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EVERY NIGHT at the back of the buffet dining hall, far from the perfect palm trees and cool blue pools, I see the workers remove the overflowing trash. There’s a whiff of sewer coming from the red mangrove where crocodiles linger. Kelp dirties up the beach. Choppy waves discourage swimmers and warn of freak hurricanes caused by global warming. Coatis emerge from the bush at dawn to meander over the chaise longues. Chortling, a Great Kiskadee craps in the pool beside our swim-up suite.
And inside, as always, we are bickering.