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Published: November 21st 2008
Leaving Las Vegas.
Inside The Venetian.Sin City, Glitter Gulch, The Entertainment and The Gambling Capitals of the World, City of Lights and Blackpool in the Desert. I’d heard Las Vegas called all of these things and more over the years but having never visited, admittedly by choice more than by anything else, had not had the opportunity to decide first hand which description was best suited. Now, as Phil and I headed for Long Beach airport all of that was about to change as having just about cleansed myself of the toxins collected in a weekend spent with five rugger playing heathens in the Big Apple we were about to board a one hour flight to the Adult Disneyland in the Desert. The trip, organized by Phil for some of his longer serving more senior F & G colleagues was thankfully, given it was my first time just a quickfire two night stay and I had simply tagged along for the ride.
Several people had told me I’d either love or loathe Vegas and even before exiting the much larger than expected airport I was suspecting my feelings were going to veer towards the latter. The
Leaving Las Vegas
The red is a lake, the green a waterfall. Light show at The Wynn. normally simple act of hailing a taxi was tackled with all the standing around and being told where to go and what to do that would normally be associated with an organized travel tour, the sort of thing I despise as hundreds of excitable visitors poured out of the terminal doors and queued as instructed around the snaking airport style barriers prior to being told exactly where to stand to ensure collection by one of the constant stream of taxis that was coming over the hill. It felt like we were re-enacting Operation Dynamo’s evacuation of the Dunkirk beaches as vessel after vessel arrived, loaded up and disappeared full to capacity in the blink of an eye with all the efficiency of a German offside trap.
Vegas this particular weekend was playing host to both a Rodeo and a couple of appearances by Madonna and as a result its hotels were packed to capacity. Phil, Dan and I had booked into the Palms, a well known residence situated about a mile off the famous strip and simply walking through its doors provided another negative emotion. I was fully prepared for a gambling theme but not quite the sight of
Leaving Las Vegas.
Timmy's claw places another fortune. hundreds upon hundreds of one armed bandits and gaming tables that stretched and clattered away into the distance as far as the eye could see giving the whole place a tramless and sealess look, sound and feel of Blackpool in the Desert.
The five of us staying at The Palms arranged to meet in one of the lobby bars at 6.30pm and having fifteen minutes to kill until Paul and Stuart arrived I made my first and unfortunately not final futile attempt at exorcising my Malaysian Demons by heading for a quick game of Black Jack. I found the only five dollar minimum stake table in the house without problem, three quid on the turn of a card was quite enough for me thank you very much, hastily transformed the thirty dollars cash I had in my arse pocket into six circular plastic chips, took a seat and in a no doubt unsuccessful attempt to appear the seasoned pro sat expressionless and motionless with the exception of my fingers which transferred the chips from hand to hand like a magician manipulating a deck of cards and my eyes which flickered their focus rapidly from dealer to deck to table
Leaving Las Vegas.
Hank the Yank, Ian the Jock, Matt the Pig, Paul the Gaffer and Bid Bad Baz. and back.
My six chips were hardly the stack of plastic that the croupier struggles to push across the baize in the movies or on Poker TV and nor for that matter was it comparable to the piles that were amassed in front of my playing companions but it really wasn’t a worry, it would see me through the fifteen or so minutes until our meet time and that was all that mattered. Six hands and less than a minute later I returned to Phil and Dan chipless and cashless.
It was, I’d already decided not worth crying over spilled milk and Vegas, given the short duration of my stay was to be tackled without fear of the loss of a few bucks here or there. It was going to be an expensive weekend whatever happened and the chances were good, especially in the 24/7 never closed environment of the cities Casino’s that if you gambled for any length of time you’d end up a loser. Proverbs don’t exist for any reason other than to relay fact based upon common sense and my personal favourite about ‘never seeing a poor bookmaker’, especially given my past golfing holiday ‘bookie’
Leaving Las Vegas.
The muraled ceiling of the Venetian foyer. history was ringing in my ears as I returned, shoulders hunched to my companions. I made a conscious decision there and then that my weekend punting would be restricted and closely monitored for the next two days and I remained true to my word, so true that my losses by the end of our trip totalled over two hundred dollars !. So much for excorcising demons.
So what is there to do in Las Vegas other than sit at a table and lose money ? Well. If you’re into sitting for two hours watching a magician pull rabbits out of a hat or an array of long legged ladies doing the can can then there’s the ‘legendary’ shows, of course there’s the architectural magnificence of the different themed hotels to look and marvel at, the shopping is by all accounts good and inevitably there’s a televison set in your hotel room that you can lie on your bed and watch and ..... erm !
Consequently what followed was two nights of booze fuelled revellry which commenced Friday evening with a rendezvous with the rest of our party at ‘The Wynn’, one of the strips famous hotels.
Like
Leaving Las Vegas.
Cocktail waitress. a ‘who dunnit’ murder mystery weekend one by one the main suspects arrived. Paul Wood, the head of F & G's US operations and Stuart, both resident at The Palms travelled with us in a cab to The Wynn where we were soon joined by Tim, nursing a gambling addiction which saw him already in profit to the tune of four figures but which by the end of the weekend in debit to double the same, larger than life Glaswegian Ian whose whirlwind introduction to the group reminded me of Rik Mayall’s Black Adder ‘Lord Flash Heart’ character, Andy from Doncaster, Geordie Nick who I’d met at Christmas and Hank, the company Attorney and the only American amongst us. If not exactly wild it was most certainly a varied bunch.
We spent a couple of hours at The Wynn with its stunning visual show watching images created solely by lighting rise Triton like from the large indoor lake causing you to blink long and hard and rub your eyes in disbelief before heading back to The Ghost Bar, the open air bar/nightclub on the roof of The Palms which afforded incredible views across the whole of the City of
Leaving Las Vegas.
Gondola within the Venetian Hotel. Vegas and where I was pursued by an Afro American ‘hooker’ whose gender was questioned the following day by the rest of the guys before closing the evening with a return to the roulette tables. It was there that Phil developed a whole new interpretation of the term 'spread betting'. With the far extremes of the table proving beyond reach from his seated position he ingeniously developed an alcohol influenced method of placing chips, spraying them randomly and more often than not inaccurately with a straight armed sweep similar to that of a farmer sowing his seed causing them to career around the baize like dropped pennies before coming to rest, mostly outside the playing area.
After a day of rest interspersed with a punishment trip to the hotel gymnasium we did it all over again.
I was fully aware Vegas’s hotels were themed, all very well for painting a picture in one’s mind but which goes nowhere near successfully describing the sheer magnitude of the buildings that lined the strip. The murals and incredible indoor canal system which flowed around the Venetian complete with gondola’s, bridge of sighs and fluffy clouded, bird filled sky ceiling, the huge
Leaving Las Vegas.
St Mark's Square, Venice.... or is it The Venetian Hotel, Vegas ? outdoor lake and musically choreographed fountains that fronted The Bellagio and the one third sized Eiffel Tower outside Paris were the three that time allowed us to visit. All were enough to create a lasting impression as was the lovely crabs legs and steak dinner we fitted in somewhere in between although this was somewhat more memorable for the cardiac arrest inducing one hundred and sixty dollar a head bill than for the uniqueness of the meal.
The night ended as the sun came up watching top British DJ Paul Oakenfold’s first ever US residency at The Palms' 'Rain' Nightclub which I sensed due to disappearance wasn't the rest of our parties ideal way of ending the weekend but which was perfect for me, bright lights and loud music, and bar for hanging around in the gym and solarium waiting for our delayed early evening flight later that day it was all over. I'd survived my initial Vegas experience relatively unscathed and as Phil and I settled into our leather Jet Blue seats I reflected on the experience.
Thankfully my initial concerns had not materialized. For a weekend ‘blow out’ Vegas is the bee’s knee’s, perfect for letting
Leaving Las Vegas.
Drinks at The Ghost Bar. one’s hair down in a shower of glitz and glamour and certainly something to look forward to and get excited about. We'd stayed clear of trouble that can so often materialise in such places (bizarelly I hadn't seen a policeman all weekend) where alcohol plays a huge part in life and also avoided the seedier side and emerged unscathed bar for a couple of heavily laden eye bags, an additional few pounds around the waist and the disappearance of a heck of a lot more pounds from the wallet.
Having said all that anything longer than a weekend would be a completely different kettle of fish and probably enough to either see you climbing the walls of your hotel room or booking into the local meet ups of either Gamblers or Alcoholics Anonymous but I'll be back of that I'm sure. Come to think of it I'll be back in just ten days when big brother Jon rides into town and I'm already looking forward to it.
Away from pure enjoyment there is always of course the frustrations of everyday life. This week I have finally received my bill for the speeding offence which occured two months ago.
Leaving Las Vegas.
Dinner for eight... 160 bucks a head ! L to R; Andy, Paul, Stuart, Tim, Phil, Me, Hank, Ian and Dan. Three hundred and twelve dollars plus a ten dollar processing fee. Fair enough until you discover out here that to avoid penalty points on your licence and a dramatic increase in insurance costs when your premium is next due for renewal there is the added cash generating pain in the ass known as 'Traffic School'.
'Traffic School' can either be attended in person at a weekend or carried out on line. Either option takes up eight hours of your personal time of which there is precious little anyway, costs around sixty dollars to participate and is a question and answer means of proving that you know how to drive. I only proved that four months ago for heavens sake and to me it is no different to the juvenile deterrent of after school detention with 1,000 lines stating, 'I must not exceed the speed limit'. Everybody who drives knows the risks associated with exceeding the speed limits and the hefty fine should be penalty and deterrent enough. If it isn't then tough luck but to generate cash at the same time as rubbing the puppies nose in the shite just makes no sense to me whatsoever.
Work is
Leaving Las Vegas.
Me 'n' Phil on The Strip. also causing it's frustrations and not just with the infuriating commute. It may be just me but with the odd exception people here appear either rude, ignorant, incredibly shy or all three. Many is the time I've been approaching someone in the passageway from twenty yards away allowing both of us plenty of time to prepare for the nod of the head, the small smile or even a small word that we recognise as a greeting and then, when the moment arrives and we draw alongside they'll look away, look at the floor or stare straight ahead zombie like and march on by leaving me shaking my head in disbelief. I remember writing in my world travel blogs that a smile is the best and cheapest present anyone could either give or receive, it warms the heart and yet appears that here at FE some people will avoid that heat at any costs. I'm still working on the reasons and rest assured will let you know when I discover them.
On several occasions too I've held a door open only for the person to walk through and on without so much as a by your leave, so many occasions
Leaving Las Vegas.
Sin City. Dial a girl. that I've now taken to shouting after them in a raised voice "Oh, thanks very much" a shout which usually causes a hesitant return of thanks to splutter forth in response.
In the meantime until I'm told different I'll carry on regardless, ploughing up the 405, being ignored and looking forward to big Jerry's imminent arrival and my return to Sin City.
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Mel
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Licence to Travel
Thanks! I really enjoyed your writings. I try to find people who are humorous or creative in their "ramblings." A lot of the writers on Travel Blog write short excerpts where they "tell" rather than "show" the scene (a fault I often find myself in as well) and reading can be tedious. Your blogs are one of the most well written blogs I have come across. How long does it take you to write a piece? Do you do much editing after the first draft? Yup, my parents commercial fish in Alaska during the summer season and that is enough to carry them through the rest of the year. This freedom gives them the ability to travel, and my parents love to travel! (They also hate Alaska in the winter, so it is a form of escape in many respects). I am off to Peru in about five or six weeks (I have yet to commit to the plane ticket--trying to avoid seeing 1500 sucked from my bank account for as long as possible) and I hope to travel around SA as much as possible. I, too, am trying to escape these awful Fairbanks winters. :) Happy ramblings............Mel