocodiles.

Leech Hell in Hiking Sandals

Then came the leeches.

With the rain came an explosion of the little bloodsuckers, and they were starving. To make matters worse, I had made the brilliant choice of wearing hiking sandals. Within minutes, they were crawling up my feet in hordes. At first, I tried to pluck them off, but I quickly realized it was a losing battle. So, I gave up—surrendered my feet—and simply accepted my fate. I kept hiking, grimacing as the bloodthirsty bastards latched on and feasted.

A Beach Worth Bleeding For

After a couple of hours trudging through the jungle, the trail began to descend steeply, turning muddy and slick. We slid and scrambled down the final stretch until we emerged onto a long, pristine white sand beach, utterly deserted. On a sunny day, it must look like a postcard. Even through the grey rain, it was stunning. A coral reef edged right up to the shoreline.

Without hesitation, I waded into the ocean, letting the saltwater sterilize the leech bites and wash the blood off my feet. The salt killed the leeches instantly; one by one, they released their grip and floated away, leaving my feet bloodied but finally free.

The Return: Racing the Tide and the Sunset

No More Leeches, No More Jungle

There was no way we were subjecting ourselves to Round Two with the leeches. So instead of hiking back through the forest, Paula and I opted to walk back along the beach and through mangrove-covered coastline. The tide was rising fast, the sun was sinking low, and the going was tougher than we expected—longer, wetter, and far more tiring.

As twilight faded into darkness, we finally stumbled back into the village, muddy, damp, exhausted, and ready for a warm soda and maybe some more stale cookies.

My feet bloodied and battered from the leeches

Paula walking the long desolate beach on the other side of Long island after we finished walking the trail of a million leeches in the forest. 

Crab

Walking back along the coastline

The Long Way Back to Port Blair

Ferries, Convoys, and Familiar Roads

After our adventurous stay on Long Island, we hoped to catch a public ferry back to Port Blair, but things didn’t go as planned. Schedules were vague, capacity was limited, and in the end, we had no choice but to return the same way we came.

Early the next morning, we boarded the ferry back to Baratang, then hired a taxi to drive us all the way back to Port Blair via the Trunk Road, once again passing through Jarawa territory in convoy.

Relaxing (Sort Of) in Port Blair

Rainforest Beaches and Coral Reefs at Jolly Buoy Island

Back in Port Blair, we stayed for two more nights—enough time to unwind and take one last excursion. On one of our full days, we joined a boat trip to Jolly Buoy Island, part of a marine national park famous for its coral reefs, white sand beaches, and lush rainforest. The boat was full of Indian honeymooners, most of whom were wide-eyed and excited, taking selfies and applying sunscreen like armor.

Once on the island, I was disappointed when the park rangers corralled all visitors into a small designated section of the beach and reef. Despite the vast expanse around us, they insisted we stay close and not wander off.

Eventually, when no one was looking, Paula and I slipped away—quietly sneaking off to a more secluded stretch of beach, the kind of spot we had come all the way here to find.

Alone on the Edge of the World

Crocodiles, Sharks, and Sentinelese Ghosts

Of course, the solitude came with its own risks. Saltwater crocodiles and reef sharks are very real threats in these waters, so we didn’t venture too far out while swimming. But the stillness, the raw beauty, the sense of being somewhere at the edge of the map—it made the moment unforgettable.

As I stood on the shore looking out across the ocean, I was struck with awe. Only 20 miles from where we stood lay North Sentinel Island—home to one of the world’s last truly uncontacted tribes, the Sentinelese. No boats, no roads, no electricity, no globalization. Just jungle, spears, and a culture untouched by the rest of the world.

To be this close, yet worlds apart… it was humbling.

Paula on Jolly Bouy island

Paula and I on Jolly Bouy island

Paula on Jolly Bouy island

From Islands to the Mainland

One Last Stop in Calcutta

After our time exploring the far reaches of the Andaman Islands, Paula and I flew back to the mainland, landing in the vibrant and chaotic city of Calcutta (Kolkata). We had just one long day to explore, but we made the most of it—wandering through colonial-era streets, sipping chai from roadside stalls, and absorbing the energy of one of India’s most historic cities.

Homeward Bound via China

With sore feet, full memories, and the tropical grit of the Andamans still clinging to our bags, we began the journey home, routing back through China before finally returning home.