Our dive trip was ending on Christmas day in the afternoon and we were leaving the next day for Bangkok. We thought best to book our accommodation in advance. The resort Sylvia and I were staying in was fully booked for Christmas. So we went to the Khao Lak Inn, which had been recommended to us by Lek, our resort manager back in Koh Tao. If she hadn’t had mentioned it, we would have gone to the next resort down the beach. The Khao Lak Inn was about 300m inland from the beach.

We booked two rooms. One for Nic and Tina and one for ourselves. That evening at dinner on the beach, I told them that we had booked a room for them and it was cheaper, but Nic said, “It’s going to be our last night in Thailand and we want to stay on the beach.” Fair enough, I thought.

The next day we all left on our live-aboard trip. During the four days we went to many islands and dive sites and saw so much aquatic life. The feeling of being in the middle of the sea on a boat was energising and uplifting. It was going to be a Christmas not to be forgotten!

On Christmas day we did the last two of our 14 dives. We then headed back to Khao Lak in the afternoon. When descending from the boat, the dive guides invited us all for dinner later that evening. About 15 of us met up and continued feeling the great vibes that we had enjoyed during the live-aboard. After dinner, we ended up at the Happy Snapper, a local bar with surprisingly good live music. Sylvia went home early. I hadn’t been drinking alcohol for a while, so when I ordered a beer Nic and Tina were really happy and they kept on buying me rounds.
“Come on Paul, have another one!”
This is the time you let go and have a good chat about life. Then you have another beer and have a boogie woogie on the dance floor. Tina loved to dance.

At around 3am, the bar emptied slowly and we said good bye to the other divers. We made arrangements to meet on the beach at 11am for breakfast the next morning with the Swiss couple, Xavier and Valerie. Nic, Tina and I headed back home. We were all alone. Just the three of us, arm in arm, walking down the quiet and deserted road. Just the lamp posts and stars guiding our way home. We were on a high. It was a beautiful feeling being all together. Happy to be alive. We knew how to enjoy life and that’s what we were doing!
We reached the intersection of the road heading down to the beach. They went right, I went left. Not a real goodbye.

The next morning at 8am, Sylvia woke up. She’d felt an earth tremor. I hadn’t felt anything, even though I saw the water in the bottle on the table vibrating. My only hangover thought was, “If something happens, I’ll jump on the floor at the base of the wall”, and carried on sleeping. At around 10.30am I heard a strange bang. A mixture between a car accident and an explosion. A couple of minutes later I heard people running around outside. I went to the window and saw crowds running in all directions coming from the beach. My first thought was that someone had been shot. A couple of weeks prior in Koh Tao, a taxi driver had shot dead another. I still wasn’t worried. It was 12.15pm when I eventually left the room. Nic and Tina’s taxi was booked for 1pm to the airport and I hadn’t had breakfast with them as previously agreed. I rushed downstairs. There was no electricity and not a soul at reception. In the street was a strange atmosphere. The air was heavy and the sunlight eerie. I hurried down the main road. I saw people covered in blood walking on the dusty sidewalk. With all the problems with the Muslim in the south of the country, I thought there might have been a terrorist attack.
“What’s going on?” I asked this Japanese girl.
She looked at me stunned. “Haven’t you heard? There’s been a big wave. Everything has been destroyed on the beach!”
My stomach hit my throat. My head started to spin. “Oh no, Nic and Tina!!”, my mind panicked.

I ran back to the hotel to fetch Sylvia. “Come quick something awful has happened”, I yelled entering the room. We both ran down the road towards the beach. I was choking and crying. I was losing my bearings.
Half way down the road, about 200 metres from the beach, debris was washed up on the road; crushed cars, trees and branches, air-conditioner ventilators, gas bottles and a body wrapped round a tree. We didn’t have the time to think when people started running back shouting, “Run, run, another wave is coming!” We turned on our heels and ran as fast as we could. Sylvia’s flip-flops flew off her feet as we ‘legged it’ in the opposite direction. We ran across the main road and reached a field. I saw a water tower and climbed at about 10m high to see if I could see back towards the beach. There were too many trees, but I could make out that there was no wave coming our way. This was the first of many false wave alerts. My body was shaking with adrenaline and I was out of breath. I didn’t want to fall from this tower. I’d found myself in a precarious situation. I knew the wave wouldn’t spare anything, not even this tower. I took a deep breath and descended slowly. We met up with two other European guys who told us their account of what happened. “There was this huge wave. About ten metres high. We managed to run and escape.”

We headed back to the main road and were directed to the Viewpoint Resort. It was perched on high ground behind the main road. The resort had been turned into a camp for survivors and injured. Two other smaller camps had also been established in the hills. The Viewpoint Resort was still under construction but near completion. Many of the injured people were lying on the dusty ground, on wooden planks and some on patches of grass. I saw found a 20-litre canister of drinking water. I decided to go around the camp to fill people’s empty water bottles giving priority to the injured. I did this for about one hour. More injured were arriving every minute. The worst injured were eventually driven off to Tekua Pa hospital 30km north of Khao Lak. Somebody brought in some pineapples and watermelon. This German girl started cutting the fruit. Some other volunteers and I distributed it. I was also thinking about Nic and Tina. Hoping they would arrive. I thought, “my duty is here, helping the injured and survivors. Hopefully, someone is doing the same for Nic and Tina somewhere.

Later on in the day I decided to go looking for my friends. I tried to find the other camps. Survivors were tucked up in the hills, sitting or lying on the grass. I found Jenni, who had been on our live aboard. When she saw me she ran to me sobbing. She’d retrieved her father, but her mother was still missing. I asked her about Nic and Tina, but she hadn’t seen them. I told her about the other camps and other survivors from our live aboard I had met in the Viewpoint. She was glad to hear about them.

I finally decided to head to the beach where Nic and Tina’s resort had been. This was the first time I’d been back since the wave struck. As I arrived towards the beach I could see the sea clearly, which had not been possible before, due to the amount of trees and bungalows. Everything had been flattened. Electric cables and pylons were on the ground. I climbed over them hoping that they weren’t live. I reached where Nic and Tina had been staying. The only thing left lying on the ground were four bent reinforced concrete columns which once held the roof. Even the concrete foundations had been washed away. I looked in the direction in which the wave had swept. 250 metres up from the beach, concrete, trees, rubble were all washed and piled up, stacked metres high. I had my first negative thought about the fate of my friends.” I’d heard so many survival stories, but this reality blew my hopes. All the resorts on the beach were wiped out. The only thing standing were the palm trees. Sylvia said they managed to stay standing because their trunks were flexible and could bend with the wave. Like swaying in the wind. The rigid concrete columns and walls just gave way. The restaurant on the beach where we had breakfast and dinner, the little temple where we did Yoga, the bungalows...were all gone. I stared at the sea. It seemed innocent. As if it hadn’t done anything. It wasn’t smirking and wasn’t sorry. It was just there. Normal behaviour. The birds had come back, chirping in the trees above. Quite beautiful. Nature was taking its course again. Business as usual. Oblivious to the chaos it had caused. The bodies on the beach were all asleep on their front. Some naked, some with underwear. So peaceful. I had completely missed the morning rush. As if I had not been in Khao Lak. So close and yet so far.

Now I was just a visitor passing through. A camera visualising the devastation. I had stepped through the TV screen to the other side. Another bad Hollywood disaster film. A witness. Just like all the other folk back home. Watching in horror and dismay.
I’d lost my friends. I couldn’t find them. The area destroyed was very vast. Where could I start looking? With my bare hands? I was helpless. I shamefully took some photos. I shouldn’t have, but I did. It wasn’t voyeurism. Just a record for my camera, so I could look back again, for proof it had not been a dream. My brain couldn’t comprehend. My camera can’t lie.

I decided to head back to the camp. On my way out of the disaster zone, some Thais pulled out two bodies. A Thai and a white European female. I checked it wasn’t Tina.

That night we all gathered at the Viewpoint Resort. The injured slept in the newly built bungalows. The others, outside on the grass under the stars. The temperature was pleasant. The sun went down. Some Thai ladies arrived and set up a kitchen on the grass with a gas cooker and prepared over 100 meals with vegetables and noodles for the survivors. People applauded. I thought at that moment “How naf!” But today, I have loads of respect. I have admiration for the Thai people who helped us with food and transport. They had lost relatives, but still they catered for the Farang (foreigners). I guess the Farang and Thai were one. In one big mess. Some dive shop owners even raided their premises and brought t-shirts for those who had no clothes. We distributed the t-shirts and covered people who were already asleep. Curtains were used as blankets. A whole Swedish family was sleeping next to us; 7 children and adults curled up together looked so peaceful in their sleep. I just wondered what they were dreaming.

Cuddled up on our towels, we started chatting to an 18-year-old Austrian boy, whose foot was injured. That afternoon he’d helped me distribute fruit. Now he was in real pain. Lying next to us, he narrated his story of that morning. His grandparents, parents and 14 year-old sister were having breakfast on the beach. He was sleeping in his bungalow on the beach. All of a sudden he heard a great gust of wind that broke the windowpanes of the bungalow. Then the water broke down the door and rushed in. The water lifted his bed. He could hardly breathe, his head pushed against the ceiling. The bungalow then collapsed and he was flushed away. He managed to climb a tree, where he stayed naked for about 15 minutes until all was clear. Claus, the Danish guy who had dived with us in the Similan Islands found and dressed him. He was still separated from his family. He was most worried about his little sister, “How can this happen so someone so young.” He was also concerned about taking over the family motorcycle business that his grand father had started. He continued, “This year has been very strange. I had a motorcycle accident at 200km/h and survived. This winter, when skiing off-piste with four friends, we were caught in an avalanche and survived thanks to a GPS transmitter we were carrying. And now I have just survived a Tsunami.” We all looked at him with admiration and stupor. (He miraculously retrieved his whole family the next morning).

It was full moon. The bright moon’s reflection on the black sea was spectacular. Nature is so overwhelming.

At 4am I heard someone say, “Phuket had just received another wave and we should be seeing it pretty soon.” I got up and walked around the camp. From the resort we had a panoramic view over the moonlit coast. Everything was calm. No wave ever came that night.

The next morning Sylvia and I went back to our room where we had left our luggage. While packing we heard a cacophony from the street below. The police was driving past at one heck of a rate with their sirens on. A megaphone was announcing something in Thai. It sounded like another warning.
“Let’s get outta here, quick.” I screamed.
We ran downstairs towards the road. Pure panic was everywhere. A pickup slammed on his brakes and we did a Fosbury Flop into the back. He careered off at 100 km/h on the main road, which was partly destroyed by the wave.
“Shit. We survived the wave, now we are going to die in a car accident!” I thought ironically. He drove us about 2 km to a hill over looking the sea. We jumped out the pickup. The police, rescue teams, civilians gathered on the side of the road on the hill.
“Is there another wave coming?” I asked a policeman with a walkie-talkie in his hand.
He just smiled and showed me two fingers. I understood that we were waiting for the second wave. After another half an hour of endless waiting, I realised that there had been once again a false alarm. The chaos and miscommunication was apparent. Even the police had wrong information. Sylvia and I decided to go back to the Viewpoint Resort to see what was going on there.

As soon as we arrived at the resort we saw the Swiss couple, Valerie and Xavier, we were meant to have met the previous morning with Nic and Tina. They had survived, but only just. We all hugged each other. I was so happy. This gave me hope. They explained how they managed to climb a tree to avoid the first wave and how the second wave had washed them away. They’d apparently grabbed a branch of a tree and found refuge. They were scratched, but alive.

People were trying to get away from Khao Lak. They were being taken to a Wat (temple) 7km south. I was hoping to maybe find my two missing friends there. Around 20 Farang and Thai scrambled on the back of a truck, which took us there. As soon as we entered the gates of the Wat I saw Matje. She had been our dive guide on the live-aboard trip. She was crying. She had just returned from diving. She and her husband were out at sea off the Similan Islands when the wave came. She explained that their boat was moored to the bottom of the sea. When the wave came, it rose the level of the sea and the boat was pulled down. The captain was sparky enough to run to the kitchen and grab an axe to cut the anchor rope. When they looked back towards the beach, it had disappeared. The sea was at tree level. All the tents on the beach were washed away.

Matje was waiting for her husband at the temple. He’d gone back to Khao Lak to see whether their bungalow was still standing. When he arrived back he was distraught. Their bungalow has been destroyed. Their belongings were gone and 3.500 Euros worth of savings washed away.
“We have nothing, we have lost everything!”, she hugged him crying.
“We are alive, we have each other”, he consoled her.
In the last 30 hours, I had met people who had lost their mother, father, sister, brother, grandparents. I had lost my friends.

Since the wave, I was thinking about the urgency of contacting my parents to tell them I was okay. In the temple gardens, they’d set up an international calling centre. All calls were for FREE. For the last day and a half everything had been free. Accommodation, water, transport, meals, fruit, telephone, Internet...quite amazing!
I dialled my parent’s home number. A couple of hours before I had sent an SMS to my parents saying I was fine. I was expecting them to be forewarned. However, they hadn’t received it. My Dad answered the phone.
“Dad!?....” Then a delay in the international line.
“Paul?...”
“Dad?” I asked.
“Oh Paul, Paul, Paul, Paul!” My Dad howled my name. His pitch was so high that I did not recognise his voice. For a split second, I thought I had the wrong number, but he was saying my name. So it had to be Dad. His distressed voice made me cry.
“Where are you calling from?” Dad asked confused.
“I’m in Thailand”, I choked.
“No, where are you? On an island?”, trying to bring his voice to a normal pitch.
“I’m on mainland. I’m fine. I’m not injured.”
Then I cracked, “...but Nic and Tina are missing. I can’t find them.”
Dad must have dropped the phone. I could hear him in the distance, “Oh Paul, Paul, ohhhhhhhhhh!”
I put the phone down and looked at Sylvia. What a mess.
I continued to help people dialling home. 009 + country code + city code (without the 0) + home number. This was a bit much for most people. I took a pen and wrote this magic formula on a sheet of paper for people to follow.

After a cigarette or two, I walked into the temple. Families were sitting together on the floor, waiting to be dispatched to Phuket airport, believing the promises that all embassies would be there to help. Paper lists posted on a temple column caught my eye. I checked them without much enthusiasm.
Nicolas Brewster – France
Christina Bülow – Germany
The heading on the list said ‘Anwesende’. I ran around asking Germans what the heck Anwesende meant.
“It means they are alright”, said this young lady.
“Oh my God”, I cried running through the temple to the phones outside. I gave my Dad another call.
“I just saw Nic and Tina on a survival list”, I shouted at my Dad. I put the phone down and gave Nic a call on his mobile phone.
Excitedly I said, “Hi Nic, I’ve just seen your names on a survival list. Send me an email and tell me where you are. Bye.”

An hour later Sylvia, Xavier, Valerie and I were on a bus with other survivors to Phuket airport. The sun was setting and the disaster areas slowly disappeared into the penumbra.
I said to Xavier, who was sitting behind me, “I feel really guilty leaving all these people behind. I feel as if I’m running away like a thief.” Not only was I leaving this region in ruin, I was also unknowingly leaving my friends behind.

We arrived one and half hours later at Phuket airport, which contrary to rumours, was still standing. We passed the automated sliding doors. People everywhere. Though no different to any normal airport.
“Excuse me, where can I find the Embassies”, I asked the lady at the information desk.
“I don’t know. Look over there”, she said.
No embassy representatives to be seen. We were told to go to Bangkok, where we should get more information. We managed to get on a free flight to Bangkok. Everyone was on their way back home. We said goodbye to a few people we knew from the live aboard.

While waiting for our flight, we had dinner in a restaurant. It was business as usual at Phuket airport. Everything that had been free of charge outside the airport was now costly, at airport prices. 140 Baht for a disgusting dish of noodles which would normally have cost 40 Baht elsewhere.

We sat around a table with other survivors from Phuket and Phi Phi islands. We related our stories, all looking at CNN on TV. We were witnesses to the television but also actors in this disaster. This was the first time I had any news from other countries. The images were horrendous. The explanations and animations of the Tsunami in the Indian Ocean were scary. A disaster on a global scale. Europe was as much involved as any other country in this area. Another story the media could make money on and continue their campaign of fear. After ten minutes of looking at CNN I felt dizzy. An intense bombardment of images from around the world. It was all the truth. But some how their assault continued. They made you feel like shit. A numbing feeling. Blasé with more deaths. In real life, the wave had come and gone in ten minutes. But in the world of television, the waves of disaster were put on ‘auto-repeat’. Again and again the same footage. I had to get out of that restaurant with their fucking high prices and reality TV. The very reason I had left Europe.

Sylvia and I arrived in Bangkok airport in the early hours of the morning. Some representatives from all Embassies greeted us as we descended the escalators. I gave my name to the British authorities as well as Nic’s name. We were both British. We were then directed to a makeshift desk of the Authority of Thailand. A young Thai lady booked us into a hotel.
“How many nights would you like, sir?” she asked.
“Two nights, please”, I said shyly. We didn’t know how long we were going to stay in Bangkok and two nights would give us some time to sort ourselves out.

While waiting for the bus to take us to our hotel, we met a young family. Mother, father, daughter and son. But the family was incomplete. Their middle son was missing. The mother was surprisingly calm. Maybe it was a mixture between fatigue and numbness. I also think there’s a different effect on your mind when someone is missing rather than knowingly dead. It somehow more acceptable than death. But how do you mourn a missing person?

We finally got to our hotel and went to bed at around 6.30am as the sun was rising.
A few hours later we got up and did the tour of the British and German embassies. They had no clue what was actually going on. The German clerk was overwhelmed by the events. He said, “I have had a very tough day. So many people came here crying. They had lost members of their family.”

That evening we decided to check our email. I sent an email to all those I knew saying I was fine and that I had seen Nic and Tina on the survivors’ list. Just as I clicked on the SEND button, Sylvia came to me and said, “Paul, I think they made a mistake with the lists. I wanted to tell you before, but you seemed so happy when you saw the list, I didn’t dare say anything before.”

She explained that she had put Nic and Tina’s names on the missing person’s list at the Viewpoint Resort. Nic as French and Tina as German. She said that the girls who made the list were re-copying it to send to the other camps in Khao Lak. In doing so they mistakenly recopied the missing persons onto the survivors list. The reason she though that, was because Nic had been put down as French and not British. Nic was British and would never have said he was French. So the list was erroneous.

I was angry. Angry against Sylvia for not having told me before. Angry against the girls who made the lists. Angry against myself for having sent an email to everyone, especially his parents, saying he was fine. No one was to blame. Everyone did what they thought was right. The fact was, my friends were still missing and this news did not make things look brighter. I couldn’t keep this information. I first asked my parents whether I should inform his family. I was hesitant. God damn it, they had to know. So I sent an email to Nic's parents explaining the list mess up and all we could do was to wait for some news. I did not have the courage to re-issue a new email to all those I had emailed a couple of minutes before about the news.

An hour later Sven, Tina’s brother, wrote me an email saying he had heard that I had seen Nic and Tina alive. Chinese whispers. This was a stab into an open wound.
He gave me a call and I told him “I’m sorry Sven. That’s not the case. There was a mess up with the lists.”
I had given false hope to so many people. Now I had the painful task of explaining what had gone wrong.

Robert, Jane and Sven wanted to come to Thailand. Stefan, Sylvia’s brother, wanted her back home. I wanted to go back to where I belonged, in Khao Lak. My parents were two minded. They wanted me back, but also wanted me to help the Brewsters.

At that point, Sylvia and I went back to our room. We packed our bags and headed to the airport. I wanted a flight to Phuket, she to Germany. The only flights available were the next morning. So we went back to the hotel and spent another night there.

I was up the next morning at 5.30 and on my plane to Phuket at 8am. My plan was to go to Khao Lak and evaluate the situation. When I arrived at Phuket airport the only vehicle I could get was a 12-seater minivan. I headed to the City Hall in Phuket Town to gather anybody or goods that needed to go to Khao Lak. I loaded 11 volunteers into my minivan and took to the road. The road into Khao Lak was jammed. The electric company was already putting up new lines. Khao Lak was complete chaos. Organised chaos actually. Rescuers, bulldozers, trucks full of debris, pickup trucks loaded with dead bodies, army and TV helicopters flying over head, civilians everywhere. The minibus and 12 volunteers were lost in the middle of this. We were looking for the HQ which would guide us. Tell us how we could help. Well there was no HQ. The only official gathering was for dead bodies.

They were lining up the bodies. Most of them were already wrapped in plastic and cloth. However, there were those just lying there. Fully exposed. The bodies did not look human. They were black and bloated. The smell was awful. The smell was thick. It felt as if I was inhaling dead bodies. I had to look. Again, I felt like a voyeur, but I needed to see what happens to bodies when they die. It was not a pretty sight. These bodies were not recognisable. What shocked me most, were the men’s genitals. The testicle pouches were blown up the size of a football. The dead bodies I had seen on the beach two days before were as if sleeping. These bodies were as if burned. On their backs. Legs and arms in the air. Stiff. I thought they were all overweight, but in fact gases had bloated their bodies. The water combined with tropical heat contributed to this state.

The buildings, cars, everything was destroyed. I could see my presence was more a nuisance than a benefit. I was putting myself into danger with all these bulldozers, trucks and dilapidated houses. I decided to continue to Tekua Pa hospital, 30 km north of Khao Lak. Claus, a Danish friend told me that many people had been taken there. Some of the volunteers I had brought made their own way back to Phuket. The others came with me to the hospital, hoping they could be useful there.

We arrived at Tekua Pa hospital. A devoted Dutch lady doctor, who had just graduated and helping in Thailand as a volunteer, told me that they had evacuated all the tourists to Phuket. The only Farang they had was an old German man who had just come in. Some Thai people in the hills had taken care of him. He had slept on their floor for two days and was in a bad state, but he was going to survive. He believed his wife was dead and wanted us to contact his daughter in Germany.

I drove back to Phuket that evening. One of the volunteers let me crash on his floor at home. The next morning I went to pick up Jane and Robert Brewster at Phuket airport. Pierre, the international security manager, and other local staff from Nestlé were also there to welcome and advise them. Nic was working for Nestlé is Vevey, Switzerland. There were twelve people from Nestlé missing in Thailand and Nic was one of them.

We left the airport and headed down to Phuket. We drove around all day, from hospital to hospital. Checking lists of thousands of people. It all made my head spin. None of the hospitals held their names. We were all on a mission. We did our best, but the results were unfortunately in vain.
All the survivors were on those lists. Those who were absent were considered missing. Hope was running out. This truth was hard to deal with. For all of us.
We went to our rooms at 5.30pm for a rest. I had to clean my clothes. It had been one week I hadn’t done any laundry. All my clothes were smelly.

That evening the Thai employees from Nestlé invited us all for dinner. I thought they would take us to a cosy Thai restaurant. As a matter of fact, they took us to a brand spanking new shopping mall, and ate at the Pizza Company. I suppose they were trying to make us feel at home. Demonstrate that they too had succumbed to post-modern capitalism. The heart was there. They were all so sweet and sympathetic. They said we were all from the Nestlé family. It's true, an international and caring family.
When everyone went to bed that evening, I wandered the streets of Phuket Town. I needed to clear my head. Seeing the empty shops I felt sorry for the Thai. Their season had just started and just came to an abrupt end. It would take time for the Farang to come back and fill their stores.

The next day we headed to Khao Lak. On the way, we stopped at the airport to fetch Sven and Brendan, Tina’s brother and cousin. We also took the opportunity to book flights back home. We were all at the ticket booth. Jane and Robert had open tickets, but Thai Airways could only give them a flight back in five days. I had to purchase a new ticket home. The only available seats that evening were in Business Class. The Thai sales director of Nestlé thought we shouldn’t stay any longer in Thailand. He got out his credit card and bought us three business class tickets home. 242.000 Baht (5.000 Euros) for three tickets. Considering that a basic Thai income is about 6.000 Baht a month, the tickets were the equivalent of 3 year’s salary. We were dumbstruck. Just another token of their sympathy and Nestlé’s commitment to its ‘family’.

We left the airport in two cars. It took us about an hour to reach Khao Lak. We parked on the lower road leading to the beach resorts. Nothing showed the delimitation between the resorts. No fences, no advertising panels. Just a ‘no man’s land’ with ruins and standing coconut trees. They hadn’t even lost their nuts during the wave. As if trees were the only beings who had the right to be there. A testimony of their strength.

I guided Jane and Robert to the spot where Nic and Tina’s bungalow had been standing. The foundations, walls and roof were gone. Only the four reinforced concrete columns were left. Lying on the ground. Parallel. In the direction the wave had swept. I showed them the restaurant where we had eaten in and the temple where we had done Yoga. We walked around the desolate resort.
Suddenly, Robert called me over, “Do you recognise this?”

It was Tina’s rucksack. I recognised it because Sylvia had the same one. Robert also found the keys to their apartment in Lausanne. The rucksack had already been pillaged. Nic’s diving logbook and guidebook remained. There were some papers with Nic’s handwriting that I kept. Sven gathered some greeting cards Tina had received. We were astounded to find some silk fabric Tina had bought for the bridesmaid dresses. The fabric was intact and dry. Strange. For some reason we did not pick up all their belongings. We left the rucksack with other clothes lying on the ground. We could have taken everything as souvenirs. I am still puzzled. I would have taken everything. Did we consider ourselves looters? Strange.


We must have spent about three hours on the beach, walking around, absorbing the vibrations and imagining the dreaded moments. We sat on the beach among the scattered logs, planks and other debris. I don’t remember what we spoke about. We just sat there all together. Jane, Robert, Sven, Brendan and I. Those would be our last moments here. So we sat and observed. Observed the sea. What else was there to do? This is where I have my last memories of Thailand. The car trip back to Phuket and then the flight to Bangkok and Paris all seem a bit of a blur.

The reunion at Nice airport with my parents and friends was very emotional. Everyone was hugging and crying. I could just imagine what the people around us my have been thinking. It couldn’t have been a happy sight. So much grief in one place and so many people. These scenes must have been common in most airports around the world. In the last days, while flying around Thailand, I had the feeling all the people had been involved in the catastrophe. Having arrived in Paris and more so in Nice, the feeling was completely diluted. The vibrations had gone from sympathy to complete indifference. We were the living proof to the outsiders that the TV had not been lying about the Tsunami.

I am now back at my parents. The familiar streets of Ile Verte. The last week now seems like a dream. Was it all reality what I had just lived? I only saw Nic and Tina on an irregular basis in different places around the world. It seemed as though I was just living an interval, and that I would most likely see them again, somewhere, someday.

It also seems strange to grieve a missing person. Two weeks later, there’s still no trace of them. We are grieving their presumed death. How strange. We assume they are dead. There is no proof. What do we grieve? The fact we won’t see them again? The fact they were too young to die? I know they are no longer here. As if they were back in Lausanne. Do we cry because we feel sorry for ourselves? Is it worth crying because we won’t see somebody again? Do we cry because our brain tells us to? The concept of death is so abstract. Don’t some cultures celebrate their dead? Is there an age to die? We know death is the ultimate stop in our lives. Do we cry because we didn’t expect it, coming as a shock? Do Nic and Tina know they are dead? There might have been a moment in their minds that they knew they were going to die. Maybe it is that exact moment we wished they hadn’t experienced. We know how many thoughts go through our mind when we come close to death. Thoughts of our loved ones. Hoping they won’t suffer too much once we’re gone. Those thoughts of death are had alive. Then the unknown is there. If we knew what was behind the walls of death, we might not grieve. If we knew there was a lovely other world, then we would be happy. Maybe that is why our Christian culture has created heaven. They were both very good and generous people. They must be in heaven. The Hindus believe they have left their physical bodies. Their astral and causal bodies have gone to a higher plane and when their karma has decided, they will come down into another living body. How do we conceptualise death?
I believe that their physical bodies will be consumed by other beings. These other beings will die and be transformed into other living organisms. When a leave drops from a tree to the ground, it will decompose with the help of bacteria. The decomposed matter will be food for plants and trees. We will eat the plants. We will breathe the air the trees exhale. Nothing is lost. They are us and we become them. The energy is never lost. The cycle of life is infinite, not only on our planet, but also in the whole universe. We come from this infinite, and we will, for sure, go back to the infinite. Because we are the infinite. Nic. Tina. We are you. We will join you someday.