I walk through the airport’s cool, frosted glass doors. Salt-tinged air warms my face. Out here, the party’s in full swing. People gather with glasses in hand. Bottles of Chassagne-Montrachet chill in buckets of ice at their feet. Bursts of laughter radiate from the well-heeled crowd as a rainbow assortment of Minis and Mokes whizzes behind them. It feels like happy hour on a breezy NYC rooftop, not airport arrivals.  I scan the crowd. Our villa manager is easy to spot. He’s wearing tell-tale Eden...