Remembering Gander, Newfoundland on 9/11.

My memorable Newfoundland vacation started in Gander, remembering 9/11.

In August, I flew to Newfoundland for my very first writer's retreat and my very first trip to this Canadian province.

We started in Gander, remembering 9/11.

The day the fog rolled in at Cape Spear — the most easterly point in Canada.

In case you’ve forgotten (or are too young to remember), Gander is where 38 airplanes landed on September 11, 2001 — after the United States closed its airspace to all international flights following the terrorist strike in New York City. More than 6,500 stranded passengers and crew were welcomed by the Gander community as part of the humanitarian effort known as Operation Yellow Ribbon.

We started the trip in Gander to see the stage production, Come From Away — a retelling of that memorable day as it happened in Gander. If you haven’t seen the play, I strongly suggest that you put it on your bucket list. It is, in my opinion, the best stage production ever produced. The story is both hilarious and sad at the same time.

To put this into perspective, Gander is a small eastern Newfoundland town, with a population of about 13K. The airport is very small.

The only reason Gander has an international airport is because, in the early days of air travel, it was an essential refuelling point for transatlantic flights between North American and Europe. Its importance expanded during World War II as a crucial staging point for Allied aircraft. After the war, Gander became a major international passenger hub until the advent of long-range jet aircraft.

While Gander’s geography and downtown area may not be the main attraction, the true charm lies in its people. They are just as they appear in the stage production — friendly country folk who speak with an adorable Irish-sounding accent.

We laughed and cried during the performance; and some cried more than others. Soberly mindful that some in our group had friends, families or acquaintenances who died in that terrorist attack, we left the theater heavy with our own memories but grateful for Gander.

Later on our tour, a writer in our travel group shared his personal and horrific story about 9/11. As an on-duty helicopter pilot in NYC that day, he witnessed the terror first-hand.

The details of his experience chilled me to the bone. (I hope he’ll finish writing his memoir one day.)

During his story-telling, I recalled where and when I was on 9/11.

My husband was a Boeing 767 Air Canada Captain based in Toronto. On 9/11, he was scheduled to fly to Manchester, England.

At the time, we also ran a little cottage resort in northern Ontario, about three hours north of Toronto.

9/11 started like any other Tuesday. It was a perfect early autumn day, with blue skies and summer-like temperatures. When I woke up, the lake below us was mirror-calm.

My husband and I grabbed a coffee and planned our day. I disappeared into my basement office to handle administrative duties while Ron returned to bed, preparing to get some extra shut-eye before flying the all-nighter to Europe. To help fall asleep, he turned on CNN.

A few minutes later, he called downstairs to tell me about a small airplane crashing into the WTC. I returned upstairs to watch TV with him.

“How could a Cessna cause that much damage?” I asked just as the second aircraft crashed. Then, “OMG, it’s another one. What’s going on?”

“It’s not another one,” he argued. “It’s a replay of the first.”

We heard the audible gasps of the on-screen newscrew. “It’s two airplanes, each striking a different building.”

Then we heard of a third airplane crash on the Pentagon. There was also a confusing report about a possible crash in Pennsylvania.

“Someone just declared war on America,” I said.

“Impossible,” Ron laughed at me. “No one would do something like this deliberately.”

“In that case, someone at ATC has screwed up big time.”

“This can’t be true.”

Expecting to still fly later, he went back to bed. I stayed glued to the television for the rest of the morning. The twin towers fell as our housekeeper, Marie, arrived to clean cottages. Together, we watched the ongoing news broadcast and learned about the flight cancellations.

“I guess he won’t be going to work today,” I said.

When Ron got up to prepare for work, Marie pounded on the bathroom door. “Don’t bother getting dolled up, sweety. You ain’t going nowhere.”

Even though she was ten years younger, she always called him sweety. He loved it.

He wandered out of the bathroom, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“They’ve canceled all the flights,” we said in unison.

“That’s impossible,” he said. He watched the television until CNN reported the closure of all airspace over North America. Ron called crew scheduling. There was no answer. He kept speed dialing until someone picked up the phone.

“Don’t call us. We’ll call you,” said an exasperated voice on the other end.

“This is impossible. This has never happened before,” he said as he hung up, a confused expression on his face.

We spent the rest of the day watching the news.

A week later, after the skies reopened, he worked the very first flight to Manchester.

I was incredibly thankful my husband wasn’t flying on that fateful day.

The terrorist attack left airline crews and passengers stranded in hundreds of global locations for more than a week. Some places (like Gander) didn’t have enough hotel rooms to accommodate the huge influx. In some cases, passengers and crew were left to fend for themselves.

The 9/11 attacks had a catastrophic financial impact on the U.S. airline industry, with estimated losses of over $10 billion in 2001 alone.

9/11 was a war the world had never before seen. Hopefully, we never will again.

Next time, I’ll write more about my harrowing trip to Newfoundland while escaping wildfires, an Airline strike and a hurricane.

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MJ Krause-Chivers is a historical fiction writer living in Niagara, Canada. Her current series, set in Ukraine and Germany, was inspired by her grandparents courageous escape from Soviet Union following the Russian Civil War (1917-1922).