The day Bangkok crumbled

00:00 05:23

Lawrence Osborne has narrated this article for you to listen to.

Last Friday I was on my 15th-floor balcony with an early afternoon coffee, watching dogs play among the banana trees below. It was strangely quiet. Looking across the skyscrapers that form my horizon, I noticed the 137 Pillars – a luxury high-rise hotel famous for its rooftop pool perched 37 storeys above my own street. Down the tower great cascades of water, thousands of gallons, were pouring from that rooftop pool. I looked at the jungle plants on my balcony. They were moving back and forth, the blades of the rubber trees swaying as if issuing a warning, and I felt dizzy. Soon all the towers around me were exploding with the same cascades of pool water. For a few seconds, before I had realised anything, I thought: ‘How beautiful.’ Then I stood up and keeled over. The whole building was moving; then the rubber trees toppled. ‘Not a hangover,’ I thought calmly as I wandered out into the private landing of my condo and then the communal open bridges which connect all the units on the same floor. People I had never seen before – after 12 years living next to them – had suddenly appeared, running half-dressed or almost naked towards the fire exit stairs. Old people, stunned Japanese salarymen in steep decline, a few Thai pop stars and a horde of Pomeranians carried in arms.

In the last 100 years there has hardly ever been an earthquake in Bangkok. They are more a Burmese or a Javan thing. Now it was a 7.7 monster with its epicentre indeed in Myanmar, but it had reached the Thai capital with enormous force. I was barefoot and shirtless, as one is on the balcony in 95°F heat, but as I turned to go back to my apartment, staff members came up with outspread arms and made it known that this was not an option.