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Viva Las Crazy

I arrived in Las Vegas with a heavy heart. It had been difficult to leave San Francisco. On the flight, we knew we were with a party crowd, because they cheered when the pilot made the announcement that we were making our descent, when we touched down, and again when the seatbelt sign went off. Arriving at our hotel (which is still considered to be the largest in the world, I gather), I was confronted with a technicolour riot of unhinged excess. I don’t quite know what it was that I was expecting – after all, this is Las Vegas we’re talking about here, not Bognor.

Once I adjusted to the insane, searing heat, people drinking two- and three-feet long receptacles full of cocktails (some of which came with their own carrying strap, some of which came in unusual shapes, eg the Eiffel Tower) and the sight of people gambling at 6 in the morning, I started to grudgingly enjoy myself.

We wandered about in some of the hotels, all of which have their own theme of sorts going on. Bally’s theme appeared to be “quiet desperation”. One of their main draws is the “dealertainers” at the tables: lookalikes employed to be croupiers. Now that’s a weird career for you. The only one we really saw was a Joan Jett-a-like. I’m guessing there isn’t a vast amount of work for Joan Jett impersonators, so this left me feeling faintly sad. Harrah’s and the Imperial Palace were two more of old-school style casinos. At the latter, we went to a vintage car museum, where we met a Southern gentleman in a Stetson. He talked to us about hunting, and used the word varmint. That’s one of my favourite words in American English. Result.

We mooched about a Greenwich Village street scene in New York New York. We wandered through a facsimile fifteenth arrondisement in Paris. We went to see the dancing fountains of the Bellagio, which sounds like the lamest thing in the world, until you see it. And we wondered how it’s possible to fill three floors of a shop with M&Ms-related ephemera.

While in Vegas, we did two rather big things. We saw one of the Great Natural Wonders of the World. Then we saw the Grand Canyon.

What can be said about Tom Jones that hasn’t been said before? Nothing: aside from he is the exact same colour as chicken tikka masala. Tom sang and gyrated for 90 minutes with nary a break, as women of a certain age shimmied in the aisles. He was flirting with all of them. As we were but 15 feet from the stage, this got really embarrassing after a while. I have three favourite Tom Jones numbers, none of which he played: the theme to Thunderball, his version of Spinning Wheel and his version of Proud Mary. Typical. Despite this, he was worth seeing.

The Grand Canyon. This was amazing, and I can’t really sum it up in words, so I’ll post up a couple of the best photos I have soon.

One thing I like about Vegas is the fact that it’s a pretty democratic place to be. Everyone is on the same level. You can be the richest person in the world, or a day-tripper with fifteen bucks in your pocket, and you’ll be treated the same. It can be hard to tell who is well-heeled and who isn’t when the dress code is flip flops, beach wear and sunglasses, after all.

However, there's lots about Vegas that I didn't like. I've already gone on long enough, so here endeth the lesson.

Next: New York

Labels: las vegas

posted by deafdisco @ 2:23 pm