Translate into Portuguese:

It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression "as pretty as an airport".

Airports are ugly. Some are very ugly. Some attain a degree of ugliness that can only be the result of a special effort. This arises because airports are full of people who are cross, and have just discovered that their luggage has landed in Murmansk (Murmansk airport is the only known exception to this otherwise infallible rule) and architects have on the whole tried to reflect this in their designs. They have sought to highlight the motif of tiredness and crossness with brutal shapes and nerve-jangling colours, to make effortless the business of separating the traveller for ever from his or her luggage or loved ones, and wherever possible to expose the plumbing on the grounds that it is functional, and conceal the departure gates presumably on the grounds that they are not.

Caught in the middle of sea of hazy light and noise, Kate Schechter stood and doubted.

All the way out of London to Heathrow she had suffered from doubt. She was not a superstitious person, or even a religious person, she was simply someone who was not at all sure she should be flying to Norway. But she was finding it increasingly easy to believe that God - if there was a God - did not want her to go to Norway either. Even the taxi driver - when she eventually found a taxi - had said, "Norway? What do you want to go there for?".