Day 1: Exodus (again)

How lucky am I that I got to take a third trip this year? There was no pond crossing, but this second sojourn south was every bit as exciting as the journeys before it.

Las Vegas, Nevada, a.k.a. Sin City: town of excitement, lights, and faux glamour, a hedonistic Disneyland for adults with (sometimes) deep pockets. This was our destination, Sandy’s first ever, and it started out with a snowstorm that kept our plane on the tarmac for hours. Home storm, naturally, and part of our reason for getting away this time of year, is to get away from the weather.

A couple of de-icings, three hours and dozens of Ipod Tetris games later we land in Denver, stranded for another few hours because we missed our connector, dad blast it. We get our names on the standby list and then roam the airport, admiring the gorgeous Colorado mountains while drinking very large coffees.

An hour later Sandy and I make it onto the next flight, but we don’t get to sit together. ‘Tis the reality of standby. Instead, I end up between a yuppie downing cheap beer, and a cell phone salesman who’s as big a Tetris junkie as I am. Sandy ends up beside a couple in their golden years, clinging to one another in great anticipation of seeing the Bellagio fountains dance to Con te Partiro. Nauseating.

I miss the lights of Vegas when the plane lands; the turbulence of being thousands of feet over sea level gives flux to my airport neurosis. Sandy gets a great view and I’m glad; he’s never seen it before. We collect our luggage (everything’s arrived safely this time, phew), and board the back seat of a full shuttle bus.

It’s a cornucopia of colourful people, that bus, representing what I remembered as your typical Vegas crowd. The obligatory cowboy complete with ten-gallon hat, snakeskin boots and plump wife; the well-to-do father and his daughter in serious designer garb; a middle-aged couple with the wide eyes of first timers, and a well suited gentleman who could have easily passed for Sammy Davis Junior’s secret son.

The shuttle drops its people off one by one, and repeatedly sends Sandy and I into the air going over some hectic speed bumps. We are the last of the group to be dropped off at our hotel, and it’s just after 10pm that we check in at the Paris Las Vegas.

Mon Dieu, Vegas takes its impersonations seriously, and the Paris is a spectacular example of grandly simulated excess. First is the hotel itself, a magnificent hybrid of the Paris Opera House and Le Louvre, with a half-scale Eiffel Tower jutting out in front. The Eiffel Tower, people. In front of the building is a replica of La Fontaine des Mers, and to the side of the hotel is a massive Paris sign on a big, blue Montgolfier balloon.

As if all this wasn’t enough, sandwiched beside the hotel and balloon is an Arc de Triomphe, complete with authentic street roundabout to make you feel snobbishly French, and appropriately dizzy.

Inside, the Paris is a monstrosity of fake cobblestone streets and boutiques, potpourri and patisseries, nestled in a hell of betting tables and slot machines. Vegas is still Vegas, after all. The check-in desk is like something out of Versailles, all cream walls with golden trim, works of art and dazzling crystal chandeliers.

I stayed at the Paris my first time in Vegas and wanted to give Sandy the experience of a) a great hotel, and b) being central to the strip. I figured La Victoriana in Frisco had been punishment enough for a first timer, and wanted a better guarantee of more comfortable surroundings for him. Call me selfish, but I also wanted us to have our very own bathroom this time, too.

As expected, our room doesn’t disappoint: red and chocolate tones of wall to wall carpet, king size bed with oversize leather headboard, entertainment unit with massive flat screen TV. A desk and ultrasuede chaise are beside the floor to ceiling windows that overlook La Pretend Tour Eiffel, and a clear view to the Bellagio across the way. The bathroom, just for us, is covered in marble, with a tub and glass-walled shower, and plenty of thick, soft white towels.

Our first night in Vegas. I’ve had this night planned for weeks: gambling, sightseeing, and dinner at Caesar’s Forum. In reality, the long day has us yawning and exhausted, so we order hamburgers from room service, then collapse into bed for some blissful sleep.

Maybe that makes us boring, but we just got here. Plenty of time for everything. We’ll sightsee tomorrow.