Teresa-Darwin in the Background
After enduring three and a half weeks of unprovoked diatribes, I had concluded that no amount of money was worth it; which coincided perfectly with John throwing me off the boat! A big shout out to Murray for the friendship, kindness, courtesy, and support that I will never be able to repay.
On 18 Jul 14, I travelled south to Katharine, Northern Territory. As I approached the town, mixed feelings of emotion welled up inside me. Upon arrival, I found two Backpackers establishments that had been in business in 2001. I travelled to both, but if I had stayed in either of them, the surroundings were unrecognisable to me as they had both been remodelled and refurbished. I wanted to sit in the room where my life had been transformed irrevocably. Katherine, Northern Territory, Australia was where I was on September 11, 2001…
The backpacker strode purposely toward me and queried, “You’re American, right.”
“Yes,” I replied.
“You need to take a look at the tele.” His urgency and purposefulness caused a pit to form in the bottom of my stomach.
“Why?” I asked confused and alarmed.
“Just take a look.”
His words were not reassuring and I quickened my pace to see what he could possibly be talking about.
As I crossed the threshold of the entrance to the common room, my eyes were drawn to what everyone was staring at, the television. At that very moment the monitor displayed a 767 slamming into the side of the first Twin Tower. A great relief spilled over me. “Oh, I thought, there’s a new Hollywood blockbuster premiering.” A sense of pride filled me that this backpacker would want me to see this amazing movie promo produced in the United States…
The second 767 slammed into the other Twin Tower…Reality hammered my senses. This was no Hollywood movie, but my brain couldn’t process what it really was. My jaw fell open and my knees went weak. Somehow I found my way to a chair before I fell over. Surely two 767’s couldn’t have slammed into the Twin Towers. This could not be real, it just couldn’t, could it? The images kept repeating themselves on the tele. The room was silent except for the broadcaster repeating those ominous words, “…Just a few moments ago, something believed to be a plane crashed into the South Tower of the World Trade Center. I just saw flames inside, you can see the smoke coming out of the tower; we have no idea what it was. It was a tremendous boom just a few moments ago. You can hear around me emergency vehicles heading towards the scene. Now this could have been an aircraft or it could have been something internal. It appears to be something coming from the outside, due to the nature of the opening on about the 100th floor of the South Tower of the World Trade Center.”
I was transfixed. I couldn’t pull my eyes from the TV, yet I couldn’t bear to watch the scene over and over. What was happening? My world was pulling apart. By this time, all aircraft were grounded. America was at war and I was in a foreign country. I couldn’t go home if I wanted to. Should I? Should I abandon my travel plans?
My family. What was happening to them? Where were my family and friends? Would the terrorists strike again? If so, the onslaught would be against major cities, no doubt. My Grandparents lived in San Francisco. Were they safe? Was I safe as an American travelling abroad? The illusion of America’s invulnerability was shattered. I was dazed and confused. The television offered no answers, but the hope of new information kept me transfixed all day. I felt helpless as I watched the bodies being dragged from the rubble of the Twin Towers. I wanted to do something, anything, but what? The tele showed images of the crash site at the Pentagon and the plane in a Pennsylvania field. It was not until later, the bravery of the passengers attempting to retake the plane, was revealed.
The next few days were a daze. I had reached my family and friends; they were alright. They described the scenes in America to me: displays of Patriotism everywhere. EVERY car sported an American flag. Citizens erected flag poles in their yards and raised the Red, White, and Blue. Tears filled my eyes as I heard this; I felt so alone. To this day, I regret missing the galvanizing resolve of America in the aftermath of the tragedy.
Two days later, the airspace restrictions over America were lifted. Do I go home? What would I do if I did? Would I be a target if I chose to fly home? Would I be a target if I stayed in Australia? My family assured me they were fine and the decision to continue my expedition was entirely up to me. Eventually, I chose to continue my travels and be the best American I could be. Before that catastrophic day, when people discovered my nationality, they would rip into me as if George W. Bush was my personal responsibility. Somehow I had a hotline to the White House. Why wasn’t I using it to talk some sense into my President? I would patiently listen, growing weary of the same silly implications that I, as an American, could alter the politics of my country. At each conclusion, I would simply say, “Yes, I am an American, but I am not my government.”
After 9-11, the atmosphere transformed. People offered their condolences and support. Despite the new atmosphere, I felt so isolated. My world, as well as everyone’s in Western Society had inextricably changed, and little did we know at the time, the extent.
Weeks before my departure to Australia 2001, I had passed my tests and become a private pilot. I mentioned this to a flight attendant and asked if she thought the pilots would mind if I poked my head into the cockpit for a brief look. The pilots were thrilled to see me. As glorified bus drivers, they loved the company and showed me everything. I spent the last four hours of the flight in the cockpit. They were Kiwis, of course, on Air New Zealand, and joyfully took the piss out of me for wanting to go to Oz instead of New Zealand. They told me all the great places to go that were off the tourist track in NZ, and gave me their emails and phone numbers to come and visit them.
About 15 minutes prior to touchdown they apologised multiple times and profusely that I couldn’t stay in the cockpit for landing. This particular flight was a training flight so there were two extra pilots on board. If not for the extra people in the cockpit, they would have strapped me into the jump seat to watch the landing from there. We took lots of photos and promised to stay in touch.
Because of that horrific day on September 11th, I, nor anyone else, will be able to experience the camaraderie of pilots in a commercial airliner ever again. An absolute tragedy, and yet I treasure even more that memory as well as my birth country as a direct result.
THE TERRORISTS DID NOT WIN; THEY DID NOT ACCOUNT FOR THE RESILIENCE, PATRIOTISM, AND DETERMINATION OF THE
AMERICAN SPIRIT
Bay Bridge, San Francisco, California
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA