Chapter 7

But hands down everybody’s favorite part of a Golden Palace layover is the shimmering turquoise bean that is the swimming pool, and the multi-level patio area in which it nestles, backing up to days and days of white sand and the generally tranquil Atlantic. The lounge chairs are comfy, shady spots are ample, the pool boys are invariably toothsome and friendly, and—the biggest draw of all—a cooler the size of a horse trough packed past the spilling point with cans of every kind of domestic and Central American beer you’ve ever heard of, a buck a piece, greets you when you enter from the lobby. The honor-system box on its rickety stool next to it is the one thing in the world I’ve never known a flight attendant to scam. Everybody plunks his dollar through the slot, and a convivial atmosphere permeates the pool area from sun-up until the very darkest hours of the night.