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Thai volunteers unload dry ice from a delivery truck at Wat Bong Muang temple near Khao lak, Thailand. The temple was the clearinghouse for more than 1,200 bodies recovered from the surrounding area. The dry ice was used to slow the decomposition of the bodies.
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ENLARGE
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Scavengers pore over a mountain of rubble from the Dec. 26, 2004 tsunami that hit Phuket, Thailand. The rubble has been dumped in a former construction site near the beachfront.
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ENLARGE
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A Thai volunteer rests on a mountain of coffins after spending the day moving corpses at Wat Bong Muang temple near Khao Lak, Thailand. The temple was the clearinghouse for more than 1,200 bodies recovered from the surrounding area. The dry ice was used to slow the decomposition of the bodies.
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ENLARGE
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A German nurse with the Order of Malta comforts an injured elderly German national before he is loaded onto an emergency flight back to Germany. They are in a converted cargo hangar at the Phuket airport, Thailand.
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<i>Former Roseburg residents and journalists Jerry Redfern and Karen Coates are documenting the devastating after-effects of the Asian tsunami.
They had passed through some of the area that was struck in Thailand just three days before the waves hit. They returned shortly after to record what they found. They produced this up-close look for News-Review readers.
Former News-Review Chief Photographer Jerry Redfern and writer Karen Coates lived in Roseburg from 1997-1998 and again from 2000-2001. They now live in northern Thailand and cover stories across Southeast Asia. Jerry is a member of OnAsia Images, a Bangkok-based photo agency and Karen's book, “Cambodia Now: Life in the Wake of War,” will be published by McFarland & Co. later this spring. More of their work can be seen at www.redcoates.net.<;/i><hr>
<b>THAILAND</b> — It’s called “the wall,” a sobering avenue of photos, fliers, phone numbers, lists of dead and injured, places last seen and pleas for help.
These bits of information posted in Phuket’s municipal offices are half the pieces to a devastating puzzle. The other clues remain scattered across Thailand’s southern beaches in coffins, refrigerated containers and unknown graves of sand.
Finding and identifying the victims of Thailand’s tsunamis is gut-wrenching work. There are bodies without names, names without bodies, miles of beach reeking of death and still covering human remains that rescuers doubt they will ever find.
More than 5,200 people perished in the waves that hit Thailand on Dec. 26. More than 2,500 were foreigners, mostly on vacation. Some 4,500 people remain missing, and the somber lists of names and nationalities span the globe: Austria, Bosnia, Hong Kong, Germany, Israel, North Korea, Portugal, Sweden, Ukraine. At least 36 countries in all.
Many of those missing stayed at a beach called Khao Lak. There, the waves pulverized anything in their path, turning high-end resorts into refuse piles. Everything is where it shouldn’t be: doors and windows littering the ground, an overturned truck in a hotel lobby, electric wires in ditches, concrete posts snapped in half, a tree sprouting from a windshield.
A few days after the waves hit, a young woman named Ek Anong volunteered in the Khao Lak hospital. She didn’t recognize the demolished town. “I saw the school, just the flagpole,” she says. “You would not realize it was the school.”
<b>SEARCHING EMPTY ROOMS</b>
Rescue teams from around the world continue to pick through the detritus. Bulldozers shovel debris into tidier piles. A Singaporean digs through broken wood and concrete, pawing carefully, sniffing for the stench of human remains. He finds a curious spot, but his boss tells him never mind — it’s only the smell of rotten fish.
All around Khao Lak, clues to those missing surface in tattered pieces: a photocopy of Toth Ildiko’s passport from Hungary; a boarding pass for Mr. Oliver Gutzke, Bangkok to Istanbul, March 1, Turkish Airlines.
Not far away, a makeshift cross of bamboo and pink plastic stands before an ironically peaceful setting sun.
They had passed through some of the area that was struck in Thailand just three days before the waves hit. They returned shortly after to record what they found. They produced this up-close look for News-Review readers.
Former News-Review Chief Photographer Jerry Redfern and writer Karen Coates lived in Roseburg from 1997-1998 and again from 2000-2001. They now live in northern Thailand and cover stories across Southeast Asia. Jerry is a member of OnAsia Images, a Bangkok-based photo agency and Karen's book, “Cambodia Now: Life in the Wake of War,” will be published by McFarland & Co. later this spring. More of their work can be seen at www.redcoates.net.<;/i><hr>
<b>THAILAND</b> — It’s called “the wall,” a sobering avenue of photos, fliers, phone numbers, lists of dead and injured, places last seen and pleas for help.
These bits of information posted in Phuket’s municipal offices are half the pieces to a devastating puzzle. The other clues remain scattered across Thailand’s southern beaches in coffins, refrigerated containers and unknown graves of sand.
Finding and identifying the victims of Thailand’s tsunamis is gut-wrenching work. There are bodies without names, names without bodies, miles of beach reeking of death and still covering human remains that rescuers doubt they will ever find.
More than 5,200 people perished in the waves that hit Thailand on Dec. 26. More than 2,500 were foreigners, mostly on vacation. Some 4,500 people remain missing, and the somber lists of names and nationalities span the globe: Austria, Bosnia, Hong Kong, Germany, Israel, North Korea, Portugal, Sweden, Ukraine. At least 36 countries in all.
Many of those missing stayed at a beach called Khao Lak. There, the waves pulverized anything in their path, turning high-end resorts into refuse piles. Everything is where it shouldn’t be: doors and windows littering the ground, an overturned truck in a hotel lobby, electric wires in ditches, concrete posts snapped in half, a tree sprouting from a windshield.
A few days after the waves hit, a young woman named Ek Anong volunteered in the Khao Lak hospital. She didn’t recognize the demolished town. “I saw the school, just the flagpole,” she says. “You would not realize it was the school.”
<b>SEARCHING EMPTY ROOMS</b>
Rescue teams from around the world continue to pick through the detritus. Bulldozers shovel debris into tidier piles. A Singaporean digs through broken wood and concrete, pawing carefully, sniffing for the stench of human remains. He finds a curious spot, but his boss tells him never mind — it’s only the smell of rotten fish.
All around Khao Lak, clues to those missing surface in tattered pieces: a photocopy of Toth Ildiko’s passport from Hungary; a boarding pass for Mr. Oliver Gutzke, Bangkok to Istanbul, March 1, Turkish Airlines.
Not far away, a makeshift cross of bamboo and pink plastic stands before an ironically peaceful setting sun.
Most eerie of all: the third-floor rooms of a resort, left as they were that fateful morning. An open tin of mackerel, a glass of grape juice, John Grisham novel at the bedside.
The next room over has crayons and dolls spread across a table, and on the floor sits a survey measuring “the opinions of international tourists toward Khao Lak, Phangnga province.”
In another room, it’s possible to guess the course of events on Dec. 26: the female occupant went swimming, met the first wave and lived, ran to the room, kicked in the door, left blood on the bed, grabbed a few things, and fled. Did she make it? Impossible to tell.
Another room: a Dec. 20-Jan. 15 tour schedule sits in plain view. The party in question arrived in Phuket on Christmas Day.
Certain conclusions are gleaned from these scenes: one family had kids, one guest had a cold. Someone loved tea, someone liked silk, someone else used expensive hair and skin care products. These rooms harbor little fragments of life suddenly vanished.
<b>CLUES OF THE MISSING</b>
Outside, in the sweltering sand, a Korean team finds a backpack and spills its contents for examination: wallet, cell phone, medications, lipstick — another clue. It belonged to a woman. But that’s all they know.
The next room over has crayons and dolls spread across a table, and on the floor sits a survey measuring “the opinions of international tourists toward Khao Lak, Phangnga province.”
In another room, it’s possible to guess the course of events on Dec. 26: the female occupant went swimming, met the first wave and lived, ran to the room, kicked in the door, left blood on the bed, grabbed a few things, and fled. Did she make it? Impossible to tell.
Another room: a Dec. 20-Jan. 15 tour schedule sits in plain view. The party in question arrived in Phuket on Christmas Day.
Certain conclusions are gleaned from these scenes: one family had kids, one guest had a cold. Someone loved tea, someone liked silk, someone else used expensive hair and skin care products. These rooms harbor little fragments of life suddenly vanished.
<b>CLUES OF THE MISSING</b>
Outside, in the sweltering sand, a Korean team finds a backpack and spills its contents for examination: wallet, cell phone, medications, lipstick — another clue. It belonged to a woman. But that’s all they know.
That team found 11 bodies and one leg in five days, says rescuer Lee Insun, and he doesn’t think they’ll find more. “I think we better move north.” There, the tsunami wiped out an entire fishing village.
It wasn’t the only spot obliterated. Phi Phi Island, a national park off the east shore of Phuket, suffered equal devastation.
“We don’t have car, we don’t have anything because we’re not allowed because it’s a national park,” says Guy de Bernard de Fauconval, a Belgian hotel owner.
He was on a boat heading away from his resort when the waves arrived, and he hasn’t been able to return since; the government has closed much of the island to all but recovery workers. His place, Ma Prao Resort, was spared, but many others were swept away. And many people died, with little hope that rescuers will recover their bodies.
“You have all the sewage from the village that went into the sea. So it’s not even safe for the divers,” he says.
De Fauconval is a gregarious sort who rambles on — about life and love, God and the hereafter, orphans and peace, helping the living and changing the world. He talks nonstop, 45 minutes, with strangers he invited to his breakfast table.
It is one way to cope.
Psychiatrists say everyone has their own way of facing tragedy; for some, an outpouring of words and emotions. For others, numbness and silence.
“They don’t want to go outside. They don’t want to see anything on TV,” says Wanatda Thamkapanich, a psychiatrist helping the victims. This disaster, she says, may trouble the region for years.
<b>TRAUMATIZED SURVIVORS</b>
Yet compared to other affected countries, Thailand is a land of plenty. Step up to a relief center — get free fried chicken and rice and bottled water. Head to a hospital — get a mask. Get clothes and medicines and everything needed. People here are not hungry, not naked or thirsty, or lacking shelter.
It wasn’t the only spot obliterated. Phi Phi Island, a national park off the east shore of Phuket, suffered equal devastation.
“We don’t have car, we don’t have anything because we’re not allowed because it’s a national park,” says Guy de Bernard de Fauconval, a Belgian hotel owner.
He was on a boat heading away from his resort when the waves arrived, and he hasn’t been able to return since; the government has closed much of the island to all but recovery workers. His place, Ma Prao Resort, was spared, but many others were swept away. And many people died, with little hope that rescuers will recover their bodies.
“You have all the sewage from the village that went into the sea. So it’s not even safe for the divers,” he says.
De Fauconval is a gregarious sort who rambles on — about life and love, God and the hereafter, orphans and peace, helping the living and changing the world. He talks nonstop, 45 minutes, with strangers he invited to his breakfast table.
It is one way to cope.
Psychiatrists say everyone has their own way of facing tragedy; for some, an outpouring of words and emotions. For others, numbness and silence.
“They don’t want to go outside. They don’t want to see anything on TV,” says Wanatda Thamkapanich, a psychiatrist helping the victims. This disaster, she says, may trouble the region for years.
<b>TRAUMATIZED SURVIVORS</b>
Yet compared to other affected countries, Thailand is a land of plenty. Step up to a relief center — get free fried chicken and rice and bottled water. Head to a hospital — get a mask. Get clothes and medicines and everything needed. People here are not hungry, not naked or thirsty, or lacking shelter.
But the death and destruction is still enough to overwhelm.
Just ask Walter Dreier, the art director for an Austrian film company. He was vacationing in Phuket when the waves came.
The tsunami turned his vacation into a search-and-rescue mission. It
nearly killed his friend, whose leg was badly sliced and infected after trudging half a mile through dirty mud.
“He’s had two operations already and they still have not controlled the infection,” says Dreier.
For five days, Dreier dug through wreckage, searching for Austrians lost in the mounds of ruins. He found identification papers for two people, including a 13-year-old boy. “But these two people are still missing,” he says.
Dreier had to take a break, but he’s sure he’ll return.
“All my friends call me — ‘Why you not come home? Why you not come home?’” he says. “I have to stay and wait.”
He has to do what he can.
Thousands of Thais share his sentiments as well. They’ve come from across the country, trading vacations for community service, feeding the masses, searching the rubble and handling the victims, both living and dead.
When rescuers find a body, it is taken to a local temple. Wat Bang Muang, just north of Khao Lak, perhaps houses the most, with 1,200 unidentified corpses. There, Tsum Prok, a television student-turned-volunteer, helps move a man’s remains into a refrigerated container.
“He was walking the beach and the tsunami came in suddenly,” he says.
Workers know the man was Swedish, but they have no passport or name.
For a week, the corpses at Wat Bang Muang lie bloated and rotting on the temple’s grounds. Workers sprayed disinfectant and scattered dry ice to try to stabilize the remains.
“It is very serious because the bodies are very decomposed and the smell is very bad,” says Somchai Pholeamer, a clinical professor and forensics doctor from Bangkok’s Siriraj Hospital.
Since then, thousands of refrigerated containers have arrived, and the bodies will be stored until they are identified through DNA tests. But that may take many months.
<b>THOUSANDS OF CALLS</b>
Meanwhile, back in Phuket, the municipal offices act as a clearinghouse for the injured, bereaved and curious, offering international calls, Internet access, transportation, food and water — all free.
Just ask Walter Dreier, the art director for an Austrian film company. He was vacationing in Phuket when the waves came.
The tsunami turned his vacation into a search-and-rescue mission. It
nearly killed his friend, whose leg was badly sliced and infected after trudging half a mile through dirty mud.
“He’s had two operations already and they still have not controlled the infection,” says Dreier.
For five days, Dreier dug through wreckage, searching for Austrians lost in the mounds of ruins. He found identification papers for two people, including a 13-year-old boy. “But these two people are still missing,” he says.
Dreier had to take a break, but he’s sure he’ll return.
“All my friends call me — ‘Why you not come home? Why you not come home?’” he says. “I have to stay and wait.”
He has to do what he can.
Thousands of Thais share his sentiments as well. They’ve come from across the country, trading vacations for community service, feeding the masses, searching the rubble and handling the victims, both living and dead.
When rescuers find a body, it is taken to a local temple. Wat Bang Muang, just north of Khao Lak, perhaps houses the most, with 1,200 unidentified corpses. There, Tsum Prok, a television student-turned-volunteer, helps move a man’s remains into a refrigerated container.
“He was walking the beach and the tsunami came in suddenly,” he says.
Workers know the man was Swedish, but they have no passport or name.
For a week, the corpses at Wat Bang Muang lie bloated and rotting on the temple’s grounds. Workers sprayed disinfectant and scattered dry ice to try to stabilize the remains.
“It is very serious because the bodies are very decomposed and the smell is very bad,” says Somchai Pholeamer, a clinical professor and forensics doctor from Bangkok’s Siriraj Hospital.
Since then, thousands of refrigerated containers have arrived, and the bodies will be stored until they are identified through DNA tests. But that may take many months.
<b>THOUSANDS OF CALLS</b>
Meanwhile, back in Phuket, the municipal offices act as a clearinghouse for the injured, bereaved and curious, offering international calls, Internet access, transportation, food and water — all free.
“According to the prime minister, everything to help the sufferers — we will not charge,” says Nick Fuangrabil, a junior officer in the Foreign Ministry.
Workers here answer the phones 24 hours a day. Volunteer So Pida says the calls come from different directions at different times of day.
“Day time is Thai time; in the night it’s foreigner time.” She fetches a
list of names and the resorts where they stayed. Most all the way down the page it reads: Khao Lak, Khao Lak, Khao Lak.
So Pida estimates she has talked to 1,000 people looking for missing persons.
“We work all day, all night. We cannot sleep.”
Only 10 times have people called her back to say they found their loved ones.
Like many volunteers, she doesn’t know how to describe her grief. “It’s very sad,” she simply says, but her eyes say much more. She’s tired but persistent.
“I just bring my heart and my brain in here. I don’t care about my body,” she says. She will work “until the end.”
Just outside So Pida’s office is that chilling wall of names and posters. Most remain the same, day after day.
Yet one black-and-white picture of a little blond boy gleams with hope. The word “missing” is crossed out, and scrawled above his head are words of joy: “Found already.”
Workers here answer the phones 24 hours a day. Volunteer So Pida says the calls come from different directions at different times of day.
“Day time is Thai time; in the night it’s foreigner time.” She fetches a
list of names and the resorts where they stayed. Most all the way down the page it reads: Khao Lak, Khao Lak, Khao Lak.
So Pida estimates she has talked to 1,000 people looking for missing persons.
“We work all day, all night. We cannot sleep.”
Only 10 times have people called her back to say they found their loved ones.
Like many volunteers, she doesn’t know how to describe her grief. “It’s very sad,” she simply says, but her eyes say much more. She’s tired but persistent.
“I just bring my heart and my brain in here. I don’t care about my body,” she says. She will work “until the end.”
Just outside So Pida’s office is that chilling wall of names and posters. Most remain the same, day after day.
Yet one black-and-white picture of a little blond boy gleams with hope. The word “missing” is crossed out, and scrawled above his head are words of joy: “Found already.”
