When Camp 2 Burned Down: The Story of Green Climbers Home

The Morning After

I woke up early. I barely slept. The smell was awful. Camp 2 still smelled like wet ash, burned plastic and smoke. Every breeze reminded me what had happened. A million things needed to be done. More guests would arrive today. We had to inform upcoming bookings about the fire. How many would cancel? Maybe it would be better if they did. How were we supposed to feed people? Where would they check in? How would we replace everything that had burned? The questions came faster than the answers.

We hadn't even written a Facebook post in years, but maybe that was the fastest way to tell people what had happened. The problem was that we didn't even know what to say. Everything felt overwhelming. I couldn't eat. I forced down half a banana and drank a coffee.

Life's Ironic Side

We had to start the cleanup. I stared at the pile of rubble, a yellow chair and a green bench standing in front of it—the only two things that had survived the fire. Looking at them brought me back to the day before. As the flames died down, one of the last burning pillars threatened to fall on them. "Let's save them!" Nikita shouted. So we dragged them out of the danger zone. Out of all the things the camp had to offer—the kitchen, the office, the gear room—the smoking corner was what survived. Life has a strange sense of priorities. I couldn't help but smile. We hadn't lost everything.

Let's get started.

The staff arrived and started walking through the ruins. At first I didn't understand what they were doing. Then I saw them collecting nails. They filled a small bag with bent nails and pieces of metal. Eventually they came over and asked if they could keep them. Of course. The scrap metal was worth almost nothing to us. For them it wasn't nothing. That was the moment I became painfully aware that the fire would hit some people much harder than me. I had options. I could go back to Germany. I could probably find work as a technical 3D artist again. Our Lao staff didn't have those options. They had lost their workplace overnight. For the first time since the fire started, I stopped thinking about myself.

Set Priorities.

The management team sat down together. We needed a plan. The problem was that we had almost no answers. So we made a list.

Inform arriving guests.
Start cleaning up.

Everything else could wait. Answers would come later. Hopefully.

Then the first guest arrived.

He had stayed with us the year before. He walked up to the ruins carrying his backpack and just stood there staring.

"What happened? Why? How did it start?"

I explained what little we knew. The truth was that I didn't have many answers. I wasn't even sure how to deal with the situation myself. So I offered him a free cancellation. It seemed like the reasonable thing to do. He looked at me like I had said something wrong.

"I just flew around half the world. Sixteen-hour flight. I'm tired."

I got nervous. Was he about to start screaming at me? Instead he continued.

"The whole year I was looking forward to coming back. The mountains are still here, aren't they?"

I nodded.

"I see you still have bungalows. Which one is mine?"

I stared at him. He had booked six weeks. Surely he wasn't planning to stay. Then he said:

"I am not leaving. Let me get some food in Camp 1 and rest today. Tomorrow I'll go climbing, because that's what I came here for. But on my rest days I'm going to help you clean up this mess."

Something changed in me during that conversation. The day before, while watching the restaurant burn, I had thought about giving up. Going back to corporate life. Finding a normal job. Standing there in front of the ruins with that guest, those thoughts suddenly disappeared. The camp had survived fires before. And I remembered why I had come here in the first place.

The place is special. The people are special. The staff. The volunteers. The guests. We couldn't give up. Then my phone started buzzing.

Then another message. Then another. More guests arrived throughout the day. Most reacted the same way. Nobody was happy the restaurant had burned down. But almost nobody talked about cancelling. Instead they asked how they could help. The day before had been one of the lowest points of my life. The next day felt completely different. Strangers hugged me. Paying guests volunteered to work during their holidays. People I hadn't spoken to in years reached out. I don't know how to describe that feeling. I had earned more money in corporate jobs. I had worked fewer hours. Life had certainly been easier. But sitting there surrounded by people who genuinely cared, I felt something I had been missing for years.

I felt alive. For the first time since the fire, optimism started creeping back in. And with optimism came ideas.

The training area already had a roof. That could become a kitchen and reception. There were fallen trees in the jungle. We could build a temporary restaurant. Some bamboo mats would work as wind protection. The old pizza place that had closed during Covid still had tables and chairs. Fridges? Stoves? Cooking equipment? No idea. We would figure that out later. First we needed to finish cleaning up. Camp 1 was full. Guests would check out soon. Some money would start coming in again. Maybe we could make this work.