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Outside Magazine, March 2005
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There Can't Be a Word for This (cont.)

IN THE WEEKS after the event, the skies of southern Thailand grew hazy. You could almost taste the smoke from burning debris as Thais and foreigners worked side by side, pulling wrecked buildings apart and dragging longtails back into the water. At the Krabi wat, volunteers held the hands of the bereaved as they searched photos of decomposing bodies for tattoos and other identifying marks. Helicopters passed overhead, searching for missing victims farther out at sea and carrying more corpses back from Koh Phi Phi. Here on Railae Beach, in Phuket, and on other Thai beaches, people were cleaning up and hoping for the tourist season to resume, but in Phi Phi Town they were still looking for bodies.

"There can't be a word for this," one of the volunteers at the Krabi morgue said. I had to agree. Just as I couldn't come up with a way to hold the horror of Phi Phi in my head, I also couldn't come to a conclusion as to how those of us who hadn't been through it should behave. The Phra Nang peninsula had settled into a feeling of normalcy, save for the somber mood that seemed to override every pleasant moment; there was no code for dealing with this, no logical path that would ease the suffering.

Senator Hiranpruek had told me that he deplored that this event had happened to tourists: They were guests of his country, he said, and if Thailand had had an early-warning system, maybe they could have been protected from danger. No Thai suffered less than any tourist, yet they grieved for their visitors. The western beaches stood to lose up to $1 billion in annual tourist revenue—a projected $537 million on Phuket and $95 million on Phi Phi—the Tourism Authority of Thailand estimated in mid-January. Yet even in the worst of times, the Thais never forgot their role as host.

Thailand's prime minister, Thaksin Shinawatra, had publicly asked the world to return to Thailand, only to hear that many people felt it was too soon. And who could blame them? News reports of European women sunbathing topless down the beach from burning debris piles and Americans playing volleyball near flooded shopping malls made stomachs turn. But what were we all supposed to do? Roughly 60 percent of the climbers on Railae Beach stayed, I'd say. We were pitching in—but also climbing and supporting the economy.

"What did most people in the world do during all this suffering?" asked Lars Gilberg, who'd been criticized by a reader for an account he'd published in a Norwegian newspaper. "They looked at it on TV, then went to New Year's parties and watched football games. We helped rebuild, and we put money into the pockets of people who need it." It wasn't anything to brag about, Lars believed—this was our second home, and we were fortunate to be able to give something back.

The rest of the world sent body bags, water-filtration systems, doctors, and money—great outpourings of aid: By January 13, between $4 billion and $5 billion had been pledged by foreign governments, with roughly $2 billion more in private contributions. The American Red Cross had received $170 million in donations; Doctors Without Borders had so many tsunami contributions that it was directing donors to its general Emergency Relief Fund instead. "If you need to mourn, OK," said Jantima Niyomdecha, a young Krabi local in the Railae Beach Club office, "but it is not mourning just because you stay away from Thailand. If you do, the disaster continues."

On New Year's Day, I sat and watched the sunset from Tonsai Beach. I looked over at the climbers on the Tonsai crags, working moves, brushing handholds, running laps on the easier routes. Some were climbing, some were bouldering, and some were belaying, but all of them were making the best of the situation and had turned their backs to the sea.

This was as it should have been, Luang believed. "I keep looking over my shoulder," he'd said on the ride back from Phi Phi, "waiting for the wave. But I know it's never coming. You know, Sam, this is so horrible, but Thailand will survive." He looked back toward Koh Phi Phi, watching the smoke rise into the calm sky. "I watched Tuva and Liam play on the beach this morning," he said quietly. "No matter how bad it is, the children will always play. Eventually I will, too."
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