Quotes of the Day

Patong beach, on the western coast of Phuket, Thailand, is the place to which many international journalists scrambled in order to report on the tsunami that hit Asia on Dec. 26. The death toll on the island numbered more than 200, at least half of them foreign tourists. Gradually, the scale of the destruction in Indonesia—which was home to some two-thirds of those killed by the tsunami—trickled into the world's newspapers and onto TV screens. But in those early moments after the disaster, it was the harrowing images transmitted from the most famous beach on Thailand's most famous island that people saw and remembered. Bodies on the seashore; bodies pulled out of the basement of a beachfront shopping center; cars piled into swimming pools; boats crashed into the lobbies of hotels. Phuket seemed to have been devastated.

But it wasn't. On the island roughly the size of Singapore, just a sliver of land was affected. Most of the deaths took place on only two beaches—Patong and its near neighbor Kamala—while some others received not much more than a rude bump. Even at Patong, most of the damage was confined to areas immediately behind the beach. Today, much of the debris has been cleared away or hidden behind high fences, and damaged hotels and businesses have already reopened or plan to do so in the next few months. "The devastation," says O.B. Wetzell, an American resort developer and chairman of the International Business Association of Phuket, "was surgical. It wasn't total erasure."

Tell that to those still planning their winter vacations. Locals in Phuket, from hawkers to hotel managers, say tourists, spooked by the thought of a vacation in a disaster zone, have avoided the holiday mecca. Beaches crowded before Christmas with several thousand sun worshippers—and whose euros and dollars and renminbi directly or indirectly support 70% of the local population—now play host to just a few hundred. Hotel occupancy has plummeted from the usual 90% to just 10-15%. International carriers—including Thai Airways—have canceled some direct flights to the island. It's now possible to spend an evening dining in one of the island's finest Thai restaurants and have the whole room and staff to yourself. The Phuket Tourist Association (PTA) estimates that in January and February alone—peak season on Thailand's Andaman coast—the drop-off in tourist arrivals will cost the island $500 million, or almost double the property damage inflicted by the tsunami. "It's all gone to hell in a handbasket," says James R. Batt, managing director of Laguna Phuket, the island's largest resort, which never closed despite sustaining minor damage. "Phuket is a brand. The association it has in most of the world is as a tropical resort. Now, without question, people know it as an island that was hit [by the tsunami]."

Other places bear the same taint. In Sri Lanka and the Maldives, businesses have watched tourists disappear and dollars dry up. Even Bali, more than 4,300 km away from the hardest hit Indonesian province of Aceh, has seen canceled bookings. At an emergency summit of the World Tourism Organization in Phuket early this month, Secretary General Francesco Frangialli called the cancellations in the region "irrational." Speaking to delegates from around the globe, he urged governments to take swift action to get the tourists back "in order to alleviate the suffering of the affected populations."

Overcoming entrenched perceptions won't be easy. After the tsunami came the threat of disease, leading many governments to issue advisories warning against travel to entire countries. While the fear of infectious disease may have eased and advisories been relaxed, surveys among international travelers by the PTA have found fear of illness remains the greatest deterrent to tourism in the region. ("There is absolutely no problem going there," says Harsaran Pandey, World Health Organization's Southeast Asia spokesperson.) Other potential visitors consider it inappropriate to holiday in a place where lives were lost.

They should get over their sensitivities. By staying away, tourists are only adding to the woes of those hit on Dec. 26. "The best help that foreigners can give to the Maldives is to come and visit us," says Abdulla Mausoom, director of the Maldives Tourism Promotion Board. "They should understand that tourism is very important to our economy." Although the death toll in the Maldives was relatively low—82 people, including three British tourists—the damage was severe. Of the 200 inhabited islands in the Maldives, 13 had to be evacuated completely; many local homes and fishing boats were lost. Yet more than three-quarters of the Maldives' 84 resorts are today open for business. But while more visitors are trickling in each week, the numbers are still less than half that typical for this time of year—and this in a nation where tourism directly or indirectly accounts for more than half of the economy.

Throughout affected resorts in Asia, this year's high season has been written off. The job now is to see that the slump doesn't extend indefinitely. Sri Lanka and Thailand are about to launch international advertising campaigns that highlight the many attractions that were untouched or have already reopened, in hopes of dispelling the gruesome images of paradise lost. Both campaigns attempt to reassure their audience that it's not only O.K. to return—it's necessary. "I liken it to attending a charity ball," says Laguna Phuket's Batt. "You get to go to a place and feel good about it."

Certainly, the tourists on Patong beach are smiling. A little over a month since the waters retreated and then advanced with such deadly effect, Herman Müller, 41, a truck driver from Germany, is sitting on Patong beach and having, he says, "a very nice holiday." He's not alone. Hundreds of plastic deck chairs line the sand in two neat rows. Local hawkers do a steady trade supplying beer and tanning lotion to the crowd, while, behind them, kneeling on bamboo mats, masseuses cheerily press their palms into the backs of heavyset men for $8 an hour. On the beachfront, more holidaymakers pile into cafés to order pizza and hamburgers and fried shrimp and slurp down mango shakes. Anya and Toon Bakker, a retired couple from Holland, have traveled from their beach resort farther down the coast to spend a day at Patong. "We knew people here would need our business," says Anya. "We are not disaster tourists. We are not here to see the damaged buildings. We are here for the sun and the sea, but we are also here for the local people. They are so happy to see us. Our friends [in Holland] thought we were mad to come. They think Phuket is now in ruins. But it's not true."

If that message gets back to Europe, it will help those like Buncha Intiapat, 30, a motorcycle-taxi driver in Patong. On Dec. 26 he watched the wall of water advance on the beach. Instinct told him to ride his bike quickly away to safety. Four of his friends died, and he watched children scrambling and screaming before they were swallowed by the waves. In the days after the tsunami, Buncha says, he had considered moving back home to the northeast of Thailand, as many of his friends did. But now, as each day brings the opening of a new business and each week sees a slight increase of tourists on the sand, he has decided to stay. "I have too, boss," he says with a smile. "How else will you get back to your hotel?"

• Andrew Perrin | Phuket
• Most of the resorts hit by the tsunami are back in business. Now all they need is for tourists to return