At around 7pm on last night, I was at a bar in the Chidlom district of Bangkok that reminded me of New York – one that served a range of craft beers and french fries – with the NYT’s SE Asia correspondent, Thomas Fuller, about reporting in the area, when the ground shook violently for all of one second.
“Shoot,” he said to me. “I hope that wasn’t a bomb, or anything too serious.”
We resumed our conversation, and around 7:19, we left the bar. I recall this being the exact time since I checked my phone the moment we left: Fuller originally told me he had to leave by 7, and I apologized for going over time and inconveniencing his schedule. It seemed like we were headed in opposite directions; I was going to take the airtrain back to my apartment, and he would take a cab in the opposite direction. As we shook hands, he said, “It was great meeting you; let’s meet up again soon, perhaps after my trip.”
Half an hour later, I hopped off the Skytrain at my station and boarded a small bus that would take me up the soi. When I checked my burner phone, I saw two missed calls and a text message. The message read, “Wudan: it turns out that was an explosion. I’m checking it out. – Thomas” When I arrived home and had wifi yet again, I saw a few worried messages from my good friend in London.
“Send a flare.”
“You okay?”
“[a mutual friend] says there was an explosion?”
Two minutes later, “Very concerned. Going to start freaking out.”
I turned on my computer, hoping to read the news, but instead, was flooded with texts and gchats asking if I was okay. For a minute or two, I felt paralyzed: a huge part of me felt like it was my journalistic duty to go back to the scene and report; the other part of me was saying, “don’t be stupid and go back into a potentially dangerous situation here, this isn’t what you came out here to do.” Paused for a moment, dialed Fuller back. “OK, I’ll come over and see what’s going on.”
I quickly shoved my passport, cash, and notepad in my purse, slung my camera over my shoulder, and sprinted out the door. There were a few options for me to get back to Chidlom. I ruled out taking the airtrain since that would take a while. A tuk-tuk would have just been impractical, and a cab would probably take just as long since traffic around the city is horrendous. I decided to hop on a motorbike. Negotiated fare with the driver just as my Lonely Planet guide advised, and we were on our way, weaving in and out of traffic. I was back in Chidlom in about ten minutes time.
I ran along the main road of Ratchaprasong Junction that travels east to west (Ploenchit Road) until I hit the police tape. It was hard to make out what was happening, but I could see there were still body parts (covered by white cloth) and motorbikes on the road, shattered from the bombing. For the first hour or so, I was sort of twiddling my thumbs, observing the scene, then remembering that I am a journalist and maybe I should put that to use. I made a few calls, and by around 10:15, I was put on assignment. Immediately, my reporter hat went back on.
In hindsight, it was an incredible experience to be reporting breaking news under very horrifying, uncertain, and devastating circumstances. It was the first time that I felt crippled by the language barrier: when I approached groups of police and military personnel in English, the group all pointed to the one member who could do an interview in English. Sometimes, authorities declined to comment.
I was fortunate to meet an ambulance worker who spoke English incredibly well as I walked along the periphery of the police tape, was at the scene when the bombing occurred, gave great quotes, and brought me across police lines so I could find folks to talk to. The same source showed me a few pictures he and his colleagues were passing around when the bombing first happened. Some gore below.
Finally, around 11 PM, I made my way into the hospital where many of the patients were brought to. The lobby was incredibly chaotic. Chatted with some nurses, and realized I had copy to file by 1:30am, so I left.
Finally arrived home just shy of midnight, my phone blowing up with concerned messages (very appreciative of all the flares shot)
More details and events have unraveled today while I’ve hung out at home catching up on unfinished work. You can read the story I contributed reporting for here, and a huge thumbs up to the folks at the Washington Post for the opportunity.
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