The quietness of the early morning flows through the halls of the shiny glass-and-steeled structure of the Terminal Two.
A couple of hours later, I flick through the many stores of the main hall at Schiphol Airport and start my day with a cheeseburger and an apple pie at the popular McDonald’s.

From my window seat, I see how the cold winter in Europe clashes against the vastness of the North Atlantic and, following the Portuguese coast down the Canaries and verging West, we finally make landfall over the muddy coast of Suriname. Above the Amazon, the flight turns bumpy before finally meeting the Humboldt current and circle around the dry Peruvian coast for a few minutes.

It always amazes me how small the world can be through the window of a Boeing triple seven. To think that nearly twenty hours ago I was grabbing a shower in central Dublin, that I had breakfast in Amsterdam and dinner in Lima, and now, at almost midnight, we are on final approach to Viru Viru.

It comes as no surprise when I land that heart suddenly races, a feeling I am becoming now familiar with. Recurrent, perhaps. Easygoing, never.

Upon landing, I am welcomed by my mother and brother at the arrivals hall. With not much time left before the big day, I catch some sleep before the morning grows busy with preparations, fittings and anxiety.
Weddings always mean last-minute arrangements. Mean stress, mean sweat, mean worries that seem to finally disappear when the couple-to-be stop at the end of the aisle and look at each other’s eyes. 

‘Long gone are the times when I missed the opportunity of sharing these family moments. Despite the jet lag of a twenty-seven hour trip, I feel lucky to be here today. Lucky to see my brother exchanging rings with her wife-to-be, tightly squeezing my mother’s hand. We might be oceans and continents away, but our hearts will always be linked to those we love and grew up with. My brother, who I used to tag along with everywhere as a kid and use to fights over the most silly things with, now stands there proudly as a newlywed and most importantly, as grown up man.’

A celebration follows with copious amounts of wine, fine dining -steak for me- , wedding cake and an slur of a speech after drinking my body weight in Cabernet Sauvignon. Thunder is heard in the distance as a rule in the summer. A powerful thunderstorm pours over the city and I am again, home.