We were about four hours into a nine-hour flight from Madrid, Spain, to Atlanta, when Captain Bob Craft calmly announced that we would be landing shortly for security reasons.
    He asked us to please remain calm and to do as he asked.
    ``The plane is fine,'' he said.
    Repeating that there was nothing wrong with the aircraft, he asked the passengers to collect their belongings, leave as quickly as possible when we landed and to just follow instructions. He went on to say that he was very busy in the cockpit and he would explain everything when we landed.
    I turned to my husband and said, ``It sounds to me as if we are being hijacked.''
    His response: ``It's against the law to use the word `hijacked.'^''
    But there seemed to be no other possible explanation. If everything was so safe, and the plane was OK, why were we landing? Worse, we were in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with virtually no land in sight.
    Suddenly, a small strip of land appeared; as we touched down we saw a sign on a shed-type building, which turned out to be the terminal. The sign read: Aerporto-Santa Maria-Portugal.
    Santa Maria is in the Azores. Again, questions loomed. If we were four hours out of Spain, how come we were only in Portugal?
    But there was no time for questions. We were happy to be safely on land.
    After the stewardess, who was having trouble opening the door, finally got it opened, we were ushered into the limited-facility terminal, each passenger politely given a plastic card that read, ``in transit.''
    After all the passengers and crew had deplaned the captain appeared and explained that planes had been hijacked and that all United States airports were closed and we had been diverted here.
    I later found out that the crew was on its own, told only to land at the nearest airport, and that we had been flying back toward Madrid.
    Furthermore, when we landed, we learned that the crew didn't know if there was a terrorist on board, or possibly a bomb, so they had to do a thorough check of the aircraft. During the landing, they had gone to emergency procedures, which, according to one of the crew, meant that in the cockpit one of the copilots stood at the door with an ax.
    Captain Craft went on to tell us that he didn't have any other information _ there was no point in our asking questions of him or the crew because nobody knew anything else.
    We milled about, wondering what was going on, chatting among ourselves. Some calmly read books and newspapers. I spoke to a woman who explained that she and her husband had missed their flight the day before, by a few minutes, and that was how she landed in this spot.
    Others chatted about the vacations they had just been on, or other matters. We were all concerned about one Spanish woman who was seven months pregnant. But all in all, there was a sense of calm and seriousness.
    In a little while, the captain returned and said, ``Listen up folks, it's worse than we thought. There has been a terrorist attack in the U.S. You're here, you're alive, you're safe. All U.S. airports are closed. There are no planes flying into the U.S., Canada, Israel and some parts of Europe.''
    He repeated that we were alive, we were safe, but that we were no longer passengers. We now had to work as a team. We became the Flight 109 family.
    There was no time for nonsense, he said. ``If anyone becomes a problem, I'm going to kick butt,'' the captain said.
    We all applauded.
    There were other concerns. Captain Craft wasn't sure if there were hotels or rooms on the island. And if so, could they accommodate 92 passengers and a crew of 12? What about food? Moreover, he was trying to see if he could get a flight plan back to Madrid.
    Passengers lined up at the only two telephones in the building, and those people with cell phones started calling home. News started to trickle in as those passengers who went to the snack bar found a TV on, albeit in Portuguese. There were Spanish people aboard as well as others who understood the language. That was how we learned of the tragedy.
    One of the passengers had a daughter working at the World Trade Center. We all felt for him. Then there was concern about medications, and some people needed things from their luggage, all of which was on the plane and could not be retrieved.
    Hours later, the captain told us that we were spending the night on the island; he wasn't sure there were enough rooms, and some couples would have to double up. That, in fact, turned out to be the case. He advised us to stay with our ``significant other'' for purposes of pairing and checking passports, which needed to be stamped and all the other red tape that goes into such an ``adventure,'' as Captain Craft called it.
    It took at least an hour for us to have our security and passport check before we were able to load onto two buses for two different restaurants as one couldn't accommodate our entire group.
    We arrived at the restaurant around midnight local time _ two hours earlier than Madrid time, making it 2 a.m. for us. We were seated when one of the young men said that he couldn't eat without saying something about the tragic events of the day and of the people who lost their lives.
    My husband clicked his water glass and asked for a moment of silence in memory of those who had perished.
    We all complied. Each locked in his own thoughts, his own prayers remembering those who would not be eating that day or any other day, and for those who would be mourning loved ones forever.
    After dinner, we were taken back to the terminal before being sorted into two buses headed for lodging. People on the island had opened some of their homes, and there was a hotel available.
    The islanders could not have been more understanding or helpful. One of the airport workers told me in broken English that he thought the world had gone crazy and he didn't understand it. Who did?
    We were assigned rooms, and after watching TV tried to get some rest. Some of those images didn't make it easy. Also, the captain had said we should think about it as a pajama party. I reminded him that we didn't have any pajamas. Nor did we know when our ``party'' would be over.
    In a sense, we did become a family. Strangers only hours before now hugged and helped one another. One offered a cell phone, someone else a deodorant, another a shirt for sleeping.
    And there was a feeling that we were somehow stateless. The thought that we couldn't return to the United States, especially in her hour of need, was devastating.
    In the morning, we were herded back into buses and back to what I began to call home, our terminal. There we learned that we would be flying out. We just didn't know to where or when.
    Captain Craft again assured us that we were safe, and that the next part of our adventure was coming. He arranged for us to eat a good lunch, because he didn't know when we might get food again.
    After another few hours we were back in our seats on board Delta Flight 109 headed for Madrid.
    The captain handed each of us a printout from the dispatcher which read: ``You are the only Delta Flight airborne. Pretty Eery.''
    And when we were landing the captain said, ``Thank you for flying Delta today.''
    At the baggage claim area we applauded the crew as we collected our luggage.
    Two days later, we were on the same plane with the same crew and that marvelous captain. Once again there were hugs all around. As one passenger put it, ``We went through some terrible times and some good times together.''
    In Atlanta, we were greeted by Delta personnel waving small American flags and shouting welcome home. I felt like crying. In fact, I did.
    At home, waiting for us were 16 telephone messages, from around the world: England, Israel and from all over the United States. A friend from Israel said, ``We are glued to the TV. There are no words to express our feelings. Horrible.''
    I had 102 e-mails on my computer, again from people around the world, but mostly from Israelis expressing condolences. One Israeli wrote, ``Be strong. We are with you at these difficult moments.''
    These expressions of sympathy helped. But there was no substitute for being home.
    Thank God that home is in the USA.