The warm drizzle swelled the corridors and shops and casino with teenagers in dripping beachwear and toddlers splashing their wet, bare feet on the marble as their parents trailed along at an unconcerned pace. Still, sun blasted through the windows and bathed the gilded statues of heroes from a mythical island in a soft, golden hue.
It was cocktail hour, and as I sat at a table at the aptly named Plato’s and watched families blow by while keeping an eye out for my own, I was overcome with a notion as gaudy and over-the-top as this Caribbean fantasyland in the Bahamas.
The good folks behind Atlantis on Paradise Island had, indeed, built a better mousetrap.
Read the rest of this article on The New York Times.
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