ACCOZZAGLIA

The news story related to the magnitude 8.9 quake just off the Indonesian island of Sumatra and its resultant つなみ (tsunami) made the headlines in North America as one of those terrible natural tragedies in a far-off land, though nothing worth regarding with the alarm of, say, four hurricanes passing over Florida or buildings coming down in New York. But given that I was holidaying, just five months ago, on the very beach where no fewer than six people were killed earlier today, this garners my attention with a muted feeling of concern.

Why? Well, I know people there now. “There” is Thailand, on the island of Phuket. No longer is it some abstract place on the planet for me. At one time, even Japan, Iceland and the UK were abstract. Once visited, though, all of that changes. What once felt far off before shall always feel at the end of your fingertips; you know how to get there on your own. You could even repeat the journey in your sleep, and once on the ground at your destination, you know how to navigate your way around with the command of a local resident, to say nothing of running into people you’ve known before.

My hotel, a wonderful, open-aired structure built in 2000, is one block away from the beach where several people died. That beach, Karon Beach (this photo clearly taken in June, given how northerly the sun is), is 5km south of the heavily touristy Patong Beach, where the lion’s share of island deaths and press photos have been reported. The sun bed I rented on Ao Karon — upon which I burnt myself badly under the northerly-leaning, equatorial sun overhead (my bikini tan lines are still quite visible and probably will be for another six months) — is either in the Andaman Sea, in splintered pieces, or was retrieved and repurposed as an ad hoc stretcher. I honestly could never know that.

Nor would I have known that a tsunami wall was imminent unless I opened my eyes to find the water line 200m away and inexplicably near the horizon, instead of 5m before my feet. I think the sight would have stunned me before survival instincts kicked in (and do I ever know what that feels like).

Most critically, though, I am concerned for my friends at the hotel where I stayed. The proprietor, Mook, and I totally enjoyed one another’s company. She’s dating a semi-retired graphic artist from Connecticut (or maybe Rhode Island), who moved to Phuket to escape the winters.

Mook is a brilliant, attractive woman in her mid-forties; while shy about her ability to speak English, her ability to communicate was far better than she realised. It was better than many people I’ve heard speak it as a first language. She and I watched Heathers on the afternoon I earned that lovely sunburn. We talked about how the film’s satire symbolized much of what I dealt with in high school. It was amusing to watch the film with Thai subtitles. We talked about guys; while I don’t frequently find myself being drawn to boys these days, there was still enough shared ground to talk about those things we both look for in a man. Her ex-boyfriend, incidentally, was the architect of the hotel, while Mook designed all interiors and hand-sewed the saffron-dyed bedclothes and curtains.

Nevertheless, Mook, her daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend (an aspiring (and impressive) fashion photographer, armed with a Nikon D100 SLR camera, about to open his own studio in Patong) were wonderful people to bide my time as I took a dearly-needed respite from many years of not giving myself the chance to catch my bearings and reorient myself.

Naturally, I worry tonight about their welfare. The hotel, being 50m from the water line, was all but spared from the water wall, but all bets are off. I know it could be awhile before I know whether they’re all okay. Plus, this being high season, their hands were already full with a packed facility.

I’ll keep my fingers crossed and hope for the best, though prepared to hear sad news. :(