I had been traveling for three weeks when I arrived in Ko Pha Ngan and so far the trip had been enlightening; the great Wat Pho of Bangkok with its elaborate Buddhas lined with mother-of-pearl, gold leaf, rubies and emeralds was unlike anything I had seen before. The ancient ruins in Ayuthaya made the whole city seem like an endless UNESCO world heritage site; and throughout my travels the art work, architecture, and natural beauty of the country radiated its confidence. But most of all it was the people; the smiles on their faces and the laughter that filled the air as I walked around the cities or villages, in restaurants, bars and stores, the feeling of Sanuk everywhere. That beautiful word sums up the Thai people. Sanuk, meaning 'fun', is apparent in everything that the Thai people do, the belief that anything worth doing, even work, should have an element of fun.

When I finally arrived in Ko Pha Ngan I was tired, hungry and in need of a place to sleep. Rote welcomed me with a warm smile and the best news possible. "Yes, I have room available," he assured me. His wide silk pants were blowing in the wind and I caught a whiff of smoke from his hand-rolled cigarette as he confidently strolled a few paces in front of me, essence of Sanuk all around. Walking through his beachfront property situated directly on the Gulf of Thailand I could see there were 10 small bungalows for rent. Rote strolled all the way to the front of his property and led me up the stairs to the bungalow situated 50 feet from what seemed to be my own private beach. The place was empty.

The stairs were on the side and led to a small porch were I dropped my heavy pack and slumped onto one of the wooden, folding chairs to catch my breath. Inhaling the smell of tropical Thailand for the first time sent shivers of relaxation through my entire body. The salty air and the sweet smell of flowers left a new sense of freshness in my nose and in my soul. Rote continued to smile and for the first time we discussed money. I would have paid anything to stay there but on being told the price I found his smile had become even more infectious than before. "500 Baht," Rote informed me, $11 per night for a private beach bungalow.

The bungalow had two glass doors at its entrance. I pulled at the two opposing handles and stepped into the simplest of rooms. Wood paneled walls throughout, a large comfortable bed, windows on every side, a small bathroom with an open shower and a western style toilet and a small sink in the corner. The whole bungalow was on small stilts which made it seem both more unstable and higher than it actually was.

Later, I was rolling a cigarette in some bamboo paper that Rote had given me when I saw him strolling by. This time he had dark sunglasses on and seemed to have no place to go. Wandering was his routine. I couldn't blame him as I took in the surroundings: palm trees, full and green everywhere, the ocean with its limitless horizon directly in front of us, the sounds of a slow, lazy pace. Quiet and pure, unobstructed by the superfluous motion of labor, it was a startling relief to my senses. The immediate sounds around me; south-east Asian water fowl and swiftlet birds choreographing their own symphony from the trees above, the smooth sound of waves crashing into the shore and the rush of wind all around created the essence of nature. In the distance I heard the faint hum of a motor and saw a long tail boat gliding delicately across the water. The driver was standing in the back holding a long rod attached to the motor, turning it ever so gently when he wanted the boat to obey. "Hammock?" Rote asked, his voice jolting me out of my hypnosis, pointing to a cloth hammock strung up between the wooden pillars on the next bungalow over from mine. I smiled and shook my head in approval, happy that my time here was in good hands.

That evening I walked across the beach to the next set of bungalows, only a hundred feet from Rote's property. There was a restaurant where his guests were welcomed to dine. The menu was vast, encompassing all the Thai delicacies: fresh fish and prawns from the days catch, amazing vegetables and fruits; tofu that would make any meat eater understand the virtues of vegetarianism; lemongrass, sweet and sour sauce, peanuts, and curry adding to the freshness of the food. The pineapples, coconuts, papayas, guavas, bananas, and mangos were perfectly ripe and I quickly realized that the fruit that I had grown up on in the United States was, by the time it reached my table, grossly overripe and depleted of real flavor. I tasted these things as if it were the first time.

I was staying between the villages of Ban Tai and Ban Khai, a quieter part of the island that offered the traveler the beauties of Ko Pha Ngan without the nuisance of hundreds of monthly ravers that converge for the famous full moon parties. Most of the beach bungalows are still concentrated north and south east of Thong Sala, the port and entrance point to the island, and offer an undeveloped and peaceful stay.

Hat Rin Nok -- the party center of the island -- is more or less a self-contained town. If has travel agencies, bars, restaurants, hostels and more crowded and less attractive bungalows than other parts of the island.

In the interior are four year-round waterfalls and a number of seasonal ones. Boulders carved with the royal insignia of Rama V, Rama VII and Rama IX, all of whom have visited the falls, can be found at Nam Tok Than Sadet. Also, the Wat Khao Tham offers week-long mediation retreats at its beautiful location on top of a hill near the small village of Ban Tai.

I was hoping to see all that I could in three days and on my first night I studied the maps and read about the possible modes of transportation to and from these various parts of the island. As I was finishing my reading, I turned off the light and saw a small fire in the distance, near the beach, and noticed four shadows preparing. Within moments I heard the familiar sound of acoustic guitars rolling towards me. It was soft and simple, the guitarists playing a combination of only three or four major chords, but it was perfect. Adding to the already serene atmosphere was this clear, sweet sound. Three notes per chord and then a smooth transition to the next, and then a high, beautiful female voice accentuating the notes. She wasn't singing lyrics, just an emotional almost tribal moan. I fell asleep with these beautiful sounds in my ear.

I woke to a gentle breeze and the same sweet smell and lively tropical fauna woke with me. After breakfast I decided to do some exploration. I was walking to the road when I saw Rote waving at me from the front of his house. His house was much larger and more elaborate than the bungalows that he rented out, but was still simple by western standards. The second floor balcony was beautiful. It had teak sides and was adorned with lotus flowers and orchids -- it made a great home. I walked over to shake hands and say hello when I noticed a large machete in his right hand and a coconut in the left. After a few effortless whacks of the machete, he offered me a piece of fresh coconut and sat down, asking me to do the same.

His English was not very good, and my Thai was worse, but we managed to have a pretty good conversation. I learned that the two teenage boys playing the guitar last night and working around the property were refugees from Myanmar that he and his wife were taking care of.. I learned that he had owned this property for a long time, but that the bungalows were only two years old; that he is trained as a chef and goes to Germany every six months to work as a private caterer for a few weeks at a time; and that despite his seclusion he knows the world beyond this island and has chosen to live here.

After some more conversation and coconut, I politely got up to leave explaining that I was going to rent a scooter and drive to Hat Rin. He grimaced for the first time. "Why do you want go there?"

"Just to see," I explained. His smile returned as he looked up at me and said "too many people" and then he let out a great big, childish laugh. Too many people, I thought to myself? There can't be more than ten thousand people on the whole island.

I rode a scooter along some of the most dangerous roads in all of Thailand, narrowly escaping with my life. I ate a good lunch at a restaurant in Hat Rin and hiked to the top of the highest hill to see the amazing views. But despite this interesting excursion, I couldn’t wait to get back to the beach. The lack of a sea breeze and palm-tree shade had left my face red and my throat dry. The bungalow was first my respite from travel, from where I had come from and where I was going, and now was my respite from the island itself. My outward travels had ceased to be of importance, I was happy with what I had found.

Towards the end of my second day my heart sank as I realized that I would be leaving the island in 24 hours; leaving the most beautiful scenes, smells and tastes that I had ever experienced. I was dreading the future because my time in the present was so profound. "Hello, my friend,"” again Rote's voice coming seemingly from nowhere left me startled. "Where did you come from?" I replied, only to get a chuckle in response. As if he understood but was pretending not to. "Rote", I said "I would like to stay for two more nights," extending my hand with 1000 Baht. He nodded, without surprise or worry and gave me an understanding smile.

The next morning I saw two western travelers riding on a long tail boat a hundred yards or so out in the gulf, without a Thai driver or guide. I asked Rote who they were and he explained, "German couple, bought boat... six months before." The lures of Ko Pha Ngan were great for everyone.

My travels in Thailand were ending all too rapidly. I had extended my stay on the island, forgoing other places of interest, but it came to an end too fast. My initial unrest, my inability to stay stil,l had passed and I was dreading the long trip back to Bangkok and back to the world. In two days, I thought to myself, I would be back at work, back to a life familiar but full of complications. I pictured my apartment, the school where I taught and all of the responsibilities that come with work, with modern life. I had found a place to see the simplicities of life, the genuine smiles of genuine people and the lack of greed and wantonness. It was addicting and I wished that I too could buy a long tail boat and stay indefinitely.

My trip finished as it had began -- in a pick-up truck. Only this time it wasn't a taxi driver at the wheel, but Rote. Our last conversation was like that between two old friends separating for a long time, but somehow we both knew that I would be back one day. As we were idling at a stop sign in this more inhabited but still relatively vacant part of the island, Rote again showed his good humored frustration with his surroundings. "Too much traffic," he whispered, his cigarette clinging to the side of his mouth and his sunglasses firmly in place. I looked around and saw only a few people and a smattering of cars and scooters on the narrow village roads. I smiled and shook my head in agreement. "Yeah, too much traffic."

Feedback: "I much enjoyed the story and wanted to go there, it sounds like a beautiful place. Especially appreciated reference to the guitar's three cords, three strums, as i play guitar and trying to figure out what good music is made of... Thank you." Mike Anderson

"Thoroughly enjoyed this. I have been meaning to write of my two visits there and you captured the island so well. Loved it!" Naomi Rendall