The Evil Eye Internet Caf was a throwback to the sixties, with psychedelic posters and the scent of sandalwood incense. The frizzy haired woman at the entrance told us "One pound-fifty for 30 minutes online, upstairs." Punk rock throbbed as we climbed the narrow stairs through a haze of smoke. As Kay and I tapped out emails, my sister Pam sat with Kay's mom at a nearby table, observing British youth in various states of inebriation. We needed to tell the folks at home, "We're okay in the U.K."

Upon arriving in Edinburgh, we had stumbled about in a jet-lagged stupor, exploring the city before retiring early. The next morning, we flipped on BBC and learned that British police had twenty-two men in custody, suspected of plotting to blow up airplanes over the Atlantic Ocean.

The foiled plot provided an undercurrent of anxiety to our week of sightseeing. Each time we returned to our hotel, we turned on the TV for an update. Unlike American media, BBC had not created a logo, theme music and catchy title for the crisis. The calm announcers inspired confidence that the Brits would have everything under control by the time we boarded our plane to go home.

By the middle of the week, the news showed long lines at the airport, canceled flights, people marooned in tents. The alert status was downgraded from critical, "an attack is imminent," to severe, "an attack is very likely." "We might have to become British citizens," joked Pam. Postcards sent home carried the jaunty message, "having a wonderful time, despite the terror alert!" We were all putting up a brave front.

"This is probably the safest possible time to fly," we repeated like an incantation as we toured historic sites and searched for internet cafes. Six days into the crisis, the top story was about David Beckham being dropped from the English football team.

The day of departure, we were dropped off at one of the pavilions set up outside Heathrow. Upon learning our flight had not been canceled, we settled in for the long wait. Airline personnel kept everyone well supplied with water, sandwiches and newspapers. Kay and her mom worked the crosswords and Sudoku puzzles, while Pam and I read amusing snippets from the tabloids. British, Americans, Indians, Chinese, Sikhs, Middle Eastern and African passengers waited calmly together.

After three hours, our flight was called and we entered the terminal. At security, every other person was patted down. Machine-gun toting police

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