We spend the next couple of days harbor hopping along the spectacular coast of southwestern France and northeastern Spain. This is a region full of history and stark natural beauty. The coast is dotted with medieval stone towns and steep cliffs are topped with old Cathar fortresses, standing vacant for centuries since the Albigensian Crusade. We spend the nights safely anchored inside snug calas and the days practicing maneuvers under sails, setting up and adjusting the rig and conducting emergency procedures.

Three days later we find ourselves anchored for the night in a quiet uninhabited cala somewhere near the French/Spanish border. There are no houses, people or other boats around and we feel like we have this piece of paradise all to ourselves. The world we left seems light years away. It is mid-afternoon and we have an hour, or so, to relax before we have to start preparing the dinner. With sails folded and all the gear stowed away we are sitting in the cockpit chatting in hushed tones about the day’s events, trying to keep our voices below the sound of rustling waves, watching the birds lazily circle the rugged cliffs.

Suddenly the phone rings, intruding on this moment of quiet contemplation. This is the first time it has shown any signs of life since we left the boatyard and it startles us. I did not even realize that there is any reception in such a remote place. Inna picks up the call and discovers that it is her sister, Lena, on the other end. What she tells us sends us into shock.

Lena works as a financial analyst for a big bank headquartered in Manhattan. Her office is on an upper floor of a Midtown skyscraper and that is where she is now, as she normally is on a Wednesday morning, but things are not normal, far, far from it… Usually a calm and composed person, she is now speaking in a shaking voice on the verge of hysteria. She tells us that she is standing in front of a window looking southward and what she is seeing unfolding in front of her eyes just a few dozen streets away is beyond belief.

We hang up. The birds are still circling the cliffs, which are now starting to turn golden as the sun gets closer to setting. We sit for a while in a shocked silence. The scenery has not changed, we are still in this idyllic place, but the tranquility is irreversibly shattered. In fact it seems almost obscene, when thousands of miles away buildings are collapsing and countless people are dying. Once again I relive the collision of parallel realities and the realization that no matter where we might be, there is no escape from the horror of crashing airplanes, shattered bodies falling to the ground, of human lives being extinguished in a horrific explosion of blinding violence.