Death, it turns out, is surprisingly complicated.
Yesterday we were at the funeral home by 830am to make the arrangements for my dad's funeral. The funeral home is, well, creepy. The people who work there are nice enough, but the affected tone of sympathetic seriousness was annoying me by 10 minutes into the process. I understand why this tone is employed, and I'm sure it's the right one for the vast majority of people, but I personally would have preferred a pragmatic, businesslike approach. But I'm sure most people would perceive that as callous.
Anyway, it turns out that there are a million decisions that have to be made in this process. My mom, who is still somewhat numb/in shock, was not in a place to want to be making lots of decisions about things. So, my cousin and I helped with that as much as we could. A partial list of decisions you have to make is:
- what services do you need the funeral home to provide?
- is there going to be a wake (now apparently referred to as a "visitation")?
- If so, for how long?
- In which room in the funeral home?
- What will the deceased be wearing?
- what flowers (if any) will you have?
- what will happen at the visitation? Do you need any ancillary equipment?
- Is there going to be a church service?
- When will that service be?
- Will there be an obituary?
- If so, what will it say?
- When will it run?
- Who will be pallbearers?
- Should we be picked up at the house or at the church?
- What should the prayer cards look like?
- What should they say?
And then, when you've gotten through a bunch of stuff like that, you get taken down into the basement. For the casket tour.
Ew.
So there you are, in a room full of caskets. In fairness, the guy was good about not pressuring us in any perceptible way, at least not until it came time to decide about a vault. But first, we wandered around the room looking at all these different caskets, and by the end of the tour I was convinced I wanted cremation. Because you wander around the room going "OK, dad isn't going to give a shit which box he's in. But he's my dad. We can't dump him in the ground in any old thing." It can drive you crazy, and I don't want anyone doing a casket tour for me.
In the end, we went with a metal casket, toward the lower end of the price range, but not at the bottom.
Then, The Undertaker starts asking us which kind of vault we want. Not that we have to buy one, of course, but here are all the different types, and why you might want to choose this particular one, or that particular one, or maybe this othe-
"Wait," I said, "Why exactly do we need a vault?"
"Well," says The Undertaker, "technically you don't need one since Michael is going to be buried in a Catholic cemetary, and the Catholics don't require one. But there are a lot of reasons to consider it."
And so he begins with Line of Reasoning #1: the casket will be under 6-8 feet of earth, which is going to put pressure on it. Also, water will slowly eat away at it, until 50 years from now it may be more or less gone completely. I mean, if you think about a car, if you left it outside for 50 years, it'd be pretty much rusted away. A vault will protect the casket from that kind of pressure and slow degradation.
Well, I thought, that's a pretty compelling argument- if my intention is to dig my dad up 50 years from now to say hi, and maybe play a round or two of pinochle. Otherwise, I don't get it. Clearly, the skepticism shows on my face.
So, he goes into Line of Reasoning #2: the dirt that the casket is in will have a tendency to shift over time, especially once it's been dug up and put back in, and the casket may drift. Sealing the casket in a vault will help provide weight and stability that will ensure Michael doesn't end up running into the next grave over.
Hmm. My problems with this line of reasoning include the following: (1) IT'S THE FUCKING GROUND! It's not like the coffins are sloshing around down there like rubber fucking ducks in a bathtub. (2) Even if dad does end up sidling up to Jane Doe in the next grave over, seriously, what the hell else does he have to do down there other than make friends with the neighbors? (3), let's say he does shift 2 feet to the left over the next 50 years. Going back to Line of Reasoning #1, unless we plan to dig him up 50 years from now, WHO THE FUCK IS GOING TO KNOW THAT???
"I'm sorry," I say to The Undertaker, "I'm just having a lot of difficulty understanding what the value is."
So The Undertaker, in a last desperate gambit, reaches for Line of Reasoning #3: well, the movement of the casket over time will disturb the earth at the surface, which will make it harder for the cemetary staff to maintain the grounds. The vault helps the cemetary keep maintenance costs down.
Ah, well gee, that's really persuasive. Why don't we spend a couple thousand dollar's of my mom's fixed income in order to lower the cemetary's cost of operations by $1 a year. At a 10% discount rate, assuming my dad is in the ground from now to infinity, that means the net present value of the additional costs the cemetary will incur because I'm a stubborn, cheap bastard is $10. So I apologize on behalf of my family to all the hundreds of other future people who will someday be buying plots in Resurrection cemetary, since they will be bearing their individual fraction of the $10 in the cost of their plots.
"I don't think we'll be needing a vault, thank you," I say to The Undetaker, "but thanks for explaining the issue."
Trying hard not to show disappointment, he leads us back upstairs, to where it now seems less creepy, thanks to the Casket Room. We finish making all our decisions, and then The Undertaker draws up our invoice. Fortunately, they will take a life insurance policy as collateral, and they file all the necessary paperwork with the life insurance company, which will then pay the funeral home's invoice and send the balance of the policy to my mom.
From there, we picked up my brother Willie and went to Uncle Bill's for some greasy spoon breakfast with mom. That was a nice respite, because from there we had to go to the cemetary.
At the cemetary, you also sit down with someone, in this case an Irish Catholic identical twin with a slightly off-color sense of humor, and he walks you through the million decisions you have to make at the cemetary, which include the following:
- one plot, which coffins eventually stacked, or two plots side-by-side? Or more, if others want to be buried nearby?
- lawn-level stone, or upright monument?
- graveside service, or in a chapel?
- if graveside, tent/chairs or no tent/chairs?
- where in the cemetary? Buying a plot, Mike Finnegan informs us, is like buying a house. Location matters, and significantly impacts pricing.
"Can we buy some plots and flip them? Or has the market for that tanked too?" Fortunately, I say this only inside my own head. By the way, is how I survive situations like this.
So we pile into "the company van" and get a tour of the cemetary, to see where single plots are available (we decided a single plot with my mom eventually going in on top). The first place looks decent enough, though it's the cheapest area since the road and the railroad tracks are right there. We keep moving.
The second place is also close to the railroad tracks. It's slightly more expensive since the road isn't right there. Mike tells us not to worry about the wooden temporary road thingy just to our left; the railroad accident that dumped toxic chemicals was right over there a couple weeks ago, and that wooden road is for the workers to get in and out of the area as they continue their cleanup.
A lot of this whole dying process seems silly, but I do draw the line at agreeing to bury my father (and eventually mother) in a Superfund site. Suddenly, being anywhere near the tracks is not attractive. We keep moving.
Eventually, we've made a circuit of the whole grounds, and we decide to go for a plot in the interior near a bunch of cops, former military, and local small businesspeople. A very middle-class neighborhood, not obviously near the site of any future hazardous chemical spills. We go back to the office, draw up all the paperwork, and pay. We leave the cemetary, and realize that we forgot to deal with the flowers at the funeral home, and head back there.
I am not thrilled to be back at the creepy funeral home, and am not looking forward to spending 7 hours there on Friday (family visitation 2-3, public visitation 3-9). The Undertaker brings us a book of flower arrangements to have at the visitation, and that's kind of where I shut down.
"OK," I say to Mom and Anne, "I just want to set expectations here by saying that I do not expect to have anything useful to add in the way of choosing flowers, and I'm looking to you guys to take the lead on this one."
In retrospect, I suppose I should have manned up a little more there, but I was tired of making decisions, and so were they, and so we ended up pretty much going with what was on the first page, which was a bunch of white roses and stuff. I know dad wouldn't care less, and I think all of us were headed that way quickly.
Flowers chosen, we headed out of there. All of us were in need of a nap. I hoped to take one, but ended up answering work emails and stuff online until it was time to take mom to dinner. We had great Vietnamese back in the neighborhood I grew up in, and then dropped mom off at home. Plaid came by and picked me up, and we went to Ted Drewes for the best frozen custard on earth. Our friend Janet met us, and we ended up trading stories in the parking lot of Ted Drewes until 2am. A long day, but a good way to finish it.
Now, we're off to go pick up my brother Mikie from the airport. Always an adventure with him, so the family fun will begin in earnest soon...
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Sometimes, you're just having a day...
Yesterday, about 5 minutes before I was to walk out of my office to drive down to Mountain View to teach my pro bono GMAT class, I got a call from my sister.
"Dad just died," she said. She was as upset as I've ever heard her.
Me, I went instantly numb. That's my reflexive response to anything like that. We hung up, and I listened to my voicemails. Sure enough, mom had called 15 minutes prior, while I'd been on the phone with a new family we're going to be working with. The message was nearly two minutes of my mom sounding really freaked out while talking to what I presume were the 911 paramedics, before finally realizing that she'd been talking into my voicemail and telling me to call her right away.
That's a great message to listen to.
Without a way to get in touch with the students in my class, I just went down there and taught. On the way, I spoke briefly with mom, who had left the house for a couple of hours and come back to find my dad on the floor without a pulse. She called 911 and they tried to resuscitate him, but couldn't.
I told Joel the news, and he volunteered to do the research and buy my plane ticket to StL while I taught the class. I pushed them extra hard, since I knew that at the end I'd be canceling our Wed class. I opted not to tell them anything until the end because I didn't want it to distract from our focus. They're good kids, and they need all the help they can get on this test. They're the kids in Google's minority intern program.
After class, I headed back to the office to get everything put together to leave for the students that I'd now have to cancel lessons with for the rest of the week. I left the office around 11, and picked up Joel. He volunteered to drive while I was on the phone with Laszlo.
On the drive home, the power steering went out on the car.
That's a bit of a problem, since we live on the other side of a coastal mountain range, whose one road over is super windy. Steering a 2.5-ton vehicle with no hydraulic assist is a real pain. The car was scheduled to go in Wed morning anyway, since at least one of the bearings is failing, but Joel and I switched and I got us home while negotiating the turns as best I could.
Joel had gotten me a ticket out of Oakland at 6am. While the original plan had been for him to drive me to Oakland, in light of the failing steering we decided to drop me at the Daly City BART. The plan to get to the Oakland airport via public transportation involved the following:
1) leave the house at 330am
2) catch the 409am Bay point train at Daly city
3) catch the 438am Fremont train at Oakland city center
4) catch the 5am shuttle from Oakland coliseum to the airport
Since we got home around midnight, for the next 3.5 hours I sent the remaining emails I needed in order to be able to keep everything with work running for 5 days, and also cleaned the house and my room. Shara and her band of HS Latin phenoms is coming out to CA this weekend for her birthday and a Latin conference. They're all staying at the beachhouse. We've been planning this for months. Unfortunately, now I won't be there when they come. And I had scheduled all the cleaning for Thursday night. But I had to get it all done, and have the place in shape for her to stay there without my being there.
Then it was time to head to the airport. I drove us to Daly City, and got there at 408am. Fortunately, I managed to scamper onto the train just before the doors shut. I got to Oakland city center just as scheduled, but the 438 train was 10 minutes late. That meant not making the 5am shuttle, but we'd anticipated that, and the 520am shuttle would still get me there at 535am, which should be enough time to get to the gate, since Oakland is a small airport and Joel had checked me in.
But then, somewhere along the line, the train just stopped. The operator came on and said there was a maintenance crew on the tracks and we wouldn't be able to move until they were out of the way. However, he assured us, that would only be 2-3 minutes.
20 minutes later, the train started moving again. I missed the 520am shuttle.
That meant catching the 540am shuttle, which got me to the airport at 555am. For a 605am flight. I ran through the airport, flew through security, ran down the hall, and got to the gate at 603am. And saw a line of people at the gate. "Yes!", I thought, "The plane is delayed!"
Turns out, it was delayed because something was wrong with the landing gear. Not a good sign. And sure enough, about an hour later they announced that the flight was canceled. And what's more, the 730 and 10am flights were all full. Since this was Delta, everything routed through Salt Lake City, and for some reason it was a busy day flying from Oakland.
So, they sent us all back out to the ticket counter. Eventually I worked my way up to the head of the line, and the woman there got me booked on a 1210pm flight out of San Jose airport, routing through Minneapolis, and arriving in StL at 9pm, rather than 130pm. I was not happy.
What's more, San Jose airport is nowhere close to Oakland, so they gave me a voucher for a shuttle to San Jose. I went outside, where it was foggy and cold as shit, and shivered waiting for my shuttle. 3 came and went, but all were going to SFO, not San Jose. After an hour of shivering, I was ready to bully my way onto the next SFO shuttle and take the CalTrain from there to San Jose. But then the San Jose shuttle finally arrived.
I got to San Jose in plenty of time, but then that flight ended up delayed. The flight itself was uneventful, but because of the delay I ended up in Minneapolis with 10 minutes to get from G concourse to C concourse to make my connection to StL. Once again I was running through an airport. Halfway across the airport, I glanced up at the departure screen as I was rushing by and saw that *that* flight was also delayed. Now that Delta and Northwest airlines are the same, it appears we can safely assume that Delta will be following Northwest's operational strategy of never actually having a flight depart on time, ever. Though, to be fair, in this case it benefited me.
I walked the rest of the way to the gate, and discovered that the inbound plane was delayed because of weather en route, and we didn't know when it would arrive. It ended up being about an hour and a half late, and we made up a little of that en route to StL.
Departure time, my house in HMB: 330am PST
Arrival time, Cousin Anne's in StL: 11pm CST
Total door-to-door trip time to get across 2 lousy time zones: 17.5 hours.
If you think about it, the problem was that I let Joel plan the trip to Oakland airport, which means he planned for plenty of time (2.5 hours), and even tried to bake in something going wrong. Regular readers of this blog know what happens when I attempt to arrive at the airport in a responsible, early fashion: unmitigated disaster. This trip was certainly no exception.
So now, I've been up almost 40 hours with just 2 crappy hours of sleep on the flight from San Jose. In the morning we go to the funeral home to make all the arrangements for the service and such. But now, I must pass out. Thus far, my strategy of not processing the actual event is working. We'll see how long I can keep it up.
"Dad just died," she said. She was as upset as I've ever heard her.
Me, I went instantly numb. That's my reflexive response to anything like that. We hung up, and I listened to my voicemails. Sure enough, mom had called 15 minutes prior, while I'd been on the phone with a new family we're going to be working with. The message was nearly two minutes of my mom sounding really freaked out while talking to what I presume were the 911 paramedics, before finally realizing that she'd been talking into my voicemail and telling me to call her right away.
That's a great message to listen to.
Without a way to get in touch with the students in my class, I just went down there and taught. On the way, I spoke briefly with mom, who had left the house for a couple of hours and come back to find my dad on the floor without a pulse. She called 911 and they tried to resuscitate him, but couldn't.
I told Joel the news, and he volunteered to do the research and buy my plane ticket to StL while I taught the class. I pushed them extra hard, since I knew that at the end I'd be canceling our Wed class. I opted not to tell them anything until the end because I didn't want it to distract from our focus. They're good kids, and they need all the help they can get on this test. They're the kids in Google's minority intern program.
After class, I headed back to the office to get everything put together to leave for the students that I'd now have to cancel lessons with for the rest of the week. I left the office around 11, and picked up Joel. He volunteered to drive while I was on the phone with Laszlo.
On the drive home, the power steering went out on the car.
That's a bit of a problem, since we live on the other side of a coastal mountain range, whose one road over is super windy. Steering a 2.5-ton vehicle with no hydraulic assist is a real pain. The car was scheduled to go in Wed morning anyway, since at least one of the bearings is failing, but Joel and I switched and I got us home while negotiating the turns as best I could.
Joel had gotten me a ticket out of Oakland at 6am. While the original plan had been for him to drive me to Oakland, in light of the failing steering we decided to drop me at the Daly City BART. The plan to get to the Oakland airport via public transportation involved the following:
1) leave the house at 330am
2) catch the 409am Bay point train at Daly city
3) catch the 438am Fremont train at Oakland city center
4) catch the 5am shuttle from Oakland coliseum to the airport
Since we got home around midnight, for the next 3.5 hours I sent the remaining emails I needed in order to be able to keep everything with work running for 5 days, and also cleaned the house and my room. Shara and her band of HS Latin phenoms is coming out to CA this weekend for her birthday and a Latin conference. They're all staying at the beachhouse. We've been planning this for months. Unfortunately, now I won't be there when they come. And I had scheduled all the cleaning for Thursday night. But I had to get it all done, and have the place in shape for her to stay there without my being there.
Then it was time to head to the airport. I drove us to Daly City, and got there at 408am. Fortunately, I managed to scamper onto the train just before the doors shut. I got to Oakland city center just as scheduled, but the 438 train was 10 minutes late. That meant not making the 5am shuttle, but we'd anticipated that, and the 520am shuttle would still get me there at 535am, which should be enough time to get to the gate, since Oakland is a small airport and Joel had checked me in.
But then, somewhere along the line, the train just stopped. The operator came on and said there was a maintenance crew on the tracks and we wouldn't be able to move until they were out of the way. However, he assured us, that would only be 2-3 minutes.
20 minutes later, the train started moving again. I missed the 520am shuttle.
That meant catching the 540am shuttle, which got me to the airport at 555am. For a 605am flight. I ran through the airport, flew through security, ran down the hall, and got to the gate at 603am. And saw a line of people at the gate. "Yes!", I thought, "The plane is delayed!"
Turns out, it was delayed because something was wrong with the landing gear. Not a good sign. And sure enough, about an hour later they announced that the flight was canceled. And what's more, the 730 and 10am flights were all full. Since this was Delta, everything routed through Salt Lake City, and for some reason it was a busy day flying from Oakland.
So, they sent us all back out to the ticket counter. Eventually I worked my way up to the head of the line, and the woman there got me booked on a 1210pm flight out of San Jose airport, routing through Minneapolis, and arriving in StL at 9pm, rather than 130pm. I was not happy.
What's more, San Jose airport is nowhere close to Oakland, so they gave me a voucher for a shuttle to San Jose. I went outside, where it was foggy and cold as shit, and shivered waiting for my shuttle. 3 came and went, but all were going to SFO, not San Jose. After an hour of shivering, I was ready to bully my way onto the next SFO shuttle and take the CalTrain from there to San Jose. But then the San Jose shuttle finally arrived.
I got to San Jose in plenty of time, but then that flight ended up delayed. The flight itself was uneventful, but because of the delay I ended up in Minneapolis with 10 minutes to get from G concourse to C concourse to make my connection to StL. Once again I was running through an airport. Halfway across the airport, I glanced up at the departure screen as I was rushing by and saw that *that* flight was also delayed. Now that Delta and Northwest airlines are the same, it appears we can safely assume that Delta will be following Northwest's operational strategy of never actually having a flight depart on time, ever. Though, to be fair, in this case it benefited me.
I walked the rest of the way to the gate, and discovered that the inbound plane was delayed because of weather en route, and we didn't know when it would arrive. It ended up being about an hour and a half late, and we made up a little of that en route to StL.
Departure time, my house in HMB: 330am PST
Arrival time, Cousin Anne's in StL: 11pm CST
Total door-to-door trip time to get across 2 lousy time zones: 17.5 hours.
If you think about it, the problem was that I let Joel plan the trip to Oakland airport, which means he planned for plenty of time (2.5 hours), and even tried to bake in something going wrong. Regular readers of this blog know what happens when I attempt to arrive at the airport in a responsible, early fashion: unmitigated disaster. This trip was certainly no exception.
So now, I've been up almost 40 hours with just 2 crappy hours of sleep on the flight from San Jose. In the morning we go to the funeral home to make all the arrangements for the service and such. But now, I must pass out. Thus far, my strategy of not processing the actual event is working. We'll see how long I can keep it up.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Cabo, Day 4
Sadly, on Monday we had to say goodbye to the Palmilla, and shift down to the Westin.
We got up and got ourselves to the wedding day-after breakfast, which was predictably awesome. Custom-made omelettes, pastries, fruit, juice- everything I'd ever eat for breakfast anyway. Alex looked like he'd gone to by by 10pm, while Rose looked like she'd gone to bed last week. Ed & Alison never made it at all. Typical Ed.
Thus, we found ourselves back at the room by 1030 already packed when Greg mentioned that he'd asked for a late checkout, and been given 2pm. Immediately, I was on the phone with the front desk getting a similar deal for us. And that gave us another 3 hours to lay on the awesome futon thingy on the balcony, listen to waves, read, and watch bright yellow tropical birds hanging out in the tree. Pure bliss.
Finally, in the mid-afternoon we said goodbye to palace life and went to go stay at a normal hotel, which had the advantage of being basically 1/4th the cost. Here are a few pics of the Westin, which when it was built was the premier resort in Cabo:
The architecture is interesting, if a little weird. This is the building we stayed in.
This pic is from the orange building in the 1st pic.
No crazy-comfy futon, and the glass doors have "Westin" printed on them, which is weird, but the view is still pretty good.
Getting ready to head down to the pool. Shifting hotels has interfered with the afternoon sunbathing routine we'd established.
The thing about staying in a place like the Palmilla is that your baseline for what constitutes "nice" gets all messed up. The Westin felt shabby, but really was fine, except for the part about no free internet access. The internet was like a million dollars a second, which is why I'm updating this blog now, instead of the next day like I did at the Palmilla. But everything else was as nice as it could be without luxury-suite-like rooms and an army of attendants.
In the evening, we headed up to San Jose del Cabo. It took me a while to figure out the many different things the word "Cabo" can refer to. Basically, Baja California is an 800-mile long strip of scrub desert, at the bottom of which are gray whale mating areas, and 2 tourist cities: San Jose del Cabo, and Cabo San Lucas. Collectively they are referred to as Los Cabos. All the fancy resorts are pretty much located along the beach in between the 2 cities, which are maybe 20 miles apart. The Palmilla and the Westin are located almost in the middle. When people say they're going to "Cabo", probably they mean they're flying into Los Cabos airport, and then staying at some resort between the 2 cities.
The journey to San Jose del Cabo represented our first real foray into the local area. At the Palmilla, there was just no incentive to ever leave. So it was nice to actually get out and see stuff. We wandered around the town square, poking into shops with typical tourist crap in them, and then eventually had a very nice dinner at a local restaurant, whose name is already long lost to my memory...
The church in the town square. Charming Spanish colonial architecture- a great place to spend a couple hrs in quiet contemplation after a long day of spreading pestilence & death among the native population.
Keiko caught on camera publicly groping me at dinner.
After a few hours of wandering around town, we retreated to the Westin to rest up before another long day of sunbathing...
We got up and got ourselves to the wedding day-after breakfast, which was predictably awesome. Custom-made omelettes, pastries, fruit, juice- everything I'd ever eat for breakfast anyway. Alex looked like he'd gone to by by 10pm, while Rose looked like she'd gone to bed last week. Ed & Alison never made it at all. Typical Ed.
Thus, we found ourselves back at the room by 1030 already packed when Greg mentioned that he'd asked for a late checkout, and been given 2pm. Immediately, I was on the phone with the front desk getting a similar deal for us. And that gave us another 3 hours to lay on the awesome futon thingy on the balcony, listen to waves, read, and watch bright yellow tropical birds hanging out in the tree. Pure bliss.
Finally, in the mid-afternoon we said goodbye to palace life and went to go stay at a normal hotel, which had the advantage of being basically 1/4th the cost. Here are a few pics of the Westin, which when it was built was the premier resort in Cabo:
The architecture is interesting, if a little weird. This is the building we stayed in.
This pic is from the orange building in the 1st pic.
No crazy-comfy futon, and the glass doors have "Westin" printed on them, which is weird, but the view is still pretty good.
Getting ready to head down to the pool. Shifting hotels has interfered with the afternoon sunbathing routine we'd established.
The thing about staying in a place like the Palmilla is that your baseline for what constitutes "nice" gets all messed up. The Westin felt shabby, but really was fine, except for the part about no free internet access. The internet was like a million dollars a second, which is why I'm updating this blog now, instead of the next day like I did at the Palmilla. But everything else was as nice as it could be without luxury-suite-like rooms and an army of attendants.
In the evening, we headed up to San Jose del Cabo. It took me a while to figure out the many different things the word "Cabo" can refer to. Basically, Baja California is an 800-mile long strip of scrub desert, at the bottom of which are gray whale mating areas, and 2 tourist cities: San Jose del Cabo, and Cabo San Lucas. Collectively they are referred to as Los Cabos. All the fancy resorts are pretty much located along the beach in between the 2 cities, which are maybe 20 miles apart. The Palmilla and the Westin are located almost in the middle. When people say they're going to "Cabo", probably they mean they're flying into Los Cabos airport, and then staying at some resort between the 2 cities.
The journey to San Jose del Cabo represented our first real foray into the local area. At the Palmilla, there was just no incentive to ever leave. So it was nice to actually get out and see stuff. We wandered around the town square, poking into shops with typical tourist crap in them, and then eventually had a very nice dinner at a local restaurant, whose name is already long lost to my memory...
The church in the town square. Charming Spanish colonial architecture- a great place to spend a couple hrs in quiet contemplation after a long day of spreading pestilence & death among the native population.
Keiko caught on camera publicly groping me at dinner.
After a few hours of wandering around town, we retreated to the Westin to rest up before another long day of sunbathing...
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