The Long Road Home

They were on airplanes heading home from Europe. They were visiting Machu Picchu in Peru. They were sunning in Maui, honeymooning in Istanbul.

Readers of The Times’ Travel section were scattered to the corners of the globe on Sept. 11, and in letters, faxes and e-mails, more than 400 of them shared their tales of how that day affected their plans--and their lives.

All spoke of the horror of learning the news--from tour guides or shop owners, from strangers who did not speak English but used an improvised sign language to depict planes crashing into the World Trade Center. The news came by cell phone, e-mail, radio and TV and spread “like wind gusting across a wheat field,” Peggy Stout of Los Angeles wrote of the crowded square in Florence, Italy, where she first realized something was wrong.

For many, then came the pull toward home. Those in the air were grounded. Those on the ground wanted to be in the air to return to loved ones. Thwarted, many rented or bought a car, boarded a train or took a bus for the long journey home. Travelers abroad, who were stuck until air traffic began moving again, and those who took to the highways and the rails sounded a common theme: the kindness of strangers who offered them maps, room, board and, perhaps most important, solace and comfort.

“The events of 9/11 may have been directed at Americans, but the sadness and emptiness that followed were felt around the world,” wrote Shyrl Roberts of Irvine, who was in Bali in heavily Muslim Indonesia at the time of the attacks.

When they finally made it home, grateful to strangers and thankful to feel the embrace of loved ones, they found a renewed appreciation for their country and for the freedom to travel. Courtney Romine of Garden Grove and friends were in Rome on Sept. 11. The trip strengthened her resolve to see the world. “We are determined,” she wrote, “not to be afraid to live.”

Flight Interrupted

I was attending a conference and was scheduled to return to Los Angeles on the morning of Sept. 11 on United Flight 114 out of Reagan Washington National Airport, connecting through Chicago.

At 9:17 a.m., while taxiing to the runway for takeoff, I listened to the air traffic controller on the plane’s audio entertainment system. The conversation went something like this:

Tower: Attention all aircraft bound for the New York area, there is a hold on all New York-bound planes. That airspace is now closed.

United: Do you know what the problem is?

Tower: No sir, I have not heard.

Another pilot: My wife just called me on my cell phone to tell me that an airplane has hit the World Trade Center.

Tower: Roger, all right, all westbound airplanes, you are the lucky ones today. Westbound traffic is still cleared for takeoff.

Hearing this, I assumed that a small private plane had struck the World Trade Center. No one seemed overly concerned, and we took off about 9:20. The plane lifted off and I looked out at Washington, D.C. I had a great view of the Pentagon.

I settled in for the ride and didn’t give the crash much more thought. Then the seat-belt light came on, even though there was no turbulence.

The captain addressed passengers. Again, to the best of my recollection:

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking. I am instructing all of you to stay in your seats with your seat belt fastened. You are not to get up for any reason. You are not to access your luggage in the overhead bin. You are not to move from your seat for any reason. This is not a request.”

We started to descend. Then the captain again:

“Ladies and gentlemen, the FAA has just ordered a grounding of all aircraft operating in the United States. There has been a coordinated terrorist attack using commercial airplanes, and we will be landing shortly. Please stay in your seats and follow the instructions of the crew.”

We descended quickly, and I tuned back into the air traffic control radio. We were instructed to line up for landing in Cincinnati.

Later that day, after numerous calls and persistent begging, I got a rental car and headed back to Los Angeles. I listened to National Public Radio most of the trip. Almost every area along the way seemed to have an NPR station, so I had familiar correspondents to keep me up to date.

Driving back, I was struck by the number of flags already being displayed from overpasses and buildings. They were everywhere. It was also apparent that I was surrounded by rental cars driving west.

The drive was therapeutic. I realized that though there are many variations in culture between New York City and Los Angeles, everyone was hurting for our friends on the East Coast.

WES SCRUGGS

Thousand Oaks

Fates Unknown

We were vacationing in London and boarded a sightseeing bus during a day trip in Cambridge. Only two other passengers were on the top deck: one woman and her friend, who was sobbing. “Did you hear what happened in the United States today?” the woman asked. We had not.

The woman told us what she had learned about the attacks. She then informed us that her friend’s son worked in one of the twin towers, and that they had spoken earlier in the day by phone.

We felt so helpless trying to render comfort. The bus reached our rail station, and we returned to London on the same train as the two women. They still didn’t know the fate of the sobbing woman’s son. We can only wonder.

JACK and EMILY DISNEY

Irvine

Hoisting the Flag

On Sept. 8, my wife, Jacqueline, and I, along with three other couples, began a two-week self-drive barge trip on the canals of Holland. The 50-foot barge had four cabins and a full galley, but no radio or TV aboard.

On previous barge trips in the Netherlands, France and Germany, we often stopped for lunch at small restaurants along the canals and rivers. With light rains on Sept. 11 we decided to eat our midday meal on board. Our destination was the town of Purmerend, near Edam.

As we prepared to dock that evening, a young Dutch woman, spotting the American flag flying from the barge, said very excitedly, “They are bombing America!” At first I thought she was a bit deranged. Then another woman, on a second-story balcony overlooking the canal, corrected her, shouting, “No, they are bombing New York!” We knew then that something dreadful had happened, but we weren’t sure what. Just then a young man came up to us and in excellent English described the tragic events at the World Trade Center. He invited us to his place of business, where the television was tuned to an English-speaking news network. There, in a little Dutch pizza parlor, we watched replays of those horrific attacks. The name of the restaurant? New York City Pizza.

Because we couldn’t fly home, we elected to continue our trip, knowing that it would no longer be the pleasure cruise we had embarked on. But our spirits were buoyed by support and empathy along the way.

One morning we cruised into Alkmaar, which is known for its cheese auctions. We had read that at noontime all of Europe would observe a moment of silence.

At the appointed hour all the cars on the road parallel to our canal came to a halt. In the car nearest our barge, a woman, spotting our American flag, openly sobbed.

Instead of removing our flag, as someone had suggested, we decided to fly it prominently. In fact, we may have hoisted it just a little higher.

ART BERGMAN

Mammoth Lakes

The Music Stopped

I was playing piano in the Bar Casablanca in the Hyatt in Casablanca, Morocco. There are numerous TVs, all playing the film “Casablanca,” from which the bar takes its inspiration. The sound is usually turned down, and I play and sing for the guests. (I am not the Sam from the movie “Casablanca”--that was Dooley Wilson--but I did audition for the part, which I didn’t get because I was too young.) The movie stopped, and we watched the events in horror.

I’m 83 1/2, and I wish we could go back to a kinder, gentler time.

LENNIE BLUETT

Los Angeles

Horror by Cell Phone

We were on vacation in the Australian capital city of Canberra, about 11 hours ahead of New York. We didn’t learn of the attacks until early Sept. 12, local time.

We got up at 5 a.m. for a balloon ride, and when we went to call for a weather update, we found four text messages from family and friends on our cell phone.

The first text message relayed news about an explosion at the World Trade Center.

The second message said the second tower had been attacked.

The third message said one of the towers had fallen, and the last message said the other tower had collapsed too.

It was a terrifying moment--far from home, standing in a dark room, the lights of a cell phone delivering the news.

CHRIS and VIONNETTE SELLERS

Los Angeles

Like a ‘40s Movie

My cousin and I had one day left on our New York vacation before we were to return to Los Angeles. And then the phone call came telling us to turn on the TV.

The following days were filled with chaos, confusion and questions. Can we get out? Can we get a call through to the airlines? Is the flight canceled? Can we get on another? How about other airports in the state, such as Islip or Westchester? Hartford, Conn.? Ontario? Long Beach? Palm Springs? The options were endless, but the answers were always the same: No.

After four days, we were able to book two seats on a train. When the porter took us aboard and settled us into our seats, I sobbed in his arms. After so many days of struggling, someone was finally helping me and I was going home. I was deeply moved.

Union Station in Chicago, where we changed trains, was like a scene out of a ‘40s war movie: huge crowds and chaos. When we finally were on board the Los Angeles-bound train, the passengers coalesced. Eventually we began to enjoy the 3 1/2-day journey, despite the discomfort of trying to sleep in an upright position and too little food for too many passengers. (We had pizza delivered at our stop in Albuquerque.) Our car ultimately became like the most popular bunk at summer camp. We played charades and Scrabble and sang. We warbled “God Bless America” through Illinois and Missouri, “The Star-Spangled Banner” through Kansas, “Battle Hymn of the Republic” in New Mexico and Arizona and “California, Here I Come” as the palm trees of Los Angeles’ Union Station came into view.

As we pulled into the station, my husband, Ed, and I searched for each other with the help of our cell phones. When we finally saw each other, we ran toward each other, crying. To finally hug him and my children was one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.

SHONDELL SPIEGEL

Los Angeles

Going the Extra Mile

My husband, Ignacio, had always wanted to go to Spain, and I wanted to go to Morocco. So I surprised him with a package trip to both places and to Portugal. We were in the Strait of Gibraltar on a ferry, on the way back from Morocco, when we heard the news.

That night we tried for hours to get through to the United States and talk to our three small children. Unbeknownst to us, Howard Lewis, our travel agent at Chartwell Travel in Los Angeles, and his crew had begun trying to track down their clients. They worked into the early hours of the next day. Howard even called my mother and spoke to our children individually, telling them not to worry and that he knew we were safe because he had spoken to the clerk at our hotel. In fact, he called them every day to reassure them that we were safe until we returned home.

At each hotel we stayed in, Howard had a fax waiting for us saying that he had spoken to our children and that everyone was fine.

We were deeply indebted to Howard, whom I have never met face to face. I offered to wash his car for life, baby-sit his kids for free, anything to show how much what he did meant to our family. He laughed it off, saying it was all in a day’s work.

ELIZABETH T. GUTIERREZ

Commerce

A Toast to the U.S.

My friends and I were on vacation in Italy, where we stayed at Palazzo Terranova, a beautiful old place high in the hills of Umbria. The palazzo is owned by a lovely British woman, Sarah Townsend.

We had spent the day in Perugia and returned to the palazzo to this horrible news. We tore ourselves away from the TV for dinner, a four-course affair cooked by the owner’s daughter, Honor. On this night, the owner had invited British friends to join us. One was a gentle, white-haired man who had served in the British army during World War II. Before the meal was served, he stood up to speak. He raised his glass and talked about America. He spoke of American ideals, liberties and freedoms. He talked about how America had stood behind the British in their time of need during the world wars, and how today they and the free world stood behind us. He raised his glass in a toast to our nation and said, “God Bless America.” It was a moment I’ll always remember.

FRANCIE BRUDNER

Los Angeles

Celebration, Then Sorrow

We were married the evening of Sept. 9 in Manhattan Beach. It was a great but exhausting day, and we were looking forward to our honeymoon in Jamaica after months of planning the wedding. The night of Sept. 10, we boarded a flight from LAX to Jamaica with a layover--in New York. Our plane landed about 7 a.m. at JFK. As I returned from getting a magazine, a man stopped me and pointed out the window to the towers, smoke pouring from them. News reports were just beginning to come in. First, our flight was canceled, but it was rescheduled for the next day. Then it was canceled altogether. We were waiting to get hotel vouchers when the Port Authority closed the airport and we were forced out with no bags and nowhere to go, along with thousands of other confused travelers. After trying several hotels, all unsuccessfully, we ended up at a place so seedy that it rented by the hour and had a condom machine in the lobby. But we were just thankful to have a room.

We ended up renting a car, driving to my mother’s house in Baltimore and flying back from there. We never did make it to Jamaica.

BERNARD and RONA GOLDBERG

Long Beach

Undeterred

To celebrate my company’s 10th anniversary, my bosses flew the entire office to our headquarters in Geneva. After a fantastic weekend, most of my colleagues flew home Sept. 10, but I planned to spend three days in Weggis, a town near Lucerne where my husband, Bob, and I had stayed on our honeymoon two years earlier.

On 9/11 I spent a leisurely day in Lucerne revisiting favorite shops and dining in familiar restaurants. That afternoon I took the paddle steamer back to Weggis. After the boat docked, I followed a small group of tourists into a shop. From the clerk’s hand gestures, I could see she was telling an animated story about a plane flying into a building.

The clerk noticed I was watching and asked, “Are you American?” I nodded and she said, “Terrorist ... (hand gesture of plane) ... fly

I finally got a flight back to the United States on Sept. 20. Looking back, I was blessed. My husband, loved ones and co-workers were safe. And if you are going to be stranded somewhere, you can do a lot worse than the land of chocolate and neutrality.

On the first anniversary of the 9/11 disaster, I am again traveling to Switzerland. I can’t think of a more appropriate way for me to remember that day than to travel, which is my bliss.

DAPHNE BRIGGS

Los Angeles

The Face of America

We took off from JFK to LAX about 8:40 a.m. Our plane was almost empty. The pilot came on and said that there had been a “terrorist incident” in the Northeast and that we would be landing in Columbus, Ohio. We were grounded for several days.

We went shopping at a small kosher market, and a woman asked me if I was visiting. “No,” I said, “we are part of the group that had to land here because of the terrorists.”

“Do you need a place to stay?” this stranger asked me. “You can stay at my house.” I started to cry. As we left, she came running out with a bag of cookies and nuts. “Have a safe trip home,” she said.

Everywhere we stopped--every truck stop, every gas station, every coffee shop--people asked us what we needed, where were we going.

On the road it didn’t matter if we were Jewish, black, white, yellow, green or purple--it was America at its very best. It was as though we really were from the same family.

ANDY and JACKIE STERN

Los Angeles

A Company Connection

At 9:15 a.m., our cell phone rang in our hotel room in Seattle. Our daughter in Los Angeles was on the other end crying and saying over and over, “We’re at war! They’ve attacked the World Trade Center!” I asked my wife to turn on the television. There it was, in all its terror.

As we watched the tragedy unfold, it was obvious that we wouldn’t be getting on a plane any time soon. We discovered that other modes of transportation weren’t available. We spent the next week with Seattle relatives sharing in the nation’s tragedy.

By Sept. 19 it looked as if standby seats were available, so we went to the airport. We had cleared the long security line and were waiting for one of the underground airport trains when I saw a female pilot and noticed that she was a first officer with the same company our son, Kris, worked for on the East Coast. I introduced myself and told her about our company connection. She and our son flew out of Washington’s Dulles airport, but she hadn’t met him.

The next time I spoke to Kris, I told him about the interesting first officer we had met. He indicated that he might have seen her in the crew room and asked me her name. I hadn’t thought to ask.

Two weeks later we received a call from our son. His first words were, “Her name is Kerstin, and we had dinner together last night.”

They recently visited us in Los Angeles, and Aug. 12, we received an even better call that began: “Kerstin and I are engaged.” Even out of something as tragic as Sept. 11, beautiful beginnings can emerge.

KENNETH KASNER

Northridge

First Time in the Big Apple

To celebrate our 42nd wedding anniversary, we planned a trip to visit friends in Europe preceded by a five-day stay in New York City. We had never been to the Big Apple.

We arrived Sept. 10 and checked into our hotel, the Vanderbilt YMCA, and then planned the next day: arrive at the World Trade Center by 9 a.m., in time to purchase half-price tickets for Wednesday’s plays. Then we would continue to the observation deck on the 107th floor in Tower 2, and from there tour Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty and Liberty Hall.

That morning my husband, Tom, was running late, and we left the hotel 15 minutes behind schedule. On the subway, the conductor reported we would not be stopping at Fulton Street. We had no idea what or where Fulton Street was, but some of the others seemed worried.

At the next stop a young man got on with a radio and said that an airplane had hit the World Trade Center.

We came to the last stop, and as we were walking up the stairs, we heard a loud boom. The World Trade Center was on fire, and we believe the boom we heard was the second plane hitting.

We walked closer and could see all the debris. Someone said we should move away, so we followed others to Battery Park and looked out at the Statue of Liberty and New Jersey.

People on cell phones would relay news like, “Planes hijacked,” “The Pentagon was hit” and “A plane was on the way to the White House.”

The fire spread rapidly, and we saw and heard the building collapse. People began screaming and running from the cloud of ash. We headed to the river, where some jumped or fell in.

Tom and I helped a young couple with a baby about 5 months old. The father put the baby under his shirt, and we helped the mother with the stroller. We came to a chain-link fence and were trying to get around it when the crowd surged and pushed us against it. We fell and the fence broke, causing even more panic. We managed to get off the ground and ran with the crowd to the river’s edge, where someone was yelling to stop and lie on the ground. Everyone did. It was difficult to see and breathe.

Eventually a ferry came. We had to climb a 4-foot fence to board it. When the ferry was full, we pulled away, and the captain yelled to the remaining crowd that he would be back. I can still see the people on shore standing, quiet and waiting.

Four people sitting in front of us had walked down from the 13th floor of one of the towers. They were covered with ash.

When we landed in Jersey City, we looked across the water and were astonished to see the cloud of smoke. We were told to keep walking, and we did, following the crowd toward the train station in Hoboken. When we got to the station, all traffic was closed and emergency personnel were setting up a triage for the injured. The police told us to walk to town, so we set off for downtown Hoboken.

We ended up at City Hall, which had SWAT team members guarding it. From there we were directed to the police station, but when we arrived it was closed, with guards posted outside. They suggested we walk to Hackensack. My legs wouldn’t go that far.

We returned to the train station, but it was now cordoned off. Some people were looking at my clothes, and I finally noticed we were covered with ash too.

I looked at our map trying to figure out where we were. Two young women came up to us, asked if we were tourists and gave us their name and phone number in case we needed a place to stay. Soon another couple came by and offered their home as well.

Two policemen came running around the corner yelling for us to run. (It was a bomb scare.) We saw the couple who had offered their home, so we ran to them. They took us down an alley and up to their apartment for coffee, strawberry cake and much-needed rest.

Linda and Mike were their names, and they called around to see what was available for lodging. All hotels were booked, so they walked us to the Hoboken Community Center, where we were met with welcome arms.

We stayed until Wednesday morning. The people of Hoboken were gracious to us. Restaurants sent food to the center, the gym was set up for sleeping, and we were offered toothbrushes, toothpaste, blankets--and most of all, kindness. We were also able to use a phone to call our children and grandchildren, who were going crazy with worry.

Wednesday morning we rode a train into midtown Manhattan and walked back to our hotel. We spent the rest of our time in the city just walking around and riding the bus and running from bomb scares. Day and night we could hear the jets patrolling the skies and the sirens of the police and rescue vehicles.

On Sept. 15 we finally got a flight to San Diego. As we were unpacking, we thought about the people we had met in Hoboken, the lives lost in such a hideous way, and the families desperately missing them. We didn’t take a single picture or visit any of the sights we had planned, but we were able to unpack and hug our family.

BARBARA KUZEL

Lakeside

Cruise Compassion

My wife, Eileen, and I were on an Alaskan cruise aboard the Regal Princess at the time of the attacks. Dinner on the last night is supposed to be a joyous affair, but of course no one was in the mood to celebrate.

At the meal’s conclusion, the dining room lights were dimmed, and the wait staff brought out baked Alaska to a somber and reflective crowd. The dessert was placed on each table, but before serving, the maitre d’ asked everyone to stand and sing the American national anthem in honor of those who had perished in New York. Everyone stood--American, British, Canadian, German, Japanese and about two dozen other nationalities on board--and sang the words a cappella.

The following morning as we departed the ship, we passed the purser’s station, where a 2-foot-high brandy snifter was being used to collect donations for disaster relief. It was filled to the brim with bills: a Canadian dollar, an American $100 bill, and seemingly everything in between.

HOWARD GETHING

Glendale

Not Leaving Las Vegas

When the first airliner crashed into the World Trade Center, I was fast asleep under the stars in the Mojave Desert. I had gone for a few days of quiet and solitude to a favorite spot north of Ludlow, with plans to pack up Sept. 11 and drive to Las Vegas.

Before dawn I was awakened by the sound of two or three jet fighters approaching from the southeast. Almost before I had time to lift my head, they were screaming over my campsite. I didn’t think much of it.

I drove to Las Vegas, never turning on the radio, and headed directly for Binion’s Horseshoe downtown. It was 9:30 or 10 a.m., and nothing seemed amiss except for a small group gathered around a cocktail bar, staring open-mouthed at the TV monitor. I stopped to watch.

I spent most of the next three days holed up in my room on the 22nd floor, transfixed by the coverage. Occasionally I ventured downstairs. America may have ground to a halt that day, but Las Vegas decidedly did not. The gambling continued apace. Only the casino employees appeared to be watching the TV monitors. After about 18 hours, management shut off all the TVs on the casino floor.

DAVID O. HENDRIX

El Segundo

Hands and Hearts

Twenty-four members of San Francisco Solano Catholic Parish in Rancho Santa Margarita left LAX on a 17-day journey to Turkey and Greece on the evening of Sept. 10. As we arrived at London Heathrow the afternoon of Sept. 11, information was sketchy about an incident in New York. What little we heard didn’t seem to make sense.

We boarded the flight to Istanbul, not truly aware of the horror that had befallen our country until arriving late in Istanbul. Our Turkish guide, a Muslim man named Orhan, had the unpleasant task of giving us the news. Our mood turned to shock, and we realized that we were thousands of miles from home and family during a time of unthinkable pain.

Oddly, our mood began to lighten because of the support of the people we met in Turkey. They reached out to us in restaurants or tourist sights. They would offer a hand. Some would give a flower. Many just held their hands to their hearts with a gentle nod. Turkish flags flew at half-staff. American flags would appear on our table at restaurants. CNN was our main link to the events of 9/11, but the support of the people we met was our lifeline.

PAUL and CAROL ARRITT

Coto de Caza

A Date Not Kept

To celebrate our 60th wedding anniversary and my wife’s 85th birthday we sailed Aug. 25 on the Crystal Harmony from San Francisco, sailed through the Panama Canal and were to disembark in New York City on Sept. 18.

On Sept. 5 we celebrated our wedding anniversary and, as a gift to my wife, Maxine, I had the ship’s concierge call and make a luncheon date for two on the 102nd floor of the World Trade Center for Monday, Sept., 17. I received written confirmation. I still have it.

WALTER DE GUEHERY

Escondido

Places in the Heart

We were with a tour group in Ireland. The day after the attacks, we went to the U.S. Embassy in Dublin. Our hearts were full as we saw people lined up for blocks to pay their respects and lay flowers, which were 5 to 6 feet deep.

Everywhere we went people expressed their sympathy to us. On Sept. 14 our group attended church in the town of Enniskerry. After the service, people from this small church asked if any of us needed a place to stay. They said we would be welcome in their homes.

Ireland and its people left an indelible print on my heart.

RUBY JAYNE

Orange

A Time to Mourn

My husband and I were part of a group visiting Machu Picchu in Peru.

Early on the morning of Sept. 11, we left our hotel to experience what we expected to be the highlight of the 10-day tour of Peru: a visit to this ancient Incan city. Around noon, we took a lunch break at a hotel near the entrance to Machu Picchu. As I walked into the lobby, I saw a flurry of activity and heard the horrifying, unbelievable news.

The entire trip took on a surreal quality. On the one hand, we were experiencing and even enjoying learning about a fascinating people and culture. On the other, we felt strangely apart from the collective grief that had seized our country.

We arrived in Los Angeles early on the morning of Sept. 18. When the plane touched the ground, the passengers cheered and applauded. As we drove home from the airport, I saw, for the first time, American flags on cars and in front of homes and businesses. My grieving had begun.

GLORIA WELLES

Pacific Palisades

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For more stories, see www.latimes.com/911travel.