Book Report 3: "Tsunami Stories"

Along the Western shore of Thailand, dawn began as it had for centuries on December 26th, 2004; the sun peeking over the lush green hills to the East before spreading a warm blanket of golden rays across the wide waters of the Andaman Sea. The local residents of the area began their days as usual, also, but it was the last time they would do so for many, many months to come - if ever.

Two minutes before 08:00 local Phuket time, the third largest earthquake on record began to shift the floor of the Indian Ocean to the East of Indonesia, some 500 miles from the shore of Phuket. Lasting between eight and ten minutes, the magnitude 9+ earthquake initiated a tsunami that generated more power (according to the Tsunami Society) than twice the total of all of the explosives used in World War II, including the two atomic bombs.

Approximately 90 minutes later it hit the shore of Thailand, where it would kill 5,400 and leave nearly another 3,000 missing.

A quick search of Amazon.com shows at least two dozen books and published papers on the disaster; this is just one of them. I found it in a bookstore in Bangkok and thought it would be an "easy" read while on holiday. It was quick - it's a mere 122 pages - but it wasn't altogether easy to be reminded of the disaster through the 16 personal recollections of the day, along with eight from Burma (although those are only a short paragraph each).

I enjoyed the casual, almost conversational style of the book; somewhat like sitting across from someone, listening to them relating what happened to them that eventful day. There's a small thumbnail photo of each person, putting a face to the story, which I also liked, and about 18 black and white photos throughout the book, some spreading over both pages as one larger image.

There's good news and bad news about actually getting a copy of this book.

The bad news is if you want a physical copy you'll have to find it in a used book store or from a private vendor, as the initial printing of 15,000 copies - done as a fundraising effort for 16 children who lost their parents that day - has sold out. The good news is that author Bill O'Leary has generously made it available as a free download in e-book (PDF) form here. He says they are still supporting the education of the 16 kids, so if you feel you want to make a donation to them, that's entirely up to you. I've done no research on the group myself, and I'll leave that up to you.

As the old TV show used to say "There are eight millions stories in the naked city... this is one of them". There are a couple of dozen in "Tsunami Stories," but they're worth the time to read and reflect on, as unpleasant as it can be to be reminded of such a terrible event.

[The upcoming feature film "The Impossible" looks as though there's a chance we may see more of what probably happened that morning than some of us may wish to see, too, but I'm sure I'll go see it. There's a preview clip of it in the April 29th post, if you missed that.]

Another Reminder Of The 2004 Tsunami

A still captured from the trailer clip below

While mortality figures from the December 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake and resulting tsunami were far higher across Indonesia than they were in Thailand (130,736 confirmed deaths in Indonesia vs 5,395 in Thailand) the emotional factor regarding Thailand was far higher for most of you regulars here, and that's perfectly understandable; any personal connection to a disaster that brings a clearer image of people and places we're somehow attached to make the event far more vivid in our mind, and for many of us all the more emotional.

In addition to a couple of tabloid-type video releases that were rushed out shortly after the 26th of December event, HBO and the BBC broadcast a mini-series two years later. "Tsunami: The Aftermath" is still readily available on DVD, and is scheduled to re-broadcast on HBO again this December. My main complaint about the film was that I didn't feel it showed enough of what happened to the native population, but I understand it was aimed at a farang audience. Nevertheless, it triggered the intended emotional response and was reasonably well received.

There's a new feature film currently in post-production that looks as though it may fall into the same rut, although I'm hoping for more. "The Impossible" was filmed in Spain and Thailand, directed by Juan Antonio Bayona and starring Ewen McGregor, Geraldine Chaplin and Naomi Watts. This early trailer is in Spanish, but the film will be released in English. You won't have any trouble understanding what's going on:



Many of us repeat visitors to Thailand know (or knew) someone who had ties to the Phuket area during that unfortunate period of time. Some had visited there themselves. One couple I know were most thankful that their business here prevented their annual beach-side holiday there in 2004 or they probably wouldn't be around to tell the tale.

My most personal connection was via an Isaan friend, one of my first contacts in Thailand many years ago. He was working the reception desk graveyard shift at a hotel quite near the shore. Most mornings after he was off work around 08:30 or thereabouts he'd go walk along the beach for an hour or so and visit with friends to unwind before walking up the hill to his room, but he was more tired than usual that morning and skipped his usual stroll. As he sat safely in his room, the water surged in and took the lives of everyone in the reception area and lobby of his hotel. I knew he was in the area, and the wait before I heard from him seemed far longer than it actually was.

 The tsunami in Japan a year ago was just as awful - if not more so, in some ways - but without the personal connection it didn't have the same impact that the 2004 disaster had on me, despite the far more complete coverage of the event. That day in 2004 will stay with me for a long, long time.

 "The Impossible" is scheduled for worldwide release in October.

My Night At Hat Nang Ram

During a June 2005 visit it turned out that one of my Thai hosts unexpectedly had his military duty schedule changed on him. Since he couldn’t be around for about 36 hours to take me around as he’d planned he’d been kind enough to book a beach bungalow for me to rest at while he was making his hospital rounds. He knew me well enough to know I’d enjoy some “down” time to catch up on writing and people watching along the beach – and he was right. It had been an overbooked and somewhat hectic trip so far, so even though it was a plunge into the unknown for me and made me a little uneasy, I thanked him for taking such good care of me and hoped for the best.

So, late one afternoon we headed South out of Pattaya past Sattahip, stopping briefly for water and fruit to snack on. Once off of Highway 3 we went along another few minutes until my friend finally announced with a grin “We’re here!” “Here” was Hat Nang Ram (หาดนางรำ), a small locals beach area, popular on weekends but nearly deserted during the week. Making one last turn we went a bit further before ending up at a beautiful, flat, white sand beach, with gorgeous tropical blue water gently lapping at the shore. There were less than a half dozen people sprinkled along the crescent of white against blue.
There was a line of shops facing the ocean, set back about 100 yards from the water, all sharing the same roof; several eateries and shops selling fruit, drinks and simple handicrafts. This being a weekday there were more vendors than customers, and they were being kept company by a few dogs that sniffed around and raised dust in the parking lot as they chased tails between naps in the shade. My friend went into an office of some sort to get my room key, and I walked out to the nearby sand.

A pier extended far out over the water to my right and there was a rocky outcropping at the end to my left where there’s a small shrine to Kromluang Chumphonkhetudomsak, cited as being the Father of the Royal Thai Navy.

Amid the line of pine trees along the sand, maybe 300 feet away from the water’s edge stood a few small freestanding bungalows; really no more than cinder block studio rooms with a small bathroom en suite. Mine was approximately where the blue “X” is on the photo below. When my friend returned with my key I grabbed my bags from his car and followed him to the door, standing back as it exhaled the hot air from inside. He then went directly to the aircon to switch it on as I looked around.


It was very basic: tiled floor, a small desk, a double bed with a fairly firm mattress, a small wardrobe-type cabinet and a refrigerator. The bathroom was a tiled room measuring maybe eight feet square, with a sink, toilet and shower hose attachment on the wall with a single faucet handle – but no water heater. I knew I’d be taking a shorter shower than usual.

“Did you book me a double room?” I called to my friend, who peeked around the doorway at me, looking puzzled. “No, why?” he asked, and then shouted in surprise at the huge creature I pointed to on the ceiling above him. After I took a couple of photos of it, we had a few spirited minutes getting him shooed down from his perch and then around the room before he finally made it out the front door.


My friend brought in some drinks and other snacks he’d packed, and after he stocked the refrigerator he said his goodbyes for the day, saying he’d be back after his hospital rounds seeing patients the next morning some time. I hung a couple of shirts up, grabbed some water and went out to explore the beach.

There were about seven guys on the beach playing football by the time I got out there, and they stayed for at least an hour while I made my way around the beach area, taking a few pictures. I finally settled in to watch them laugh and play for a while from a spot in the shade, until I was ready to go inside and take a little nap.


I had a basic meal from one of the small restaurants on the “strip mall” when I woke up, and then after another walk just because the ocean breeze felt so good I retired to shower and read a little before falling sound asleep until morning, the sound of the nearby surf carrying me away to dreamland.

The next morning I looked out the window and was immediately struck with panic: the water was gone! The beautiful azure waters had pulled out away from the sandy beach, at least a hundred yards, maybe two! How could this be? Could there possibly be a tsunami in a gulf? Could one possibly happen again just six months after the tragedy that struck the Phuket area? Could I possibly manage to haul my out-of-shape self up the steep hillside behind my bungalow if I had to? I had no way to contact my friend, and boy was I nervous.

There were a few women and children far from the dry sand, poking around at things now exposed, and I figured them to be goners as I hurried to dress and go quickly to the first open stand, next to where I’d had dinner the evening before. The woman sweeping up with her broom looked up without any of the concern she must have seen on my face, and when I pointed to the shore and said “there’s no water!” she called to her son, who came out from the back, rubbing his eyes. “Is there danger?” I asked him, still somewhat agitated. He laughed… and laughed… and laughed. I was about to turn and head to pack and run, thinking “everyone here is nuts,” when he said “Every day, every day. Water out, water in!”

And finally, I got it. Low tide. VERY low tide on a VERY flat beach. He explained it to his mother, and we all laughed; me with relief, them at my silliness. As I thanked them and sheepishly headed back to my bungalow I could hear the laughter as the story of the crazy farang made its way along from shop to shop.