Stench of decay fills the air in temple of death
On the ground bodybags lie zipped up and waiting for removal, while all about is the smell of death and decay.
The morgue, in a Buddhist temple, is busy. Many of the victims from Phi Phi Island have been brought here, as teams of pathologists from 25 countries set about reconstructing people's identities from what remains of their bodies. Each national DVI unit has a differently- coloured smock.
The bodies have a one uniform colour a watery grey. Shrivelled feet,
deformed torsos, inverted lips spattered with blood this is what confronts workers and any family members brave enough to enter.
The rapidly atrophying corpses have to be photographed, their DNA and forensic characteristics cross-checked with the computer database. Plastic boxes sit next to thea tables: one for DNA teeth, another for personal belongings and a third for processed forms.
X-rays are taken, two molars are removed and a computer chip is inserted, before the bags are tagged for future reference.
This is a place of business, so there is little room for easy sentiment. Outside, on one of the pillars leading into the temple, is a sign listing the six steps
regarding the identification and removal of a dead body. Number six states bluntly: "Tell the rescuer team to pack and move it out." According to a member of the Swedish Rescue Service Agency, work here is progressing satisfactorily.
"They keep quite a good level of identification and DNA," says Katarina Bachelind. "The latest news is that in 22 days they will be done. Many teams are working in there it's a real international effort."
There are 600 bodies in the morgue, many of them children. Foreign Affairs Minister Dermot Ahern declined to enter the temple yesterday, but instead looked at the boards carrying photographs of the bodies inside.
"When you see what happens to the bodies, my heart goes out to them," he said. It's only then you appreciate "the true horror" of the disaster, he said.
Relatives still come, though in smaller numbers than before.
"When they do come, you don't say too much. It's incomprehensible to everyone," says Bachelind.
Two South Africans have been here for a few days looking for their sister. Built like rugby flankers, they don't face masks and gloves and lope inside. When they emerge dizzy from the smell, they gingerly wash their shoes. There are a few arms stretched out, seeking a lift, but anyone trying to hail a cab outside the temple hasn't a chance. No one wants to stop here.
