Loading up our old Nissan on a bright January morning proved a simple enough procedure: cameras and water enough for a Sahara crossing; cushions for the pickup's "bed travellers", and a hefty supply of sun cream all went in the back. My companions, three recently arrived German doctors—bearing 500,000 baht in relief funds donated by neighbours and friends in their native Ruhr region—were anxious to see exactly where their euros were going.

Driving north from Phuket, we saw little evidence of the disaster but, once past the unofficial demarcation zone in the hills above Khao Lak, I pulled over next to a cliff-side restaurant commanding a northerly sweep of the devastated beaches. The restaurant owner, having filmed the tidal waves from the privileged position of his 30-metre-high balcony, was doing a brisk trade selling (at 500 baht a throw) copies of his decidedly amateur VCD film of the tsunami's initial thrust. A stylishly dressed Bangkok mother-and-son couple jabbering into mobile phones stopped dead at the images on the screen.

As we motored through the moonscaped wreckage that was once thriving, colourful Khao Lak, one of the doctors yelled from the back that we should head straight up to Takuapa. Once there, the small group donated a large amount to the regional hospital, which, only a week earlier, had acted as an ad hoc open-air morgue and information centre. The morgue has subsequently been moved one kilometre north. To make the best of our donations, the hospital director suggested that we go to the destroyed fishing village of Ban Naam Kem, some 20 kilometres south of Takuapa.

Smiling faces greeted us as we parked. An old woman, almost buried under a mountain of donated clothing, sifted and sorted for her family and friends in the late afternoon light; a man executed a stiff military salute and then relaxed, beaming at us. At the ad hoc donations box there was a conglomeration of culture and language. Two young Americans tried to explain that they'd driven from Krabi that day to present their sizable cash gift, sent from their small Californian community. Then they thanked us in fluent German for our translations.

Formalities over, we turned to leave but the sound of laughter and amplified music led us around the corner to a heartening sight. Swedish Jonas and Dutch Christie were giving a performance of mor lahm—upbeat Thai country music—while chatting with a surprised and delighted crowd. Children grasped at Christie's hands as Jonas joked gruffly, yet amiably, over the mike with the survivors of the past December's catastrophe. With their fluent Thai, and an evident and commendable assimilation into local culture, they're justifiably regarded as major foreign stars on the Kingdom's TV channels. So, for the devastated villagers of every age, it was an afternoon they'll never forget.

Despite the generosity of the Germans and Americans, however, overall donations to the stricken village, posted on a board by the donation centre, seemed meagre when compared, for example, to the instant rush to support Phuket's "Sea Gypsy" communities. Baan Naam Kin's fishermen need new boats and motors before they can begin feeding their families and community; a whole new village must be rebuilt from scratch; orphans will need sponsored education and vocational direction.

At the moment, the best way to understand and lend support to this village is to go there and see for yourself. It lies just over an hour's drive north from Phuket. Follow the signs for Takuapa.