Songtaews, sunsets and slow days by the sea in Ban Phe, Thailand

If you ran an Internet search on Ban Phe, Thailand, it is unlikely you would turn up much information, past or present. It was this anonymity that actually attracted me to Ban Phe as an ideal training location for Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL). If I wanted to experience Thailand as more than a tourist, it only made sense to move beyond the comforts and security of well-known, bustling cities and beaches into the unfamiliar, rural countryside.

What I did know about Ban Phe is that it is a small fishing village on the coast of the Gulf of Thailand. What I didn’t know was what interested me. And what I found when I arrived was a slow and gentle world beyond anything you could expect to find in a guidebook.

The things you are taught in TEFL training— grammar rules, teaching methodologies, lesson planning — are meant to shape you into a better teacher. But the things you are taught outside of the classroom will shape you into a better person, if you are willing to observe, listen and learn.

I learned that a long ride shared with perfect strangers can quickly turn into a short ride with new friends. When we arrived in Thailand, the other TEFL trainees and I were met in Bangkok (the capital), divided up, put into minibuses and sent off on the two to three-hour journey to Ban Phe. We all came from different countries, had distinctly different accents and vastly different backgrounds. But it wasn’t the differences we focused on. What we had in common became much more important — a love of travel, a passion for cross-cultural exchange, an interest in Thailand and the hope of becoming a teacher and part of a community while in a foreign land.

In the weeks that followed, no matter where we went or what type of transportation we used, we managed to turn every trip into a good time. In the mornings on the way to training we shared breakfast, study tips and plenty of laughs in the songtaews. Songtaews are pickup trucks that have been transformed into public taxis by the addition of two (the Thai word for the number two is “song”) benches in the bed of the truck. They are very common in rural and beach areas. Prices are negotiable, depending on the distance and number of people, and can start as low as 8 baht (25 cents).

In the evenings, we transformed the songtaews and minibuses into oldies sing-along stages. We hitched rides with locals, rented motorbikes to share and chartered speed boats to a nearby island — always with a smile, always as friends.

I learned that a simple life can be a good life. For the first few weeks in Thailand I did not have a cell phone and had very limited access to the Internet. There was not a convenience store, shopping center or towering building in sight.

In fact, the beach was directly across the street and the only “businesses” around were a few food stalls and fruit carts. Some of these were simply local families selling goods in front of their homes, while others were actually mobile — attached to the side of a motorbike!

The local people started to sort out our comings and goings and appeared accordingly. And we started to sort out that you need not have heaps of money and material things to be happy. When you can enjoy slow days by the sea with good food and good friends, your material desires naturally fade with the sunset.

I learned that it is often the people who have the least who will give the most. One local woman who had three children and nothing more than a small hut (from which she sold snacks and drinks) put on a huge beach birthday bash, complete with karaoke, for one of my fellow TEFL trainees.

Another local family who ran a small food stall washed our laundry when we couldn’t find a laundromat, arranged motorbike taxis, minibuses and songtaews when there seemed to be none in sight, gave us advice on travel in Thailand, and taught us the Thai words for various food items.

If we were walking down the road, we were met with smiles, waves and happy hellos from nearly everyone we passed. If we walked too far we were always offered a ride. I learned that believing in the good in people does not mean you are naïve, it means you are hopeful.

I learned that monks are real people with real dreams and real fears, and monasteries are not just places of silence and meditation but are also places of study and laughter. While in Ban Phe we had another incredible opportunity: our teacher training took place at the local monastery where novice monks lived and studied. Each day, we attended training barefoot (no shoes allowed inside the monastery) in doorless classrooms where roosters, cats and dogs roamed freely, and fans (let alone air conditioners) were scarce.

During our breaks we chatted with the monks and found that many had come from very poor families throughout Thailand, some from other countries. They told us about their hopes of studying at universities in Bangkok and even one day having girlfriends (after they finished their time in the monastery, of course!).

They took us on a hike to a nearby temple, where we exchanged stories and taught one another bits of our own languages and cultures. In our final days at the monastery, the monks became our students as we put our new teaching skills to the test. We taught them a little English and they taught us so much more.

I discovered that complete silence and sunshine shared with a friend can be as refreshing as a long chat on a rainy day ... shared with a friend. When our teacher training was complete, a friend and I took a ferry to a nearby island called Koh Samet. We took a long and bumpy songtaew ride on unpaved roads to reach a quiet beach away from the crowds. And there we stayed for three days, lying on the beach, splashing in the sea, barely a word exchanged between us. Only when the local fruit guy came around did we manage to utter a few words, “Sweet mango, please.” We immediately returned to the blissful silence as he peeled, cut and delivered the mango.

I learned that there are not always words to express how you feel. Some things are just too beautiful, too amazing, too peaceful. Sometimes it’s OK to just enjoy the silence, enjoy the moment and take in the beauty without saying a word.

Both inside and outside the classroom, my time in Ban Phe taught me lessons I will never forget. Perhaps the most important thing I learned is that every day is waiting to teach you something new, if only you are willing to observe, listen and learn.

Ashley M. Fitzgerald is a 2000 graduate of Harrisville Central School and a graduate of Middlebury (Vt.) College. She lives on Koh Phangan in southern Thailand, working to set up a school for others interested in becoming certified TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) teachers. “Grown Local, Gone Global” is published every other Sunday. You may send your questions and comments to her at afitzgerald@wdt.net.