Pao de Queijo e Cafezinho

After an eleven hour flight we arrived in Sao Paulo's Guarulhos airport.  Now any airport for a major city is much the same as another. When you arrive there is not much to tell you of the country where you just landed.  However, I was immediately aware of small details that let me know that I was back in Brazil. 
Even before landing, I was served a sandwich to eat with a knife and fork.
The humidity and sticky heat made me feel sticky.  There was no AC indoors. 
The loudspeaker warned passengers of the dangers of mosquito bites and the Zika virus.
Every passenger had more bags than the one before, their carts piled high as they pushed towards the exit.
I could smell the toasted cheesy bread from all parts of the building.
At the counter, glass cases displayed the pao de queijo next to the espresso machines.
The service was  slow, no one seemed in a hurry to catch a flight. But everyone went out of their way to make my mother comfortable.  She was always offered the best seat and transported around.
The crew member pushing my mother's wheelchair had an altercation with another passenger and made some choice comments on her ability to drive her cart.

As we left terminal 3 in search of our next gate, we came into the old part of the airport which looked exactly like when I was last here 25 years ago.  Jon and I were long distance dating at that time, and I would fly in for the weekend.  We also left from here as newly weds on our honeymoon.

I had decided that I would travel on my Bristish passport this time as it was in my married name.  I nearly didn't even bring my Brazilian one along.  But when I arrived someone asked, "Brasileira?" and ushered me into the correct line.  I fumbled around, produced my Brazilian passport and was welcomed home.  Just like that, I was back in the coutry I grew up in, as if I had never left.