the day my life changed

Kao Lak, Thailand Dec 26th 2004

When people say that Thailand is the Land of Smiles, they must be talking about the area of Khao Lak. During my high school (and later in my U.S. college years), Thailand was my home. Even now, although my wife and I live in Japan, we visit Thailand whenever time allows. Despite my love affair with Thailand, I'd never visited Khao Lak before, but when we arrived there to begin a diving holiday this Christmas season, I felt at home as never before. It was a small town with numerous dive shops and restaurants and a smattering of small stalls offering small wares, in-between. Kyoko (my wife) and I checked into the Similana Resort about 9:00am on Dec. 23rd. Our bungalow, although classified as "Jungle View", was located just behind the swimming pool, which overlooked the beautiful, tranquil, Andaman Sea.

Once settled in we took a walk along the unspoiled white sand beach. It was paradise! I'd seen clearer, more naturally beautiful, waters in the Philippine Islands, but I couldn't remember ever seeing a more idyllic setting than Khao Lak. No day spent there was complete without a walk on the beach, or a swim in the ocean. We felt in harmony with the natural simplicity of the environment. No real nightlife existed and most people were in bed by 10:00pm, especially those that needed to be up at the crack of dawn for dive excursions.

On Dec. 26th my wife and I sat in our bungalow looking out into another pristine day. A pleasant breeze was blowing, and we lay back on our bed and looked up at the fan suspended some 5 meters above us. Suddenly the power went off so the fan slowed to a stop and then we were left with an eerie silence. Then a noise made me sit up. I saw a man running across the pool area and then behind him came a wave. The wave hit him and he disappeared below the surface and out of my view. It reminded me of seaside games I played as a child. I laughed and drew Kyoko's attention to it. I imagined that soon he would find himself lying on the ground shaking his head wondering what had hit him and smile. A freak wave, that's what it was, and I figured any water heading our way would pass under our bungalow, which was raised 2 meters off the ground on strong metal supports. My camera was around my neck and I thought I'd take a photograph of this unusual occurrence. I raised the camera to my eye but all I could see through the viewfinder was a sheet of brown. I lowered my camera and simply watched the water rise; much faster than I'd thought possible. Within seconds the water reached our balcony but felt no reason to worry. Then it vanished; lost beneath a sheet of muck. I told my wife to get on the bed as I did the same. I could see the water through the floorboards but it still hadn't entered our room so I retained hope to escape unharmed. Once the water began seeping into our room and showed no sign of letting up, I started to consider other possibilities. I shouted at Kyoko to stay where she was. And at a depth of 6" I ventured in to see if the bathroom window would make for an emergency exit. I still had hope, although it was diminishing with each second.

But at that moment the room began to shake. It was so strong I could barely stand much less move. There was the horrific sound of metal slowly contorting under pressure - the sound of the supports buckling under the immense weight of water - and within seconds our cabin was swaying back and forth at the mercy of this immeasurable force. Although the water was then knee high inside, outside, from the corner of my eye, I saw the water rush by our window. Then, without warning, I saw the water coming right towards me. My mouth opened to scream but the speed at which it came swallowed my voice and instead of letting words out, it got in. I coughed and found myself completely under the dark, murky, swirling waters, my foot caught in the door of the bathroom. Until that moment I had held my digital camera in my hand to avoid any water but then it hit me; this could be it. All I could think was "Give me air". With air I would have a chance; a chance to live, a chance to save my wife and a chance to escape.

As I battled to free myself I kept thinking "I must save Kyoko. I must save my wife. I will die if I have to but I must get her out". Nothing else mattered. Instinct took over. I swam up and when I broke the surface of the water I saw 85% of the bungalow submerged and shouted for my wife. I saw her eyes just above the surface of the water and told her to grab the mattress as it was floating. "We've gotta get outta here" were the only words I said. I saw light coming in through the far corner of the room, above the water line. I started to clamber over whatever was beneath me and standing on the wall tried to pry the boards loose. No luck. A frantic glance took in a narrow shaft of light where the roof and the wall met. If we could break that wall down we would both be able to swim out of our steadily imploding room. Although it gave slightly, it was obvious it would take some time. The last choice was one window half inundated but open halfway. As I waded through the water towards it I grabbed a plank of wood that was drifting across the thick brown water. With my wife's help we knocked open the window wide enough so that a person could fit through. I pulled my wife towards me and then guided her through the opening. Just as she got out, a Thai person holding onto a sea kayak reached our bungalow. I took one more look at our cabin and then slipped out. As I did the water began rolling in. I no longer bothered to look back. Managing to climb on the kayak the wave carried us to the side where the massage parlor, a sturdier structure, still stood. So we climbed over the railing onto the balcony. But the water kept coming. Another Thai man shouted for us to follow him through the jungle, which we did and soon enough we found ourselves on the road in front of our hotel.

Once we reached it I thought "We're ok, we're ok" and slowly made our to the hotel reception area, a good 20 meters above sea level, the hotel having been built into the cliff. Exhausted, but relieved, we had barely taken two steps towards it when an open truck peeled down from the top of the hill. The Thai driver shouted something as he slammed on his brakes. We couldn't understand, but the fear in his voice was palpable. He pointed down the road and as I turned my head I saw the water coming towards us. My wife and I, along with others nearby, scrambled into the back of the truck and we took off. Speeding along the dirt road I understood two things - either we were now far enough away to be safe or, if the wave could reach us then there was no hope, as it would be strong enough to have wiped out everything for miles inland.

For a minute I thought back to the 6th grade. I was attending a friend's birthday party, playing in the pool and almost drowned. I swallowed lots of water and remember seeing all sorts of black spots appear in front of my eyes; it was almost peaceful. In Khao Lak it was nothing like that. Regardless of the horror and the speed at which it happened, everything seemed to be in slow motion. I felt so feeble against this force of nature, which knew neither race nor color, showed no sympathy or compassion and struck without remorse.

We reached the main road, and after 10 - 15 minutes arrived at a 2 story building which proved to be the emergency center. We were among the first to arrive. I washed the dirt out of my eyes and looked in wonder at how few bruises and minor abrasions we'd suffered. Considering the walls of our bungalow had collapsed in on us, and the amount of debris we floated through, it was nothing short of miraculous. Soon the others arrived; most had not been as lucky. Watching the increasing number of injured arrive; I began to realize the severity of the situation and how far reaching it had been.

Until that point I had imagined it to be an isolated, but local, incident. We had to do something to help. I asked the people around me, to start looking in cupboards and drawers for anything that might be useful. They brought back blankets, medicine, ethyl alcohol, scissors, string, tape, water and gauze. Downstairs was a room designated for patients with semi serious injuries, but the staff never had to handle such numbers. Most people had cuts and broken bones, and as each truckload arrived the most serious were brought straight to the medical room while others were forced to sit and wait. Kyoko and I dealt with those we could help, checking their wounds and cleaning them with water or alcohol. Some had so many cuts that after administering alcohol to one area, they begged us to leave the rest. One thing that surprised me was that most of the wounds were not bleeding. The sand had caked over their exposed skin. This made cleaning practically impossible but people needed help. They needed to have someone at least tend to their wounds no matter how superficially. They needed to have someone tell them they'd be ok.

There were husbands with no wives, wives with no children, children with no parents; and while some sat in shock, others said they wished they hadn't survived. For me when I was underwater I remember thinking that what I wanted was for my wife to live. I'm sure that some of those that lost their lives must have felt the same way.

Panic and fear became a problem as the day wore on; the fear of a second wave was on everyone's mind. I told people to remain calm as it seemed we were far enough away from the ocean and there was no sign of danger. Wearing rubber gloves people often mistook me for a doctor, believing I would have answers to their questions. One man wanted to flee into the mountains which caused some panic among the others. I told them that this was the safest place to be, if his wife was alive and looking for him that staying where we were was the smartest thing to do as she could find him.

Two Dutch children (12 & 14 years old), who lived in Kobe, Japan, missing both their parents; and one Belgian boy (15 yrs old) believed he had lost his entire family. Yet they never complained nor cried; not even once. We were all in shock, but they were the ones who kept it together the most. When we finally did leave that evening I was proud to shake their hands: they were among some of the bravest people I'd ever met.

Some 6 hours later we were allowed to go back to the reception area of our hotel, where we were generously given food and drink. Despite this, some guests continually badgered staff for information about the next wave, and whether it was safe or not.

In front of the reception the staff had assembled bags and suitcases, covered with thick sand, which they had managed to recover from the rooms below. I wandered around wondering where our stuff was. The answer came the next morning as I went to see our cabin and found only a few boards left in its place. Amazingly I could see our jackets still in the closet, on their hangers. It was too dangerous to climb into, but with the aid of a broken pipe I was able to retrieve my jacket, unwearable, but thankfully found my house keys still in the pocket. I also came across one of our 6 bags, which contained Christmas gifts for my family - some of which were not completely ruined. My wife asked me why I bothered to take any of it back to which I responded "I have to try and save something". I placed some DVDs into a small black plastic bag along with a waterproof flashlight (salvaged from my jacket), 2 pens, some paper, tissues, and a toothbrush given to us by a Swedish family; our total possessions.

The Thais did a masterful job in dealing with such an unexpected disaster, and truly exuded the warmth of human kindness. One farang (foreign) couple came back from a day trip to find their hotel demolished, their belongings scattered over the Indian Ocean. Like so many others they spent the night in the mountains, where Thais, no matter how poor, welcomed strangers into their homes offering food and shelter for the night. To hear this gave me hope in us, the human race. Despite what we read in the newspapers each day, when it comes down to it, people are basically good.

Afterwards, my father told me he was proud of what I'd been able to do, saving my wife and myself. For me it's not something I can actually be proud of. In these situations it's neither skill nor power that allows one to survive - nothing but blind luck. There are hundreds of stories of survivors who managed to grab onto a tree, or find an air pocket, but who lost everything. We are among those who survived and were able to leave one day after the Tsunami hit with our air tickets, some cash and our passports - all secured in the safety deposit box at our hotel, and retrieved intact. Despite being some of the lucky ones I hope that no one ever has to go through what we did. Seeing what we saw and feeling what we felt is the true definition of horror itself.

Now as we try to get back to normal life we just take it one day at a time. Sometimes it's hard; we have good days and bad. We were able to contact some of the people we met there that were in the same situation, and have heard some wonderful stories of people being reunited. The children we met that were able to smile throughout their ordeal now help me to get over mine. And while I'm not a religious man, I ask that those who read our story pray now for those that were lost, and those that survived. One day my wife and I hope to have children and we will take them to Khao Lak; to walk along the beach, take pictures, and remember all the good things we experienced. Though our children will never know what happened that fateful day, we will never forget that this is where we were given a second chance at life.

I know that many areas were struck and each has their survivor stories. I thank god I can be one of them. Each night I wonder why I was allowed to live when so many others were not. I now know how precious life is and how much joy there is even in the things we take for granted; a breath of fresh air, the taste of water on your lips, the breeze in your hair or the smile on your friend's face. This is life; these are the things that make us human. So to all those reading this I ask you to live; for there is no greater gift.

Dedicated to all those who lost their lives; and those that survived.