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Published: July 25th 2006
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Arriving in Las Vegas always makes me feel excited - all that money just waiting to be lost! What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, and as ever a good deal of my money will remain there. My old friend Chris met me at the airport, and we shared a conspiratorial look that foretold the fun to come.
I had requested a night in Old Vegas as I had never stayed downtown before and fancied that I might end up winning a Texas Hold 'Em tournament in Binions and be able to travel forever. Alas, the tables looked as daunting as ever and neither of us could be bothered getting involved in the drawn out process of buying into a game we would be sure to lose. We settled instead for a good drink and a trip to the Hard Rock - a perennial favourite for the buzzing atmosphere and scantily clad young ladies serving drinks. I promptly lost $500 and then won it back, and decided to sit down and stuff myself with food to avoid further temptation. A meal in any Vegas restaurant quickly takes the wind out of one's sails (and transfers it to one's trousers). Back
Getting ready to descend into the canyon
Any concern I'm showing is because I'm wondering if the camera will work on timer. in downtown Vegas we were serenaded by a covers band belting out a selection of Nine Inch Nails hits. Only in Vegas could you find mothers rocking infants in prams to the lilting lyrics of 'I want to f**k you like an animal'. Surreal.
We left Vegas for Zion Park the next day. Described by one of the dealers in the Fremont Casino as a 'mini Grand Canyon' it proved to be somewhat lusher, and worth a visit in its own right. We signed up for a canyoning adventure, which is one of the funnest things I have ever done, and almost as dangerous as the tables in Vegas. We were trained in the morning in the subtle arts of rappelling, tying knots, and given a number of safty warnings (eg 'The guy had been doing it for years, and still fell 150 feet. They found his body 3 days later') and then then set out unguided and alone to hike, rappel and swim through the app-r-opriately named Keyhole Canyon. Virtually underground save for a tiny glimmer of sky many metres above us, we both had the time of our lives rappelling down into the earth and generally feeling
like explorers. The canyon finished with a long swim in the shoulder width cavern through water that appeared to have been drained from a pair of builders' underpants. We were both waiting for something to grab us from the deep and drag us under.
Back to Vegas for another three nights of degeneracy. We made use of the spectacular pools at the MGM and I had a deep tissue massage that left me begging for mercy, and naturally lost more money. Two amusing events at the craps tables. Firstly, Chris was approached by a large gentleman who was offering him friendly and then insistent advice. Chris dealt with the chap with his usual politeness, but the casino staff sensed that this guy was a 'wrong 'un'. The rottweiler-esque pit boss approached Chris and asked him if the other chap was bothering him, and whether Chris wanted him 'put under the hammer'. Chris declined the kind offer, and we mused afterwards as to whether or not the 'hammer' in question was metaphorical. Another craps table (ably served by a croupier named 'Teddy Bear') and we witnessed a spectacularly drunk middle aged woman who smelled of fried chicken being expertly kept
just sober enough to lose several thousand dollars. She kept asking for more booze while throwing chips down, but funnily enough they kept on getting the order wrong and bringing her Perrier.
Three consecutive nights was more than enough in Vegas, and we picked up another car for the trip to San Francsico. The car we took up to Zion was unremarkable in every way, so we decided to give it a functional name: 'The Ford Focus (or similar)'. The motor for the road trip up the coast was a convertible Mustang, and so after consideration of a number of names we christened it the 'Glans-Hog'.
We floored the car to LA in quick time and then quickly became bogged down in LA traffic. I've been to LA a handful of times now, and it always disappoints. We coulnd't be bothered getting out of the Glans-Hog and so settled for a glimpse of the Hollywood sign between buildings and a couple of memorable views in Beverly Hills and Malibu, and then escaped up the coast. Uniquely Californian Experience no. 531: eating a hamburger in a white convertible Mustang while racing through Malibu and listening to the Red Hot
Chilli Peppers.
We stopped in Santa Barbara for a night - a nice enough town filled with young blond ladies and filled potato skins (served by young blond ladies), and on the second day set off for 'Frisco. The drive up Highway 1 was wonderful. Spectacular coastal views the whole way, a sea lion colony, and more hamburgers.
And so, finally, to San Francisco, my birthday, and meeting up with more friends, including Andria and Thomas who live in lofted luxrury in San Francisco and generally seem to have a great life in a great city. After the necessary drunken nonsense on the first evening, we began my birthday with brunch and then a trip to the ballpark. Baseball is kind of like spending a Saturday afternoon on the sofa watching sport, except there happen to be 40,000 other people in your living room, all drinking beer. I was presented with the customary birthday foam finger, and we suspected it might have had magical properties. When I donned it and whooped for the first time, someone nearby had a heart attack and had to be carted off. The SF Giants lost, but baseball (and lager) was the winner,
and we headed to the ferry station to catch the boat to Sausilito, a plush suburb across the water. Uniquely San Franciscan Experience no. 467: drinking local white wine held in a SF Giants foam hand while on a bay ferry to Sausilito with Alcatraz in the background.
The party in Sausilito was such good fun that I had a drunken slumber in the middle of the living room on a reclining chair halfway through the evening with a glass of red wine perched precariously in my hand (real, not foam). It was a strange sensation being plunged back into respectable society and discussions of house prices. That's why I had to get so drunk.
Anyway, the evening ended with me jumping on the hotel bed, chanting 'USA! USA! USA!' with foam finger aloft until security came up to the room and ended my impromptu and misplaced display of patriotism.
More drinks and excellent home cooking by A&T (and a great burger brunch on the waterside) ended this short but packed leg of my journey. Huge amounts of money expended, but huge fun.
Thanks to Thomas for the running holiday joke: a fictional character called 'The
Worm' that would occasionally crop up in conversation. The embodiment of the seamier side of San Franciscan life, little is reprintable about The Worm here. Needless to say, 'The Worm' is insufficiently limbed and a fan of body art.
Seattle next, and a return to solo travelling. Will this holiday ever end?
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Andria
non-member comment
The Worm Lives!
Fictional? What do you mean fictional?! We're going to send him after you with piercing apparatus in mouth...