These hills are home to Thailand's northern tribes Akha, Karen, Lahu, Yao, and many others, each with its own language and culture. Near Doi Mae Salong, we stop at a Yao village at the home of Jane's friend, Chi Quay, 54. Chi's family left China's Yunnan province and headed south five generations ago with a few precious possessions, notably the family seal and the ancestral registry. Chi brings out the seal to face the sun it is a row of four highly stylised horses animals plentiful in the Yunnan but completely absent in his adopted land. The ancestral registry is a dog-eared sheaf of hand-made paper wrapped lovingly in silk, bearing the names of 19 generations in Chinese characters. Reciting these names is central to Chi's spiritual practice. Chi has the slow, deliberate manner of a retired librarian, who is clearly accustomed to suffering fools. In response to my request that he read from the registry, he gets up with a bemused look and arranges himself on a low stool on the porch. Then on second thought, he looks up at Jane and asks if I want him to dress up in Yao finery for the reading. That look instantly transports me into a parallel universe where everybody wears spandex, where strangers troop into my home bearing thinly veiled admission fees in the form of fried chickens and ask me to read from the Geetanjali. And I ask the group's guide if I should wear a Dhonekhali sari.