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<p>
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</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="center"><b>Run for your lives!</b></p><p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"><br>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"><b>By Gregory Rodgers</b></p><p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"><b> </b><span style=""> I
fought to control my trembling hands as adrenaline rushed through my
body. I stood with my friend in the humid darkness, shallow breaths
of the jungle air filling my lungs. All my senses were tuned to the
horrific scene unfolding on the streets far below me. We stood
huddled together with several others on a hillside in total silence,
afraid to even swat at the insects feeding on our exposed skin.</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> Then,
the screams came.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> Faint
at first, and finally drowning out the sounds of the night. The
noises of panic and terror drifted up to us from the brightly lit
streets below. A mass of human bodies was choking down the narrow
streets in our direction and fighting toward the safer, higher
ground. I watched intently behind the last rank of bodies for the
inevitable first wave of water...</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> This
night on Ko Phi Phi island off the west side of Thailand had started
out like any other. My Dutch friend Suus and myself had enjoyed a
lazy day of lounging around in the sand and enjoying the warm,
shallow sea. The Andaman was an unearthly blue color, and so
tranquil that you could see the reflections of puffy white clouds
crawling across its surface. In the near distance Phi Phi Lei, the
uninhabited brother of our island, rose up out of the water with gray
rock sides and a lush green carpet. The scuba diving here was
spectacular, life was abundant above and below the water in brilliant
displays of creation. Suus and I watched the sea pull the sun under
and as it drooped lower on the horizon, the water transformed from
turquoise and inviting to dark and forbidding. Soon, night had
doused all the pinks and oranges so we walked into the village of Ton
Sai.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p> </p>
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</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> After a
gluttonous dinner of sushi and rice, we walked the narrow streets in
search of the party. March had brought quite a number of visitors to
the tiny island and a strange brew of backpackers and suitcasers
mixed uneasily in the restaurants and pubs. By backpacker standards,
the island was expensive. By 1-week holidayers' standards, the island
was unaccommodating. The two groups seemed to meet in the middle to
put aside complaints and to enjoy the amazing beauty.
</p><p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> It was
hard to tell that a little over a year earlier, the 2004 tsunami had
claimed over 2000 lives in these very streets. 1200 of those tourists
and locals still belong to the blue depths of the Andaman. At the
time there were only 10,000 residents here, so one in five people had
fallen to nature's hand. There was not a resident on the island that
survived without loosing someone close to them. Restoration was
mostly complete and the only signs that anything so dark had happened
were the occasional monuments and swarms of Burmese construction
workers piecing the island back together like ants. Miraculously the
Thai people with their “mai pen rai” attitude had managed to put
their famous smiles back on and welcomed us to the new island with
open arms.</p><p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> We
chose one of the many open-aired bars that was at the end of one of
the busy streets. On a crude wooden stage, a local band was playing
Western covers like “Sweet child of mine” and “Summer of 69”.
The singer spoke no English, but he did a good job of mouthing the
words in the same tones as the songs. Memories associated with the
songs brought a smile to my face. It was around midnight, March
11th, I was sitting in middle of the Andaman sea with a good friend
talking about our scuba experiences earlier, life could not have been
better. A pleasant breeze was keeping the savage Thai mosquitoes at
bay. A very white moon looked down at us from above....
</p><p>
</p>
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Too many Thai buckets
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</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left">Then
all hell broke loose.
</p><p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> A
couple Thai men ran by the front doors of the bar. After a pause,
another small cluster of people went by at full gallop. I looked
across the round wooden table at Suus to see if she had noticed, and
her eyes told me that she had. Both of us were watching now as more
and more people ran by the front entrance. The first thought in my
head was that maybe there was a fight. We were next door to a bar
that boasted a regulation Muay Thai fighting ring and they encouraged
tourists to climb inside and demonstrate how much liquid courage they
had consumed over the evening. My light curiosity met reality head
on when two Thai girls in their twenties ran inside the entrance
screaming in Thai. The doormen, both grown men, turned around and the
look on their faces froze my heart.
</p><p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left">It was
a look of a man about to die.
</p><p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> Whatever
the women had said in Thai had caused these men to turn whiter than I
was and to spin on their heels and run past us into the kitchen to my
left. We sat completely bewildered until the owner of the bar,
approached our table with a forced calmness and said “its time to
go now friends”.</p><p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> He led
us quickly through the kitchen where woks of oil still gave off their
hot aromas. There was a large hole cut in the wall, and a pile of
concrete blocks at the bottom which provided a wobbly, crude set of
stairs. I helped Suus through the hole, then I climbed through
myself. We were the last two out of the bar, and ahead of us people
were running blindly up a steep hillside lit only by the same white
moon I had been admiring earlier. At this point we had no idea what
was going on, but our innate human instinct to stay alive told us to
run.</p><p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> And
that is what we did. As we struggled to catch up with the locals
that had been drinking with us just moments earlier, knee deep
vegetation cut at our bare legs and invisible vines tried to trip us.
We were already drawing the attention of insects in the brush, I knew
that it was going to be a long night.
</p><p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> When
we stopped running, we stood close to some Thai people. There were
maybe a dozen or so of us on the green hillside, everyone had ears
glued to mobile phones and chatted nervously with friends and
relatives all over the island. A young Thai girl told us that there
had been an earthquake felt in Phuket, another island a quick boat
ride away. Those same tremors were the only warning that any of
these people had felt before disaster had struck the day after
Christmas in 2004. The event was still obviously fresh in their
minds, and the news report and calls from relatives had triggered a
mass panic. Below us in the brightly lit streets, we could see dozens
of people on the move. Locals and tourists alike were literally
running for their lives, trying to reach the precious high ground
where we now stood. I listened, but there was no siren wailing in
alarm. Then again, the one in 2004 did not sound either.
</p><p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> When
we heard the Thai girl's explanation, I groaned in disbelief. I
fought to recall news that I had heard about the last tsunami, what
was I to expect? The skeptical part of myself said that the chances
of another tsunami so soon were very obsolete, but then again,
sometimes I wasn't very lucky and nature worked in mysterious ways.
Suus stood next to me, her body trembling. She was stricken with
fear, but bravely stayed calm. I struggled to stay focused, to get
into survival mode. I remembered that many people had lost track of
friends and loved ones, so I knew that we had to stick together. My
mind jumped around faster than I could absorb the thoughts. First it
flashed to my passport which was back in my bungalow, I cursed myself
for not having stuck it inside my money belt. I started thinking
about my medical training that I had received in the Army, maybe it
would be of use while we were stranded here on the island. Then I
remembered how the survivors in 2004 had waited for days to get clean
drinking water and food supplies, what was my plan...?</p><p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> My
thoughts were interrupted by an announcement over loud speakers from
the streets below. It was only in Thai, not very fair I thought to
myself considering the number of tourists on the island. We looked
to our Thai girl for an explanation. She said that Bangkok had
confirmed that there was no wave, but we were to return to our rooms
and collect our passports in case something happened.</p><p>
</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> Fat
chance. The government didn't exactly have a shining track record in
my opinion, and the command to retrieve our passports seemed a little
dodgy to me. Suus agreed and so we stayed put another dreadfully
painful 30 minutes, until the last local had slowly made their way
back down to the street below. Soon, we decided that taking our
chances with the water would be better than feeding the insect cloud
that had come to feast on us, so we trudged down the moist slope and
into the village below.
</p><p>
</p>
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A beach on Ko Phi Phi
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<p>
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</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> The
time was almost 01:30am and the streets were buzzing with activity.
There was not a prayer of going to sleep after such a dose of
adrenaline, and people were actually filling the travel shops to book
passage off the island. They had had enough of Ko Phi Phi. All
around me travelers comforted their tearful partners. We went
directly to a busy internet cafe, where I quickly checked every news
website I could find. My fingers worked as fast as they could as I
looked at weather radars, CNN, etc.....</p><p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> I
never found our tsunami, the sacrifice in 2004 must have been enough
to sedate the Andaman. The next day, the island was nearly deserted.
I did speak to an older English couple that had stood their ground
and decided not to let the scare ruin their holiday. They showed me
that our night had made the London Post, and that the earthquake had
been felt as far away as Indonesia. The Post also claimed that
geologists were concerned over all the seismic activity in the area,
so the panic had not been completely ungrounded.
</p><p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"> The
night after our scare, we ventured out to a beach party where there
was an amazing fire show. I had a good time, but my eyes always went
nervously back to that black water just a few meters away and I
wondered when it would grow restless again. I whispered a silent
“thank you” and prayed that I wouldn't be here to find out.</p><p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"><br>
</p><p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left"><i>For
more stories from Thailand, visit the author's homepage:
</i><a href="http://www.gregoryrodgers.com/" mce_href="http://www.gregoryrodgers.com/"><i>www.gregoryrodgers.com</i></a></p><p> </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;" align="left">
</p><p> For info on backpacking in Thailand, visit: http://www.startbackpacking.com<br></p>
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The view from the top of the island
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