<< As the afternoon wore on our options seemed clearer: either we stay put for the night, hoping to be safe from potential new waves, or we try to get a lift through the still watery centre of town to the hospital up on the hill at the far end of town, in order to search for our friends.
At 5pm we decided: we had to try and see if they were injured in the hospital, so we had to get a lift there right away, before darkness fell.
The road was a crazy fucking sight to behold. All manner of vehicles going in both directions carrying loads of people; some injured, some O.K, and occaisionally some dead.
One image that will stay with me forever was a couple on a moped coming from the direction of the hospital. The man was driving and the woman on the back had her dead daughter across her knees, covered by a flimsy white sheet. I’d never experienced raw death before, now here it was as real as life itself.
Wes stood in the road, trying to flag down a lift, but at first it wasn’t happeneing. Perhaps we didn’t look injured enough. I had a bandaged arm and Helen was limping badly, but compared to many others we were not seriously wounded.
Eventually, after increased excursion and desperation on out part, an opened back truck stopped for us. It was packed with teenage boys, who enthusiastically dragged us on board with effusive offers of help. Unfortunately the y started to speed off while Helen was still hanging off the back, but I managed to drag her to safety.
They were so friendly, helpful and upbeat given the circumstances; just what we needed at that point.
We got through the town centre, surveying the unbelievable carnage all around. The whole centre of Tangalle had been flattened, literally. Two and three storey buildings had been reduced to rubble; banks, shops, everything had disintegrated.
The metal bridge in the centre of town was miraculously still standing and had 2 fishing boats crushed into the side of it, as if some giant had picked them up and squashed them against it for fun. >>
