Boxing Day 2004

My eyes opened suddenly. I was fully awake, staring at the white side table and the book I had been reading the night before. I looked at the clock; dead on nine. I sat up, looked to my left out the window. The sun was fighting against the blinds, finding a few cracks here and there. I got out of bed, picked up my book and went to sit on the balcony. I opened up to the page I had stopped at and settled in to read. Just as I got comfy I looked up and out to sea. It was a beautiful Boxing Day morning. A hot Christmas wasn’t something that I was used to, but I knew I could get used to it. My eyes found the horizon and I stared, wondering why I had awoken so suddenly. I could feel my mind searching for an answer that was not there, but my instincts told me that it was to be found out there in the distance, where the water and sky touched.

Our hotel was on the main road facing the sea, with easy access to the beach, shops and the busy local hangouts that extended inland, behind the façade of tourist accommodation. We had arrived a few days before, flying in from Bangkok and were subsequently picked up by the owner, Martin, in his imported Mercedes. The hotel was a bit of an eyesore, compared to some of the more lavish looking establishments that adorned the half moon bay. It was solid concrete from top to bottom, similar to the housing blocks built in the 50s. The bar, sat at the front, was filled with females, serving and drinking. The six of us were shown to our rooms. We didn’t really know what to expect, it being the first time we had all set foot in Thailand. So it came as a bit of a shock to see a huge heart-shaped bed, covered in bright red nylon bedding. It looked like a gaudy love den, and it turned out that was exactly what it was supposed to be. Thanks to mum’s friend, Bjorn, who booked the accommodation for us, we ended up checking into a brothel. We tried finding alternative accommodation but no luck. Everywhere was fully booked.

By 10 am everyone was up. The noise of cars, people and the general hustle and bustle of a seaside resort began to increased as the sun climbed higher. Mum and Jan came down to the room, marshalling my brother (Paul) and me into action. We had a boat to catch. It would be our first diving trip, planned off-the-cuff the day before, after buying mask and snorkels from a dive shop round the corner. Typical mum, go in, for one thing, come out with a whole day trip planned. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t be going, of course!

We were congregated at the bar, ready to depart when mum said we should go back and put sunscreen on. A groan rippled round all of us and we trudged back up to the rooms. As we all milled around, Paul called from the balcony.

“Hey, there’s no water in the bay!”

“What are you talking about? “I replied, “Of course there is, it’s a beach”

“I’m serious. Look! All the water has gone!“

We all moved to where he was standing. He was right. At first glance, no one would have noticed: It looked like it was low tide. But as our eyes rose to encompass the whole bay, the sand seemed to stretch on endlessly, with huge rocks dotted here and there, alien to the eye. Cruise boats on their sides stared back at us, with the faint movement of people, here and there.

Without even thinking, my legs began to move, following Paul, Mum, Jan and her two brothers down the stairs to get a better perspective of what was going on. We all stood there with a hundred others, all looking in the same direction.

Then, suddenly, the horizon changed. The sky seemed to darken as a thin line appeared at the edge of our vision. We all stood there, transfixed. I was not able to tear my eyes from the scene that was unfolding. It was not a big wave, but rushing water, murky, unforgiving water that had burst from a sandbank and was not going to be stopped. It was not until I saw the pier to my left start to wriggle like a snake, that the feeling of dread finality hit me. Then the sound of the iron bolts snapping gave my body the shock it needed. There was a man running along the pier. He looked like something out of an action movie, clearing the pier as the last section was ripped from its nest, claimed by the sea.

There was a road that ran around the whole of the half moon bay and stood a metre above the beach. It was hit and began to rise. Within seconds the water was at my feet, absorbing jet skis, sun beds and whatever else lay beneath its surface at a terrifying rate. I turned. A red van drove past and then I dashed across the road and the twenty metres between it and the stairs of our hotel. As my foot touched the first step, the water was there, lapping against my feet like clinging tentacles. I was the last one up, bursting into the first-floor bedroom to find everyone out of breath, including a handful of strangers who had fled with us. I looked back. The water was swirling around, consuming the stairs as it rose. Everyone moved up to the next floor. I ran to the balcony to look out at what we had so desperately run from minutes before. The scene that greeted me was one of surreal disaster and devastation unfolding all around the bay.

The snap of plastic slapped my attention. The drinks bar beneath us was fully submerged. Bits of the pool table, the bar, cans of beer, surfaced and disappeared in a random dance of movement. Suddenly, the hotel owner’s car reared up, almost struggling to impose its will before being dragged beneath the water. The water was still rising, and within minutes had reached the first floor, overflowing onto the balcony and into the bedroom. I turned back to the room to see the strangers that had followed us up. There was an elderly German couple, out of breath, standing at the top of the stairs, both soaked from the water. My attention was drawn to the trail of blood lurking behind them. The gentleman had a fresh wound in his calf muscle; a chunk about an inch square. Jan used her shawl to wrap his leg, sterilising it with a duty-free bottle of Bombay Sapphire. The water began to withdraw from the buildings along the front. It dropped below the level of the road, taking its prizes with it. Constantly moving, never still, it looked the same murky brown, with flashes of colour from cars and other debris that it had swept up.

Three of the bystanders who had run with us started to make their way downstairs. The two young men and the girl had a quick exchange before clambering over the debris of bikes and jet skis that had piled up at the bottom of the stairs. I never saw them again.

Soon after they’d left, the seawater awoke again and began to rush forward in a great arc that engulfed everything from right to left. All you could hear was the bombardment of water against concrete. I sat, eyes closed, flinching in time with the crashing waves. The shock of the first wave had kept my fears and senses at bay, but as I sat there with nowhere to run, they surfaced and began to take over, from a trickle to a rush. With the certainty of death hovering in the air, I realised that my life was not in my hands.

BOOM! BOOM!

I was brought crashing back into reality. The noise permeated my body, drowning out all sensation and thought. I moved to the balcony looking to my left, to the road that ascended into the mountain. Two of them stood like pillars on either side of the bay. My eyes followed the road that rose and wound its way around the mountain choking it of its colour.

BOOM!!

The noise echoed around the bay like a battering ram. Movement caught my eye and drew me to where the sea and concrete met. A section of the pier was caught by the swirl of water and was being driven against the supporting pillars, creating a deathly music that amplified the water’s presence and power. I stared at the scene, hoping the foundations would continue to support the only road exit. This rooted my mind and body in hope. Although we were only two hundred metres down the road from the bridge, and yet still too far for us all to run, vehicles and people stood still and safe above the water line that stained the tarmac.

I stood, looking back at the water, my arms resting on the ledge in front of me scanning the scene before me, burning the sight of it into my mind. I looked down straight down just in time to see the water begin its assault for the third time. I tensed at the speed with which it rose, like a beast that had been disturbed from its dwelling, with no thought other than lashing out at the cause. Within 30 seconds it was at the first floor again, having swept the bay like wine being whirled in a glass. The building shuddered with the weight of an immeasurable force exerting itself upon it. I continued to watch, thinking of the indifference of nature. To the water, this was not a holiday beach or a home, but a battleground between water and earth for a war that has been started long before our existence began and will continue long after we cease to be. Forget early warning systems; forget having some form of intelligent counterforce. When nature stirs we can do nothing but watch… and hope that we are not in its way when it comes.

I turned back into the room, feeling, for the first time like it was a prison, full of crowded inmates. The sound of crying and sobs hung in the air like a bad smell. There were distant looks, haunted eyes, slow rhythmic motions of bodies and signalling hands. People comforted each other, sitting close or resting on shoulders and laps for support. The occasional loud noise would cause the room to collectively tense, hanging still and motionless for minutes on end. Slowly, this anxiety would evaporate but it was always in the background.

I kept myself moving, not wanting to sit or stay still for any length of time. Nervous tension kept my mind distracted and my body active, ready for any sudden changes, but it also kept panic at bay. We all coped with it differently. Paul sat on the bed, his head resting on his left hand as he stared into space. Mum sat on the bed next to him, leaning into her right hand, lost to her motherly thoughts, the look of pained disbelief clear as day. Jan kept herself busy, attending to people’s wounds, checking on the German man and comforting those who could not stop crying for themselves, for others, for the lost and because that was all that there was left to do. We would catch each other’s eyes, knowing it was enough. Jan’s brothers, Richard and Robert, were staying in the rooms adjacent to ours. They had run into their section of the hotel from the beach. They also had people in their rooms and a few sat perched on the roof of the building, knees at their chests, heads resting on top. Richard would hop between the balconies every now and then to bring us an update and to see how we were. During the whole time, I only saw Robert twice. After the first hour, he retreated to his room for a sleep, as, in his words. “There was nothing else to do.”

For the fourth time, the water swelled and rushed forward with a dark intensity. The whole building shook with the impact and strained under the pressure. It did not reach the same height as the first or second occasions, but it was still unnerving. Hope brushed my mind with a fanciful touch that I clung to with a grim determination. The water was beginning to slow. Its anger and determination were beginning to waver. Within 15–20minutes the water had retreated, back to ground level, sitting and waiting before it got the call to rise again and throw itself at the shore and its inhabitants.

We decided to start packing. I went with mum and Jan to their room. A thin film of water layered the floor. It was empty. Everyone was on the second floor or the roof. They gathered our things from the safe; passports, money, tickets. The suitcases came next… slow methodical work. I left them to it, climbing the stairs to our room to do the same. Suitcases on the heart-shaped double bed, Paul and I began to pack. It was good to focus on something different and the act of packing helped to strengthen our belief that we would make it to safety. This would not to be my tomb. We packed a small bag of essentials to take with us, as it would have been foolish to try to carry everything with us if we needed to run. After packing, we waited, watching the water as it moved with decreasing conviction. Time was measured in its rise and fall. The breaks between were lengthening, tempting us into sudden action.

By now we had seen enough waves to spot the pattern. During one of these breaks, the brothel owner, Martin, made his way down to the bar area. He clambered over the collection of bikes, jet skis and mopeds that had congregated at the bottom of the stairs. Before he had even been a minute, the water rose and he rushed back. We all backed up the stairs at the first sight of movement from the water and I turned to see him clutching a bottle of Martini and a wet cigarette. Panting, soaked from head to toe, a small smile playing on his face as he looked at the bottle in his hand. “That was sudden,” was all he said.

By the seventh wave, we had all decided to run for it. As the water retreated, we moved. We clambered over the assault course that blocked our path, each supporting the other behind us, to make sure we didn’t slip or cut ourselves. The bar was gone. The road was littered with sand and bricks. An upturned truck sat vertically out of the swimming pool of the hotel next door. You could see straight through to the hotels behind; wooden posts that supported the building were the only thing left standing, picked clean like bones. I looked at the water. It was beginning to rise. I shouted an alarm. I turned to see Mum freeze and fall to her knees, before being pulled to her feet by Robert. Richard ran at me, telling me to “Shut up and move.” I felt ashamed. Turning, I focussed on getting to the higher ground. Paul was already half way up the road before the rest of us had made it to the bottom of the incline.

I don’t know what I really felt at that point in time. The last few hours had made time and everything but escape irrelevant. A flood of relief didn’t descend, nor did a panic driven laugh escape me; only a sense of “What now?” A truck that had been carrying people from the road up to the Four Seasons Hotel stopped and offered us a lift. We got in the battered dark blue Toyota, clambering over the side and sat in silence as it drove us to the hotel. The hotel clung to the cliff edge, an expensive statement of luxury.

Looking back, the sea was still locked in its dance. The water moved in random but graceful swirls, this way and that. It was a victim as much as we were, a mindless mass that gives without question and takes without remorse. We arrived to the sounds of crying, fear and loss. The hotel lobby was full of people on the floor, lying bandaged, or in tattered clothes. Others seemed to be resting, staring into space, thinking, reconciling. A staff member near the entrance called for the attention of the new arrivals. “We are full. Only the most injured we can provide for. I am sorry.” I watched and saw the collective thought formulating above the heads of the people, like a gas cloud of colour that was blending, shaping into the general feeling that those words evoked as they were uttered. I was pulled away by the cry of a woman. She was standing at the entrance, her voice thick with despair and desperation. Every vehicle that arrived, she would run to. Her eyes would dart to the faces of those on board before the weight of realisation crushed her a little more.

The clarity of fear was starting to unravel as Paul and I sat in the shade outside the hotel… watching, waiting. Time was marked by people arriving and leaving, the calls of pain, the cries of relief. All blended into an opera of tragedy created by suffering and survival. Mum came over to us. We were going to have to walk to Bjorn’s at the top of the hill that looked like a mountain. We stood and started to walk. The road wound round the mountain like a giant slide. There was no escape from the sun as it bore down on us. There were few cars and even fewer people. After about 30 minutes walking, we came to another hotel, just as packed, just as sad. Everywhere you looked there were people, all different ages, ethnicity and gender, but all with the same haunted look in their body language. We kept going after a short break. Each step was easier than the last but just as heavy. The hill finally opened out into a flat plateau. A small hut. A few log benches. I walked to the edge and looked out to sea, staring at the horizon. A huge ship was sitting perched upon the water. Two others were keeping it company. I followed the water back to the beach. My eyes scanned the view before me, taking in its entirety for the first time; how the bay was framed by two silent watchmen and how the land behind the town was nothing but green trees as far as the eye could see. The water was changing colour, fading as the spent force behind its power continued to retreat.

We found Bjorn’s house after searching for a short while, banging on the double fronted gates until they opened. A Thai lady peered through the crack. Mum said we were friends of Bjorn. For a moment, she hesitated before letting us in. The others arrived an hour or two later. Bjorn was even further behind. He had been at his golf club and had had trouble getting back! He was tall, like most Swedes, a grey and white shock of hair, accompanied by the tan of an ex-pat. I didn’t like him but seeing as we had no shelter I wasn’t going to tell him that. As the sun was setting, we went back to the plateau. Mum bought us a drink each from the small hut that served them. I chose a Coke.

The sunset that night was like nothing I had seen before. The sun and the moon both hung mimicking each other in the sky, the same orange-red colour. They were both similar in size and for a moment, it looked like two suns in the sky. They cast a potent glow upon Patong Beach. The water had returned to its natural crystal blue, sharper and crisper than anything I had ever seen. It was calm, surreal and beautiful to behold. The day was coming to an end. We were all alive. We had survived without a cut or a scratch. We had a place to sleep and food to eat. We were safe. It was the end. But really it was just the beginning…

Post notes:

The earthquake responsible measured between 9.1–9.3 in magnitude, the epicentre was just off the coast of Sumatra. It created a 600-mile rupture along the seabed, causing the planet to shudder all the way from Indonesia to East Africa. It was the largest earthquake since 28th March 1964, affecting 14 countries across two continents. The energy released was the equivalent to 23,000 Hiroshima bombs.

Thousands were killed, injured and lost to the suddenness of the Tsunami. Indonesia was the single most affected country, with over 100,000 fatalities. All in all, 55 countries lost people to the Tsunami, many of whom were tourists, of which it is estimated roughly a third were children. The exact figure will never be truly known, only an estimate can be given for the total loss of life inflicted by nature’s balancing act (between 230,000–280,000). Sources indicate that, on top of the fatalities, roughly 500,000 individuals were injured, over 1.5 million people were left homeless and the total damage exceeded $10 billion dollars.

As the 10-year mark approaches, I have come to see the undercurrent that has been ever present through an important time in my life. It was on this day that I grew up. I entered into a frame of mind I have never been able to shake. The truth is, there’s no right or wrong answer or explanation or version of what happened. We all suffered. Many are still suffering and will continue to. Nature has always given and taken with the same hand. For me, the Tsunami has shaped my life in ways I hate and in others that I am thankful for. I was one of the lucky ones, and I will never forget it.