It's Peru, Baby.

Touched down at Jorge Chavez International at 11:30pm; fairly overwrought after 24 hours of continuous travelling. Had changed into something less comfortable in the 747 loo, all that was left to do was to wrench suitcases off belt and powder nose/reapply lipstick before proceeding through the gates. The image of Tito’s face hung in front of me like a dangling carrot. I threw back my shoulders and strode confidently through the doors... smack bang into a massive montage of hundreds of anxious Peruvian faces. I scanned the crowd as I approached – black hair, brown eyes, caramel skin – all disconcertingly similar to my carrot. The crowd scanned me. I began to perspire, and tried desperately not to look like a rabbit caught in headlights. I glanced down so that tears could fall from my eyes without smudging my mascara. Looking up again I finally saw him approaching, in full vibrant technicolour, growing larger by the second. He squashed a dozen red roses against me, and we kissed and sniffed and gazed at each other with rapture. If my life was a movie, this would bit would be in slow motion, and would cut to views of fireworks, and cannons firing, and images of us running through fields of sunflowers. I half expected the crowd to erupt into thunderous applause. They didn’t. Tito steered me through to a waiting taxi. The journey is blurry, but when we got to the hotel I showed him my new leopard print Kookai negligee. I think he liked it.