I can still see the signs in the staircases, “No durian allowed in the rooms”. It was a new hotel, already crowded out by the shopping mall being developed next door but the staff did their best to keep the dust down. I was sitting at the bar, under the shade of the awning talking to the manager and making notes for a piece I was to write for Lonely Planet. “This is a busy year” he said, and it was. The whole of the town was being rebuilt with new pavements, shopping malls and hotels to cater for the waves of tourists. I’d already walked along the beach and a little up the hill to see the latest hotel, set back from the road with the small, white concrete shed which served as the local Thai Airlines office from which I’d bought tickets to explore the flower festival. It was all a little different from what I expected. The boat owners on the beach had a co-operative which ensured no fares were undercut and there were more places to enjoy European food than Thai.

Now it looks like a war zone. Destroyed and piled high with bodies. I tried to look for the names of the manager and Nava, the local fixer and tour rep, but I can’t find them. I’d like to hope that means they escaped but looking at the pictures of the area it’s hard to see how anyone could have. The more you read the more humbled you feel by it all. From the picture of Karin Svaerd rushing towards the waves to save her children to the desolation faced by Jess Maulder as she works to re-unite loved ones with the bodies of those they have lost. No more than 20 years old she is a medical student who walks the lines of bodies trying to see a tattoo or a scar that a relative has described.

Maybe I was harsh on Krabi when I was there, too anxious to comment on the pavements which were yet to be finished and the German and Swedish restaurants. One thing it did have that year though, happy, smiling people enjoying a wonderful, safe holiday.