The Indian Ocean Tsunami:

A Letter from CPA Media correspondent Colin Hinshelwood

5th January, 2005

Dear friends and family,

So many of you have contacted me in the post-tsunami period to make sure I was OK and I thank you for that. Up until now I have just replied that yes, I was alive and not to worry about me. However you probably deserve a better excuse than that and so I'm going to try and write it down today. You'll excuse the fact that this is another dreaded 'group mail' letter, but I doubt that I'll have the nerves to write it twice so please accept it as is. I'll keep it precise and without speculation. If you have already taken too much on board regarding the tsunami disaster then you should not read any further.

I was lying in a sala on Tong Nai Pan beach getting an oil massage to ease my hangover when it happened. My mate Chris Coombes wandered over and said something like: "I've just been listening to the Beeb, and they say Phuket's been hit by a tidal wave."

I must have squinted up at him and murmured something expressing incomprehension, but in any case, I certainly didn't take it seriously. I looked out over the beach. It was a beautiful hot day. No breeze to ruffle the palm trees; the sea as still as a plate of aqua-blue glass.

Later I DID see the TV and start receiving calls. It was difficult to convince my mother that I was safe. I was standing on the beach in the sunset as I spoke to her. I tried holding the phone to the sea, and you couldn't even hear the waves licking the shore.

On 28th December, a colleague from Chiang Mai informed me that an emergency call had gone round the city to collect supplies for the victims. It was to be sent down to Phuket and distributed. Could I be there to help and to take photos?

So, holiday over, I grudgingly left the paradise of Koh Phangan and headed across to Phuket; only a three-hour ferry ride and a three-hour bus ride. As the crow flies, the island of Koh Phangan was no more than 200 miles from the epicenter of the earthquake. However, thanks to a long slither of land called the Isthmus of Kra, we were all saved. Phangan is in the Siamese Gulf; Phuket in the Andaman Sea: different tectonic plates. So near and yet so far away.

My first impression in Phuket was that everything seemed alright. There was plenty of traffic; electricity was OK; bars and restaurants were open. There was a Finnish boy called Ilkka Luttinen on the bus who was returning to Phuket to fly home. He had been in Krabi when the tsunami hit. He remembers being pissed off with his friend because he was so slow at getting ready and they were late for the boat. Had his slothful friend been more punctual they would have been on the pier when the wave hit. Ilkka told me he was 300 metres from the beach when he saw people running towards him screaming. He saw what looked like a blue wall between the palm trees and turned and ran like hell. They slipped up a side street and only got wet up to their knees. They were evacuated to Koh Phangan, but after a couple of days Ilkka still wasn't feeling quite right. He felt guilty and wanted to return to Finland.

When we arrived at the airport I went inside and was suddenly confronted with the pictures of missing persons. There was a picture of a wee blonde girl (2 and a half years of age) with a milk-teeth smile and braided hair. The poster requested anyone who found her to phone her grandmother in Sweden.

I volunteered as a translator at the hospital. I got a laminated badge which simply said: English / Spanish / Thai.

The next morning I reported to the City Hall in Phuket town with about 40 other foreign volunteers. We were told that body-carriers were not needed today and I breathed a sigh of relief. They asked me if I would mind being at Vachira Phuket Hospital again that night from 8-2. That was fine with me. I spent the rest of the day accompanying the Chiang Mai relief team driving around the island. In true Thai style we took along the kids, the nanny, a picnic, and had plenty banter. It was actually quite good fun.

That's one thing I have learned from the people of Thailand. In situations like these, Westerners tend to get emotionally involved and want to save the world in one day. The Thais don't. They huddle together, generate a good spirit, and thank their lucky stars. And have a picnic.

We first passed Surin Beach. I pasted tiger balm under my nose, pulled my bandana down like a bandit and braced myself.

But Surin was fine. It hadn't been hit. Tourists were on the beach sipping cocktails. We moved on. As we approached Patong a nasty smell infiltrated the air. Rescue workers in canoes were trawling a swamp. A crane was moving debris. Dozens of locals were standing around watching, holding their noses.

It was a hot day and the sea was crystal clear. The beach was pristine and the sand was white. Most palm trees were still standing. But behind the promenade the scene was like Hiroshima. Everything was down: hotels, bars, restaurants. Just rubble mixed in with the occasional recognisable object - a chair, a parasol, a shoe.

Two cars had wedged together between a garage and a restaurant. They looked as if they had been interrupted in mid-flight. A local man told me that they had to pry four bodies from that wreckage the other day.

Patong used to have a big 'Bar Beer' scene: hundreds of loud, kitsch bars and clubs, decorated in neon lights, bar girls and transvestites. Now there was just smoky rubble. I shared a beer with a bar owner named Micky from London who was sweeping up all by himself. He said he had been in bed about a mile away when the tsunami struck and had hardly felt a thing. Now his bar was a gutted mess. He didn't have any insurance. He pointed out the pictures on the walls where sports celebrities had signed their names and posed for photos with him. I left Micky there with his warm beer and shovel and continued on my way.

And so I spent New Year at a hospital, reading the Bangkok Post and using the internet. There was really no work for me; almost all the injured 'farangs' (Westerners) had been either repatriated or flown to Bangkok. I shared a pitcher of beer with an American doctor at 12 o'clock and then went to bed.

The next morning at 7, the volunteer organiser was stressed: "We need 100 volunteers immediately to help carry bodies at Khao Lak!" There were only about 30 volunteers standing around. I must have turned white. Next thing we were sitting in the back of a pick-up truck en route for Khao Lak. I shouldn't have drunk so much coffee. I was nervy and felt like vomiting. It reminded me of the opening scene in Saving Private Ryan when the soldiers were speeding across the channel to Dunkirk and started retching in anticipation.

I was taken to a temple-cum-morgue named Wat Yang Yao (literally, "Fat Rubber Tree Temple"). The Thai administrators have been hugely praised for excellent organisation and I echo that sentiment. There was a sense of purpose and an air of determination at the temple. There were food stalls, medical facilities, drinks in fridges, everything free. There were counselors ("You are going into a scene worse than any war zone in any war!" one of the organisers had told us. "If you can't take it, just leave. You will be provided with whatever psychological help you need.")

I was kitted out in rubber boots, a cape, rubber gloves, a shower cap and as many face masks as I needed. As soon as I entered the restricted area where the dead were interned, it was like landing on a different planet. I took one end of a stretcher and it was filled with blocks of ice. We carried the ice into the temple grounds which were now a makeshift morgue.

I've heard it said that drowning is a nice way to die; the brain slowly shuts down and you float away, something like that. Unfortunately I do not believe that many of the dead people I saw that New Year's Day had the luck of drowning. They were battered to death: thrown into a giant washing machine with cars and fishing boats and concrete walls. I would like to believe that their souls departed their bodies quickly and peacefully, and that they were not tortured as their flesh and bone was.

The temple I was assigned to was nearby the resort of Khao Lak where many Swedish, Danish and German tourists were staying. Especially Swedes. I get the impression that Khao Lak was hit with the hardest of waves. In recent days we have all become experts on tsunamis: I have come to think of it as a large air bubble under the carpet. When you stand on that bubble the air is pushed out until it comes to the edge of the carpet. When it 'whooshes' out from under the carpet it creates something like a flick of the wrist; like a coiled serpent flicking forward and carrying its momentum with it.

In any case, Khao Lak was destroyed beyond recognition. It looked more like the aftermath of a hurricane or an atomic bomb than a giant wave. A coastguard boat - about 30 metres long - had surfed in on the wave and had flown over the main road behind the resorts before finally coming to rest in the forest some 800m from the beach. The Swedish tourists and Thai staff at those resorts below could not possibly have survived that impact.

If it's not too gruesome let me try to explain the process for the recovery of bodies. I am sure you have seen images on TV but, if you're lucky, your networks will have censored images of the bloated and decomposed corpses. It is inhuman. Apart from the effects of being blended with machinery, a human body in water becomes one of the most distressing sights imaginable. If they have been floating, then rigor mortis will have set their bodies into that spread-eagled position. Men tend to float face up; women float face down because of the weight in their hips. Often, I am told, that is the only way to tell them apart.

The bodies are collected by the Thai rescue teams who comb the beaches and the ruins and the forests. Bodies are bagged and put in refrigerated trucks and sent to the 'wats' (the Buddhist temples). The trucks are met by stretcher-bearers and carried to an area (say Area A) where they are laid out. On the day I was a stretcher-bearer over 1000 bodies arrived, one truck after another. Stretcher-bearers must also carry dry ice back and forth and place it around and on top of the body bags. You can never have enough ice, therefore the job of the stretcher-bearer was unceasing.

It was a physically demanding job too. If four men are required to carry one body or one shipment of ice, then you are clumsy and off-balance and might stand on corpses. You are also as wide as a car, so it is difficult to weave among the forensic teams and bodies that are literally covering every square inch of ground. Therefore it is much more practical if only two men carry one stretcher: much more narrow and more balanced.

Forensic teams work one corpse at a time. It is incredible the amount of work that they face. The stench alone would make many people pass out. The doctors test the corpses in Area A to detect whether he or she is a Thai national or a foreigner. Hair follicles and teeth are examined and the corpses are then carried to Area B or Area C depending on race. Sometimes the bodies are unidentifiable, but usually because the person is Eurasian (ie., of mixed blood). Then there are other teams who begin the process of identification. Any tattoos, rings or necklaces are collected and placed with the corpse in a photograph which will be stored on a website for families to study.

At the 'wat' where I was located, several days had already passed since the tsunami and therefore bodies were being cremated as quickly as possible to prevent disease. The impression I got was that as soon as a body was identified it was taken for cremation. Unclaimed bodies were kept 'on ice' for a certain period and then tagged and buried in case they were identified at a later date.

The whole process was massive due to the number of dead persons involved. However I must say that the organisational aspect was as efficient as I can possibly imagine.

All in all, the stretcher-bearer works very hard. Bodies are constantly being transferred and ice is always needed. Speaking for myself, I tried not to look at any of the corpses. I tried to treat them as gently as possible and place the ice on them as opposed to throwing it or scattering it. When one of the doctors asked me to zip or unzip a body bag I concentrated one hundred percent on that task. I tried not to see the maggots crawling in the purple-mustard flesh nor breathe in the smell. I just focused on that zipper: if it jammed then I tried not to panic. Occasionally I gagged, although luckily I didn't vomit. The stench is something I guess I will never forget. It is like sniffing ammonia: the smell goes straight to your eyeballs and your brain, causing you to whiplash your head. You simply continue by trying to hold your breath and keep smearing tiger balm on your mask.

At one point one of the doctors called to myself and another farang stretcher-bearer to help him. He wanted to push this enormous body over onto its back because he thought there was a tattoo on the other side. The other farang looked at me quickly and I looked at him. Then I steeped back, and the other stretcher-bearer had to endure trying to lift and turn the bloated purple corpse in front of him. Later I apologised to him for leaving him to do it, but I just couldn't manage it. I tried not to touch a corpse all day. The only contact I could mange was moving ice onto and off of the bodies. Sometimes you just have to sit down and breathe deeply. It was a harrowing experience.

In the evening another farang and I had to move children's bodies to a separate area. I couldn't help but remember that photo of the wee girl with the milk-teeth smile and the braided hair. I kept wondering if this unrecognisable corpse were hers.

By night-time I was physically exhausted. I hitched back with a colleague to Phuket Town in a truck. It was then that I was aware of how bad I smelt. Like a corpse of course. When I finally got into the shower I scrubbed myself over and over but was still sure that I stank of death.

I went back to the hospital where I had volunteered to sit the night before. I saw those Missing Persons pictures and studied them with a new sense of grief. The little Swedish baby was there again: so many photos of children smiling, often in front of a birthday cake and candles. There was a photo taken on Xmas Day of a smiling couple arms around each other. They sported identical T-shirts, only his read: "Leave Me Alone" and hers: "My Problem is You!!" There were arrows underneath pointing at each other.

I cannot begin to imagine how agonising it is for the families to come over and identify the bodies of loved ones. I saw an elderly Scandinavian couple with tears in their eyes going through the hospital website inspecting page after page of grotesque photos from the temple-morgues. If they could possibly identify their son or daughter, then they would be taken to the temple to formally identify the body.

I would not wish anyone to ever do this for me. Perhaps it would be better to live in denial than to have to see and smell the decaying waste of your family member. I just can't imagine.

Anyway, the next morning the organiser told the assembled volunteers that no more foreign volunteers were to be allowed into the morgues. The daily body count was down and there were paramedics being flown in that day. The situation was under control. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. One Swedish girl broke down in tears: she had been going to the temples each day to try and identify her boyfriend.

Now I am back in Chiang Mai and am hoping that we can organise a long-term project for the victims of the tsunami. In this post-26/12 world everyone seems to be involved in some way. What I can say is that the relief effort has been as positive and as efficient as possible in the circumstances.

So many people have tsunami stories. So many could have been there, but for a fateful decision that changed their course. I have heard stories first-hand from friends of mine who were literally saved from being on one of those beaches by a hangover, or diarrheoa, or a last-minute change of plan.

One friend was caught in the wave but still had the quick-mindedness to telephone two girls who were lying on the beach in Khao Lak and shout to them. Their lives were saved by that call and the three-minute warning.

In the meantime, I am still on stand-by. Hopefully the majority of dead have now been recovered in Thailand although the same nightmare must be unfolding in places such as Aceh and Sri Lanka right now.

Many people have written to me and asked where to send money. The honest truth is don't really know. There are probably lots of excellent relief funds in Europe and the Americas. However, I have pasted a short list of reputable international agencies below for your information.

Anyway, there's not much more I can say about the tsunami situation. It's not a pleasant story, but that's it.

Thanks again to all who thought about me during this crisis. I am definitely one of the lucky ones. I am not suffering from post-trauma although I was babbling like an idiot when I first got home. I only spent one full day inside the morgue; perhaps any longer would have been too much. I dreamt about the Swedish baby one night and several things remind me of the morgue, but I am not traumatised. Fortunately my friends were there to listen to me rambling and top me up with scotch.

I wish you all a Happy New Year in spite of everything. Thanks to everyone who has contributed and who feels for the victims.

Best wishes,

Hinsh

LIST OF INTERNATIONAL AGENCIES:

1. International Federation of the Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies: directs and co-ordinates humanitarian assistance worldwide in times of war and peace.

http://www.ifrc.org/helpnow/donate/donate_response.asp

2. Médecins Sans Frontières: Independent humanitarian medical aid agency committed to providing medical aid and raising awareness of the plight of peoples.

http://www.msf.org/donations/index.cfm

or mail a cheque to: 8, Rue Saint Sabin, 75544 PARIS Cedex 11, FRANCE (see website for individual country addresses)

3. CARE International: an independent humanitarian organisation working to end world poverty and bringing assistance to the needy in times of natural disaster.

http://www.careinternational.org.uk/donate/donate.php

or mail a cheque to: 10-13 Rushworth Street, London SE1 0RB, United Kingdom

4. Oxfam: International organisation that works on a broad range of issues, including trade, conflict, debt and aid, and education.

http://www.oxfam.co.uk/what_you_can_do/give_to_oxfam/donate/asiaquake1204.htm

or mail a cheque to: FREEPOST Nat 17696, Leicester, LE55 7RN, United Kingdom

5. GOAL: international humanitarian agency dedicated to the alleviation of suffering amongst the poorest of the poor.

http://www.goal.ie/newsroom/tsunamiappeal.shtml

or mail a cheque to: PO Box 19, Dun Laoghaire, Co. Dublin, Ireland.

6. Direct Relief International: charity focused on health, and disaster relief, highly regarded for their efficiency and effective use of donations.

https://www.directrelief.org/sections/support_us/d_donate_now.html

or send a cheque to: 27 S. La Patera Lane, Santa Barbara, CA 93117, USA

7. Christian Aid: works wherever the need is greatest, irrespective of religion. It supports local organisations, which are best placed to understand local needs.

http://www.christianaid.org.uk/give/donatenow.htm

or mail a cheque to: FREEPOST, London SE1 7YY, United Kingdom

8. Islamic Relief: strives to alleviate the suffering, hunger, illiteracy & aims to provide rapid relief in the event of man-made or natural disasters.

https://www.islamic-relief.com/submenu/help/signin.asp (requires a quick registration)

https://www.irw.org/donate/ (for North American people making donations)

If you are interested in publishing this article please contact info@cpamedia.com (or use this page) for pricing and additional images. Should you wish simply to quote from the article or to use it for strictly non-commercial purposes please be sure to acknowledge CPAmedia copyright together with a link to our website at www.cpamedia.com.