Despite my track record in the past few years I generally like to finish what I start. That’s why committing to volunteer (…it’s not volunteering when you pay to participate…) for one week at a permaculture community in Northern Thailand seemed like a sensible idea—after burning out in Bangkok, we had escaped to Koh Tao, only to find that we were better off in the city. Back in Bangkok for a few days Andrew, Lauren and I unanimously agreed to head north to Chiang Mai, a quieter city, where we would attempt reset and organize ourselves, cut off distraction and be more productive (for Lauren and I, this meant writing more, for Andrew, finding translation work).

One night when we were wandering around Chiang Mai, looking for somewhere to eat, we ran into an Oliver Twist-like dirty-faced child that Andrew and I had sat near a week ago on a train from Chumphon to Bangkok. He was loosely in orbit of the only other person in his vicinity with a similar sense of disheveled uncleanliness, presumably his mother. Strange that we ran into this pair nearly 1,000km north of where we had last seen them. We all briefly marveled at this, then started talking to the girl, Myn, who told us she lived on a permaculture project outside a small village in about three hours away. With her Scottish accent she lured me in, talking about giant bugs, scorpions and mountains. Myn gave us a website to look up and after we parted I immediately began levying the idea hard to Andrew and Lauren. The promise of being relatively isolated, tucked between mountains was too enticing to pass up. In addition, the type of people this place would attract ensured we’d meet some very fringe personalities.

The next two days Andrew, Lauren and I went back and forth concerning the value of going to this place, finally deciding no matter the outcome it could one day be billed, diplomatically, as…an experience. We wouldn’t be losing any money by going since the fee to volunteer was going to be cheaper than paying for a week of food and accommodation, which was provided at the project, which we’ll call Aynap for now.

I e-mailed the people at Aynap, asking them to accept us as short-term volunteers. They responded, saying Myn had told them about us, and also giving us instructions to get there. We were to take a vegetable truck that left at noon from Warorat Market. The truck, despite being called a vegetable truck, would not actually be carrying any vegetables. The truck’s final destination was a village within walking distance of Aynap.

Anyway, this story is much too long to be told in one blog post, so it will be split into a preface and four acts, a chronological retelling of this adventure. I have yet to finish writing them but here are the names of the acts:

Before I go I’ll just say that this trip was a total success. It was a demonstration of how perspective can adjust over time, even a period of days. Had I known what the experience at Aynap was going to be like before we decided to go, I would’ve classified it as a nightmare. There is no way I would’ve labeled what happened as anything remotely close to success. But, after we left—and even now—I constantly carry a souvenir of Aynap with me, smiling when I see it, laughing at how fucking stupid and pointless life is.