Philip (my fiancé) and I met July 1st, 1999 in the lobby of the Hotel Beacon in New York City. At the time, I was a tour manager for Contiki Holidays, the world’s number one tour company for 18-35 year old travelers. Philip would be a passenger on my upcoming trip to Los Angeles. One of the tours I led most frequently was Los Angeles to New York City via the Southern United States. After a four night layover in NYC, I would meet a new group of tourists and follow the same route backwards to LA.
During my two year stint with Contiki (1999 and 2000), I traveled this route many times. Subsequently, New York became a bit of a home base. This was enforced by the fact my dad (a mortgage banker), was in the midst of a multi-month contract job which had him living in the World Trade Center Marriott.
During my days in the city, I would take the subway to lower Manhattan to see dad. It was my chance to relax and be the tourist as dad would take me on adventures. On one visit, mom was in town as well. One of the many things she and I did together was visit the observation deck at the top of the World Trade Center’s south tower.
I remember being nervous to visit. The Twin Towers were HUGE, and the observation deck was 1377 feet above street level. It was a dizzying height. On the elevator ride up, up, up… I remember specifically talking to my mom about the car bomb terrorist attack that had happened at the WTC in 1993. It is a weird memory to have considering what was to come.
In September 2001, I was no longer “on the road” with my travelling job. I was back home planning my wedding, while trying to sort out the logistics of which of us would move across the world. My dad was home as well.
Although I had left my traveling life, many of my Contiki co-workers were still making the trek into and out of NYC. I had just been asked back to lead a tour. However, my sights were set on the future, not on the road.
September 10th, 2001 I stayed out LATE. Myself and some of my closest high school friends spent the night eating hamburgers and playing video games. I was so content that night. Happy in the moment. Happy in life. Happy with the state of the universe.
The phone at our house rang early. Just before 6am Pacific Time. It was early enough that I immediately knew there wasn’t good news on the other end. My dad answered. He has a loud voice. I could hear him confused, asking the mystery caller for clarification as he walked to the living room and turned on the TV. Then he just starts saying, “No, oh no, no, no…” over and over again. Mom and I joined dad in front of the TV. By now we knew it was my aunt who called. She was up early taking care of one of my grandparents and was the first to see what was happening on TV.
My family sat in disbelief watching the World Trade Center north tower, flames and smoke billowing from the top floors. Initial news reports were confusing and filled with speculation. Was it small plane? Was it a missile? A jet? Was this an accident? I just remember being filled with dread. My dad was crying. I think because he had spent so much time living between the two towers over the previous two years.
Like so many, my family was glued to the TV. In the next hour, we would see the Pentagon attacked, and the White House, Capitol Building and countless buildings across the country evacuated. Every commercial and private aircraft flying over the United States was ordered to immediately land. At the same time fighter jets across the country scrambled to protect the airspace over our largest cities.
It was almost midnight there. Philip’s dad answered the phone, and my call woke their whole house. I remember it being hard to speak. Before my future father-in-law handed the phone to Philip, I asked him to turn on their TV. I said something terrible was happening.
When Philip came on the line, I managed to say someone was attacking the US, and that planes had been flown into the World Trade Center and Pentagon. I told Philip flights had been grounded and there were fears that other planes might be headed towards other US cities. We were still on the phone together when the South Tower fell.
I don’t remember how our conversation ended. I was lucky, we were lucky to live thousands of miles away from what had happened. I know later Philip said how helpless he felt being so far away.
I watched TV non-stop for days.
The days following 9/11 were so quiet. I don’t remember how long flights were grounded, but the absence of overhead jet noise was eerily noticeable. Even today, 20 years later, I still look up in trepidation when a plane seems too low or too loud in the sky.
It was a relief to learn none of my touring co-workers were in NYC or Washington, DC during the attacks. All of the company’s tours were rerouted. In the aftermath, my friends (bus drivers and guides) were stuck in random towns across the nation, but safe.
Philip came back to the US for a visit in December 2001. His flight over was practically empty. This was the first time I wasn’t allowed to the flight’s arrival gate. I remember seeing military guards throughout the airport armed with assault rifles.
Because of 9/11 I moved to Australia in 2002. The original plan was Philip would move to the US after our wedding. However, he and his family became increasingly resistant to the idea after the attacks. Plus, tourism jobs (my industry at the time) were harder to come by after 9/11. It made sense for me to move.
It is odd how some events are so monumental they create a “before” and “after” for a generation. The scars left behind quietly change how we live forever. Eventually, these changes in life and mentality are absorbed and go unnoticed in your day to day life.
I know a lot of people choose not to dwell on tragedy or sadness, especially if it didn’t effect them directly. For me, feeling the sadness in remembering 9/11 honors the victims of that day. As we mark another year, my thoughts today are with the victims, their families and those who managed to survive the day’s horrific attacks.
