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| BACKGROUND > TARBATT STORY |
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 Unawatuna Beach
Copyright © Cork Aid to Sri Lanka 2005
The Villa Hotel in Unawatuna, Sri Lanka is positioned right on the beach and about a 10 minute Tuc-Tuc (local taxi) ride from the historic Portuguese Galle Fort, which is a UNESCO world heritage site. "The Villa" was built in the last six years and as such it's a relatively new building and better constructed than much of the other local beach accommodation. We knew all the staff from the Garden Boy to the Manager and their families very well. There are only six rooms in the Villa and we had three of these booked for Christmas.
Boxing Day in the Villa started a bit quieter than usual. At the time we couldn't quite pin it down but in retrospect, the birds weren't singing that morning which is strange because Unawatuna is particularly rich in bird life. We got up slightly later than usual, around 7.30 am and decided not to go to the beach straight away so that we could have breakfast before the Glass Bottom Boat trip, which wasn't due to return until lunchtime.
We sat down for breakfast around 8.30 and Frank and Esther joined us about 10 minutes later. Shortly after ordering our food, Ruan, the waiter came over to inform us that unfortunately no bread had not been delivered. He said that they had sent into Galle for some bread and that it wouldn't be long arriving. Because they had gone to the trouble of going to fetch the bread (we were the only people having breakfast) we decided to wait for the bread out of politeness - even if it meant that we might be slightly late for Rogers's 9.30am boat trip.
At 9.20am the manager of the Villa arrived breathless with the bread. He came running into the garden of the Villa. I remember it well. He had a loaf in either arm, and with his arms outstretched he stood facing us and the beach and shouted, "What is happening to the sea!"
We swung around to see what he was shouting about just as a little splash of water came over the 1 meter high wall that separated the villa from the beach. The bottom of that wall would itself have been about 1 meter up from sea level. A boat whizzed by even closer and faster than usual and we gawped dumbstruck as to why it was so close.
A split second later that little splash was up to our ankles and the furniture was moving as the water continued to rise. Suddenly the garden of the Villa was awash. The deckchairs were washing dangerously around the place, furniture was crashing, people were screaming, glass was shattering and we were running. Thank God our children (this one rare occasion) were sitting in front of us, because we would not have had any time to find them had they been mischievously deployed elsewhere. The furniture was hitting us on the back of our legs as we raced in-front of the water, running out of the Villa onto the road behind.
As we passed the staircase to the upper floors, Majella, showing great presence of mind, shouted for us all to get up the stairs fast. Frank passed Matthew to me and I hauled him up over the banister. Majella had Luke by the hand and Frank with Esther managed to keep their footing in the fast moving and waist level water. We made it up to the first floor level which within another two seconds was inundated. For the next 30 minutes we ran up and down these stairs not wanting to go too high in-case the building collapsed or too low in-case the water reached us.
Other guests in the Villa were emerging from their rooms. Having such a high vantage point we could see the churning sea bearing down with an unreal force. The building was shaking and everything as far as the eye could see was being swept aside by the tremendous volume of the water. We said our "Goodbyes" to each other as we watched other buildings fall.
We could see many less lucky people down below at the mercy of the charging waves. They were hanging bravely onto telegraph poles, gates and some were clearly drowning as cars and tuc-tucs were washed away like matchwood. It was immediately obvious that with the suddenness and lack of warning, unattended children or swimmers on the beach stood no chance. The next day it was soul destroying to learn that the palm trees at the temple end of the beach had indeed acted like a giant basket - catching most of the dead in the high palm tops.
Our initial immediate reaction was that this was a freak wave - albeit a big one, which had just affected our little bit of Unawatuna beach. From the balcony we were awe-struck to witness that as the sea retreated it literally sucked the entire bay dry. The reef which was usually underneath 6 ft of water was completely exposed as fridges, people, cars, tuc-tucs, trees and all the other debris were dragged out to sea. The angry sea came back again and about half an hour later eventually subsided to a relatively stable (understatement of the year) state, whereby the water level on the street had receded to waist level.
Soon after, some local men came by and beckoned us to safety. They shouted that the building wasn't safe. There was high-ground nearby but we'd need to move quickly because there was rumour of another wave coming. We decided to take their advice and clambered down the stairs of the Villa. There was a giant dresser blocking the stairs, broken glass and the most frightening of all, a strong smell of Gas. One of the men carried Luke and another helped Esther navigate the debris that was scattered around. I had Matthew on my shoulders and we silently blessed ourselves that we were together and had our shoes on as we gingerly followed the men to safety.
Once at higher ground we (about 40 of us at this stage) all fled up to the very top apartment. We later sadly learnt that the people who had this apartment were missing. Those with Mobile telephones were frantically texting or calling their kin and we were very fortunate to get a message out to Ruth (Mark's mother) that "all six were okay". It was now about 11am and the walking wounded were being attended to. Most had lacerations to their legs, feet or faces, a result of being swept and bashed around in the melee. At about 1pm, from high up on our crowded balcony, we heard the urgent screaming again. "The waters coming, the waters coming!" and indeed it did, although we didn't witness it the second time. We heard it and it was equally as potent as the first attack. None-the-less, we were all held by the fear that perhaps it would be bigger, stronger and find us in the appropriately named "Tampabpani Retreat".
We spent the rest of the day and later that night sleeping on the balcony of an English family who had just arrived the day before. They had an eight year old boy and a five year old girl. We shared their (not big) balcony with another Irish family who had a three year old girl. There was no electricity or running water, drinking water was in short supply and we had no food. That night the adults stayed awake and Unawatuna was silent only for the roar of the angry ocean and the baleful howling of dogs. The birds had long gone but the monkeys made a lot of noise as they retreated inland.
 Broken Boats
I went back the second day just to check if the safe was still there. It was. Majella asked me to have a really good look around for her watch. We have a matching pair of Tag Heuer Watches bought for our 10th wedding anniversary and hers was gone - she had left it in a big brass bowl on the dresser. Knowing this I was thrilled to notice the big brass bowl and figured there might be a chance I'd find the watch close by. The bathroom was full of sand and sewage so I got a stick and started to pull it around in the mess. I was amazed to find her watch still ticking away hidden under more than three inches of sand.
Later that day the staff from the Villa turned up at the Tampabpani Retreat with the contents of the safe. We gave them money, paid our bill, took their addresses and promised that we'd send more aid from home.
Later that night a man from the British High Commission arrived at 3a.m. to see if we could provide a list of those most in need of evacuation. He was particularly anxious to get the young, the sick and elderly out. We qualified on two counts. The next afternoon a convoy of big black Indian Ambassador cars arrived and we were the first 20 people out of Unawatuna.
They drove us to Koogala airbase and we were sad to see the Sri Lankans waving good bye. Any other people would probably begrudge us this quick exit, but the Sri Lankans seemed to adopt an almost embarrassed manner that their guests should have endured such trauma on their soil.
At Koogala we were driving in the gates just as the foreign press were arriving three days later. They ushered us into a small waiting room where the floors were splattered with blood and a doctor and nurse tended to the wounded people that were with us. It wasn't long before a huge old Indian Air Force helicopter came shuddering to the ground nearby. This was our ticket out of Galle, and we were delighted to be departing for fresh running water, clean linen, food and plenty of water.
It started to rain very heavily as the thundering, vibrating rust bucket that was the Indian Air Force Chopper flew us along the coast toward Colombo. We were more amused than alarmed to see water streaming into the cock pit. The cameraman from Indian TV shouted at us not to be frightened. But what did he know, because ten minutes later we were landing in a Paddy Field as the pilot explained to his white knuckled passengers that we had no choice but to make a forced landing until the worst of the storm had passed.
Our flight back took the scenic route stopping in the Maldives (runway awash with white sands and puddles), then to Dubai (were Matthew wouldn't stop pointing at the men in white and women with black souks), Overnight in Prague (New Years Eve with fireworks exploding throughout the night) and finally Amsterdam at an ungodly hour.
Arriving back at Cork airport, haggard and dirty, we were surprised to be greeted by the Southern Correspondent from the Irish Times Newspaper along with a Freelance Paparazzi. We were not surprised to see Ruth, David and Catherine with a host of other friends and Family. The Journalist had been hoping he'd find a Cork Tsunami story at the airport because he figured if anyone was coming back from Colombo they'd be travelling via either Amsterdam or London. There were eight Irish people missing and the public interest, like everywhere else on the planet, was huge. We told him our story which he duly published, and for the next seven days we were known as the family that was, "Saved by their daily bread". The phone didn't stop ringing from that moment on.
 Luke clutches the little model fishing boat
We had arrived back on New Years Day and Luke was thrilled that Santa had deposited those bigger toys he couldn't lug out to Sri Lanka under the tree at Ennismore. The house was like a train station for the next few days as we retold and retold the story. It was a bit like: "You broke your arm?" "Tell me how you broke your arm?" and every time we tried to vary the story so that it wouldn't seem too repetitive.
Perhaps more than the rest of us, Majella was exceptionally distressed about leaving Sri Lanka and the friends we had made. Aid had been promised but her contacts were saying nothing had arrived on the ground. There were 70,000 displaced people in Galle and the local business men (Bankers, Lawyers and Real Estate Agents) whom she knew had started to organise these people into 70 different camps. They needed money fast.
Back in Ireland and Majella immediately started to call on neighbours and friends to seek immediate cash aid for Galle.
The jury is still out on where we'll go to next Christmas - the odds on us re-visiting the "Serendipity Riviera" are quite good despite what happened. |
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