Once the bus stopped in Chiang Rai, I dragged my cell phone out of my bag and clicked it back on. My favourite aspects of Thai cell phones were that you could pickup cheap burner ones for about $20 and you just had to pop into the 7-11 retailer to get minutes. No misleading contracts signing away your first born or surprise charges at the end of the month for hundreds of dollars. Fortunately, I still had some minutes left from my ex-patriot life last month.

At the other end of the line, Som-o, the coordinator for the volunteer organization, answered my call and from his tone I detected a hint of surprise. I had called him at my stopover in Chiang Mai a few hours ago and given him my estimated arrival time, so I didn't think my arrival would have that effect. My expectations of this organization were also all over the place. The program sounded organized and we had spent months e-mailing back and forth to coordinate my work with their schedule. For some reason, I assumed there may be a group of us and looked around for others.

Som-o asked me to find a tuk-tuk driver (which bothered me a little as they are a cash grab and I would have preferred a cab) and he gave the man directions to the organization. It took quite awhile for both men to understand each other, but in the end, we made it past the flashy downtown, over a large bridge, off the busier roads and down little side streets, which left me wondering if we were even close at all.

The gate was open so I walked inside and was greeted by a smiling woman in a faded red apron.

"Sawatdee kha!" she greeted and I returned the hello. "Sabaidee mai?" she asked how I was feeling.

"Sabaidee!" I told her I was fine.

"You, Salah?"

"Chai kha," I confirmed and smiled. I double checked that this was the right organization, but it seemed to be. A building with bamboo walls stood in front of me along with a more solid and modern one to my right.

"Bambam," she said putting her hand to her chest. Interesting name. "You go upstairs...?" she said looking at the large olive shell I'd been lugging from one bus to another all day.

I nodded and followed her through the yard area to the staircase outside the building. She unlocked the door and eight mattresses lay on the linoleum floor with a couple fans mounted on the wall. She showed me the light switches, power outlets and how to work the fans. My favourite part was the laundry line inside and the racks outside. I didn't have many clothes left a week past an expensive laundry venture in Inle Lake. Laundry detergent would be first on my list tomorrow.

We went back downstairs and an Akha man with a dark goatee called me over to the table. Three other men in military uniforms sat at the table with him and they passed around big bowls of delicious looking food.

"Come join us. We have started eating. Are you hungry?" Som-o asked.

"Yes, thank you," I said, taking a seat and Bambam quickly got me and extra plate. I started dishing up some rice dishes, salads, minced meat ones and it was all quite spicy. The men at the table handed me a glass and it was quickly filled with beer more than once. 

Other than the occasional question from Som-o, all of the conversation flew over my head in Thai as I finished the spicy meal and my beer. I could catch the basic phrases I had picked up over the year, as well as yes/no, and numbers, but I really didn't have much of a clue what was going on. I'd just smile and occasionally Som-o would explain what they were discussing.

Once I finished my plate I brought it over to the bin of dishes and went to join the table of women Bambam had sat at with her daughters and a few other employees of the organization. Although, Bambam had very minimal English, I still felt that I was breaking a gender divide my staying and putting back beers with the men. Another foreign woman nicknamed Api, which meant grandmother in the Ahka language, sat at the table with us.

Api was a retired woman from Finland who had volunteered out here in 2006 for the first time. She came back a second year to donate her time and afterwards kept coming back as a guest. She came to escape every Finnish winter for around three months. I was the only volunteer at the moment and for what sounded like my whole stay. That was a contrast from their website where it appeared larger groups would come out.

This whole center revolved around the Akha hill tribe people and their culture. While they lived in Thailand and some were citizens, Ahka people were not ethnically Thai and had come from China many generations ago, settling in the surrounding countries. The organization stood out to me because I had wanted to have some connection with Myanmar and some Akha people had settled in Myanmar then fled to Thailand. This organization was also managed by Som-o, who was Ahka himself, so there was no real foreign factor here of which I was aware. I tried to support local organizations when I could.

 The following morning I woke up to very vocal chickens and birds, battling for dominance of the airwaves. The sun streamed through the big open windows and I took a good look around. Behind us stood a taller building that I later learned was a fancier hotel who liked to play loud music. The rest of the area was one or two-story residential area.

I had a wooden cup full of strong tea and sat at the wooden outdoor table. It had the shape of an oval tree trunk and the benches looked quite similar as well. I appreciated the smart soul who had covered them in varnish to avoid splinters. On the corkboard display across from me maps, articles and photos had been pinned up, all relating to the Akha people. Api joined me shortly after and we hung around until Som-o returned with our breakfast wrapped in green banana leaves, secured with a tooth pick.

I had eaten food wrapped in banana leaves a few times in Thailand. The first time what the woman at the market had agreed was "moo", pork, had turned out to be a spicy fish congealed concoction, which gave me bad food poisoning. The other occasion involved sticky rice with a spongy patty overtop, sweet enough to be a dessert. Luckily, we had been given the latter. The portion was quite large but very enjoyable. I learned the spongy patty was in fact either egg or soy cooked this way, a bit reassuring.

The morning went at a slow pace, a bit like staying with a relative who lived out of town where your whole routine was thrown out of whack and your schedule worked at their mercy. A professor from the Netherlands stopped by and the discussions trended toward the mistreatment observed in tourist frequented Akha villages. Many buses would just stop there, come to photograph some of the villagers in traditional dress and scoff at the idea of buying any crafts that could support these locals they were exploiting. He had been visiting with a translator to gather the locals input.

Som-o came back with a book published in the West in the 1980s on the Akha people. The Dutch man had used it to help with writing his research papers and found it to be a great resource. Som-o could point to about three quarters of the photos and name the people photographed, giving follow up information like whether they had been married, had a  family or were still living. His memory blew all three of us foreigners away along with the interconnectedness of the community.   

Later, Som-o pulled me into his office to run me through 'orientation' which involved a PowerPoint of the programs he has run in the past. I inquired if I would still be doing something related to teaching as we had discussed over e-mail. He told me school was finished and that we'd be working on the farm instead. I had prepared myself for this even though he had answered every 'are you sure I'll be teaching in March when school's out' question with 'yes'. It appeared the volunteer program was on the decline as I was only the second to come in months. Api informed me they had been much better organized when they had an additional coordinator whose job was only to work with volunteers. Som-o wore quite a few hats here now that they had cut back.

Contrary to my assumption that this was a local initiative, the roots of organization had been started by a Dutch man who wanted to help the Ahka struggling to integrate and learn the Thai language. It wasn't clear if that man was still in the picture, but Som-o seemed to be running the show and coordinating everything while the rest of the staff was also Akha. Part of my volunteer experience would also be learning about their culture, which was fine by me.        

To break up the day, Api offered to take me on a few walks, one around the neighbourhood to see the campus where village students could live while pursuing their studies in Chiang Rai and another into the city's downtown area.

Chiang Rai had a less intimidating downtown than I was used to in Bangkok. We passed a large monument honouring the king of Thailand, guarded by a few soldiers. The King was quite important in Thai culture and had done a lot for the country. Laws prohibited any person from speaking poorly of him or other members of the royal family.

Api showed me a stunning clock tower whose sparkling and intricate design made it look like something out of a Disney film. The designer had also built Chiang Rai's infamous and artistic 'White Temple' in a very similar style. The golden clock tower served as the centerpiece for a roundabout. Every hour after sunset, the clock would light up and play music for ten minutes. Api made sure we arrived on the hour and sure enough, the loud, flowing music mixed in with the sound of passing traffic as we watch the tower lit up in alternating colours of the rainbow, fading one into the other.

Last, we arrived at the market for supper and to acquire a farmer's hat. I hadn't seen my trusty fedora since I left it on the back of a restaurant chair in Inle Lake after that tire-popping bike ride. The market area was great for food, unless you suffered from indecision. The middle area was lined with chairs and table which faced a nearby stage, currently empty. All around the dining area, food stalls offered everything from fried chicken to noodles, to soup, to Western food.

We got some fries, beer and BBQ satays with a mix of vegetables and meat. They couldn't compete with the woman who made them back in my Bangkok neighbourhood, but they were still tasty.

"When you get to the village tomorrow, you'll go to Som-o's brother's home for supper. They'll have homebrewed whiskey for you to drink. It's rude not take the shots, after three you can decline."

I frowned. Volunteering and getting drunk (especially on moonshine) weren't too things I wanted to mix; although, my tolerance was high enough at this point that three successive shots shouldn't be too much. "Everyone has to drink?"

"Adults, yes. If you don't drink, you just say you don't take alcohol, but..." She looked to my family sized Leo beer alongside her Singha beer bottle. I laughed and agreed. I had also drank with them all last night so I couldn't get away with that claim. I appreciated her pointers since she wouldn't be arriving in the village where I'd be volunteering for a couple days.

On the way out of the market, I didn't think I'd find a hat until we reached the final kiosk. I picked up dark brown, wide brimmed hat, complete with a big ribbon flower secured around it. I tried it on and smiled at Api. A big grin crossed her face.

"What do you think? A great farmers hat?" I asked.

She shook her head and kept laughing. "It will keep the sun away. It's a little fancy to farm."

"I'll be a classy farmer," I said and paid the cheerful vendor. With my mission accomplished, we called it a night and took the long walk back to the center.