My Story (pt. 2)

“OK…who says we stay and who says we gat out of here?” There were now about 12 of us of all nationalities gathered together in the upstairs of what remained of the Samaru guesthouse. The Neptune and Bay View guesthouses lay in rubble on each side of us. Despite the near total destruction of the doors, windows and interior of the Samura, it seemed to be structurally sound. There were pros and cons to each argument. On one hand the building was apparently holding up to some extent, Radka had salvaged some bottles of water and it looked a whole lot worse on the street than it did in our 2nd floor sanctuary. On the other hand we didn’t know how long we could last on the supplies we had gathered and the only thing the embassy was able to tell us was that there was the possibility of a “recurring event” in the next 12 hours. By this time we were able to piece together from information gleamed from phone calls that we had been hit by a series of tsunamis triggered by a massive quake of the coast of Sumatra, Indonesia. A recurring event!? Bigger? Same size? None of us had a clue but it didn’t sound good. The second story balcony was already littered with dead fish. Could we withstand a bigger wave? Was the first one a mere ripple compared to what was yet to come? The debate carried on for a few hours with the majority leaning towards “stay put” because, frankly, we had no idea where to even go. Some time during all this our guesthouse owner re-materialized. No one had scene him since the morning but he was now running up the stairs in tears. To call his state hysteric would be an understatement. “My dear guests, I’m so glad you’re alive! I don’t want any money just get out! Leave! We must get out of here.” He then proceeded to run into his room, grab a wad of cash, his bank account book and his jewelry and then ran out the door screaming. Well…everyone had been doing a pretty good job of holding it together and remaining calm up to this point. His visit was not what we needed. However it did help sway the debate in favor of legging it to higher ground, wherever that was. Back backs were salvaged and filled with our water supply and we headed for the main road. We had heard reports that travelers were taking refuge in a Mosque near the town so we attempted to set off in that direction. Locals soon stopped us to redirect us towards a Buddhist temple they said was located 7 K inland and on higher ground. There was the feeling we were wasting valuable time as we made wrong turns and had to back track, all the while remaining along the coast. The scene
around us was nothing short of a post-apocalyptic nightmare.

[Note: the following section contains some descriptions of what we saw that some of you may want to skip. If you do so, proceed to the text below the dotted line.]

The water level in the low-lying areas was still between knee and waist high in places as our grouped trudged onwards. Stunned and grieving locals stood around in disbelief. Everything along the coast was flattened. In front of us was a flat bed trailer pulled by a small, motorized cart. A familiar scene in Sri Lanka except instead of taking produce to the market, this one was collecting bodies for the morgue. As our eyes came to grips with the row of cold feet facing us from the back of the truck we each heaved a sigh/moan, attempted to pull it together one more time and carried on. The houses inhabited by most of the local people had very little structural strength but carried quite a bit of mass non the less. Dodgy wooden polls supporting corrugated metal or tile roofing. It was now scattered all around with pieces of cement walls broken apart as if they were Styrofoam. A man carried his dead son, already frozen stiff with rigor mortis like a piece of driftwood, out of the rubble. He was emotionless and no doubt in shock. I think we all silently said a prayer as we filled past. Of all the death and destruction we witnesses the children were the hardest to take. Unfortunately they were affected in the greatest numbers, unable to fend for themselves or react quickly enough.
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After making it about 3 K towards the temple (we hoped) we ran into our friend Raji, the tuc tuc driver (tuc tuc are local, three wheel taxis). He had befriended each of us individually in the weeks leading up to this and we all expressed relief to see him alive. He told us of how he was driving some surfers to a secret break in the morning when his vehicle was washed off the road. He escaped before it was smashed to bits against the trees. After walking with us a short way he managed to commandeer another tuc tuc from near his family home to use to wisk us out of there. He introduced us to some of his family and told us it was safe to wait there while he took the first group to the temple (ladies first). We sat there waiting and talking while two young girls approached to inquire if we would like some tea. How they were able to think of us when they so clearly had lost much more is beyond me. This scene would repeat itself over and over before our ordeal was through. Eventually our “family” of travelers was reunited at the temple, a beautiful structure dominated by large white gopura (dome that holds sacred relics and artifacts). Almost immediately complete strangers offered us food. Not aid workers, not police (absolutely worthless) but local people who were there seeking refuge as well. Despite news of a possible “recurring event” these people headed straight to the kitchen and prepared as much rice and curry as possible, knowing how many mouths there would be to feed. Young monks in their saffron robes walked among us distributing acetaminophen to the injured (not exactly the red cross but appreciated none the less). A man who had probably lost his home offered me his shirt as I only was wearing a wet pair of pants. Graciously I accepted marveling it this unselfish display of generosity. We all huddled together waiting to see what was to come, some trying to sleep but most unable to. With the full moon of December Poya hanging heavy overhead, we all at least were feeling a little safer and more secure. Announcements came over the PA system in Singhalese and we tried to ask for translations but couldn’t get much. Periodically we also ran into other local people we had met and befriended prior to the event. Jason, my surfing buddy, had lost his home and his sister in the disaster. We tried to console him so his loss didn’t go unacknowledged in the sea of loss around him.

As day broke we headed back into Weligama to see what was left for us to salvage. The scene appeared worse than I remembered the day before but there was an eerie calm in then air. As it turned out there really wasn’t anything left except the prints from 15 rolls of film I had just developed. They were wet but I was glad to find them. Plans had been made to get back to the temple ASAP as our friends were looking for a ride north….anywhere really….just away from the savage coast. We returned to find not much progress had been made on the transport issue. The wave had wiped out petrol and diesel supplies down the coast. One potential option dissipated as the van driver learned his mother had died and he would need to take her to the morgue. He apologized.

After some time we decided to split up and jump on anything moving north that would pick us up, and regroup in Acuresa. Radka and I pilled into what we heard was one of the last state busses. These busses are overflowing with humanity on the best of days and this was not one of them.

Acuresa is a mid size town with not a whole lot going for it but we were elated to make it there. We ran into others from our group at a local diner and grabbed a bite to eat. They had arranged a truck to get them to Colombo but all we wanted to do was sleep. And sleep we did at the only tourist guesthouse in Acuresa.

A few hours later we were awoken by Michael, a nice German traveler who had stayed behind with us. “There is a woman downstairs with a bus who wants to take us out of here. Do want to come?” “Uhhh….no, we’re alright. We just need to sleep and we’ll catch a bus tomorrow,” I replied. “Maybe you should come down and talk to her,” he reasoned. I’m glad he was persistent. Waiting for us downstairs was our guardian angel with a chartered bus and driver. She was an Austrian woman who runs a shipping business out of Colombo. Upon hearing there were Austrians stranded in the affected areas, she hired a bus to go down there and retrieve them. Arriving to find they had all boarded a bus dispatched by the German embassy minutes before, she set off in search of any westerners needing a lift to safety.

It was a surreal ride that night. Six hours of winding roads through tea plantations and small villages. At one point we were backed up in traffic as we passed a 30 K long caravan of relief trucks. The UN. The Red Cross. Sri Lankan police carrying generators. Vans full of Buddhist monks. It seemed to go on forever but still didn’t seem nearly enough to handle what we saw.

Colombo eventually came and we were deposited at the Ozean Blick hotel on the outskirts of town. All accommodations being booked, our guardian angel had her staff make us reservations at one of the only places available. Before we knew it she was gone.

The hardest thing about leaving the South was realizing how many were left behind….dead and alive. As tourists in this country we all had the luxury to get out. Our families were still alive. Our homes were still there. Because of this many travelers have begun to solicit funds from friends and family to help with the relief effort and to help those that helped us… sometimes before looking after themselves. In Kandy we were reunited with several of our “refuge family” from the Samura. Unable to make it out of Acuresa, they began making trips back down with backpacks full of supplies. Because of problems distributing supplies down there, they had taken to helping the people directly. Collecting cash from home and literally taking these families to the supply store and helping them to rebuild a little at a time. They’ve also promised to help distribute any funds I can collect to the families and individuals who saw to it that we were safe throughout the ordeal. I’ll post more on were you all can send donations as I find time to set something up. I have been overwhelmed hearing from so many friends from the past and present, wondering what they could do to help Radka and I out. We are fine. We don’t need anything. We are alive and have each other and have homes and families to go back to .If you want to help us…..help the people that helped us. Like I said, I’ll post info on how to make donations as I can work it out.

To answer a question that I’m sure many may be wondering, “will we continue our trip?" The answer is yes. This may excite some and confuse others but I see it like this. If we had perished in the tsunami the decision would have been made for us. But we didn’t. We are alive. And what’s the point of being alive if you’re not going to Live.