Sometimes the answers to difficult challenges can lie in our own backyards – and, for some, quite literally. This thought crossed my mind as I concurrently pondered the sorry state of the world - and the gluai hom banana in my hand.

We’re standing in a semi-circle in a red-dirt yard, sipping hot coffee blossom tea, and before us is a towering Akha tribal version of Thor, wielding a gigantic 4-foot wooden pestle. The enemy is a huge mound of thick, sticky white gooey-ness, sitting nonchalantly in a hollowed-out tree-trunk-turned-mortar.

The thin, brown paper sachet feels delicate in my hands - its refined, matte texture interrupted only by a smooth, salmon-pink pentagonal label. The artwork features a playful, yet cryptic, array of symbols: rays of pink light emitting from a green sun, and colourful beans tumbling from mountain-like shapes.

Depending on who you are, the word ‘bergamot’ is likely to elicit different associations. If you’re a tea-lover, maybe it’s the delicate aroma of Earl Grey tea. If you’re into perfume, perhaps it’s the warm citrus groves of Calabria. If you were around in mid-1980s Thailand - it’s probably the popular anti-hair-fall shampoo.

It’s 37 degrees, and the Thai summer sun is beating down from a near-cloudless sky. As my ride drives away, I shade my eyes from the blinding light, and take in the scenery from under a cashew tree, its bright red fruits drooping down generously from above.

Depending on who you are, the word ‘bergamot’ is likely to elicit different associations. If you’re a tea-lover, maybe it’s the delicate aroma of Earl Grey tea. If you’re into perfume, perhaps it’s the warm citrus groves of Calabria. If you were around in mid-1980s Thailand - it’s probably the popular anti-hair-fall shampoo.