Day 2: La Dolce Vita

First stop: Le Notre. That’s the patisserie on the main level of the Paris. Sandy and I get two gigantic lattes, and share a raspberry turnover for breakfast. Price: $21. I don’t remember Vegas being this expensive.

Second stop: Wedding chapel in the Paris. We wanted to book an appointment for our wedding later that week. That’s right, WE GOT MARRIED!!!!

Nah, don’t believe that. Could you picture me getting married by Elvis? Nuh uh. But we did want to see what the famed Vegas wedding chapels looked like, and took our time nosing around. It’s amazing, when you’re a couple, or at least assumed to be a couple, no one bothers you as you run amuck through love land, sticking your head into every chapel door. No one asks for an appointment, either. I guess they thought we were future business prospects.

The two chapels in the Paris were lovely, in a very funeral parlor sort of way. Pretty neutral colours, pretty curtains, pretty covered chairs. No windows, old-fashion podium, and creepy mural of flowers in an urn. Blech. If I’d ever entertained the thought of getting hitched in Vegas, the notion died right then and there.

Next stop: at last, sightseeing on the strip. I’d checked out the Vegas weather forecast a week before we left, and was mighty excited to see 20 degrees Celsius dotted across the map. Yeehaw! I’d packed my flip flops, pedicured my toes a deep orchid, and readied myself for that first glow of Mojave sunshine.

Boy, was I sorry the minute I stepped outside to clouds, wind, and even some flurries. Poopy. But not enough to deter me from showing off my piggies, so I grit my teeth and off we went.

We breezed through the Desert Passage shops of the Aladdin (soon to the Planet Hollywood Casino & Hotel, by the way), and admired the nice fake rainfall over the nice fake oasis. Oh, Vegas. You masters of glamorous fraud, you. And then, we ran across the street to the Bellagio.

When you go to Sin City, “running” across the street is more of a 20 minute affair. Everything is just so spaced out and the hotels are so gynormous, that you really need to invest time wisely. We walked, we ran, we took the journey that seemed to take us nowhere, and were accosted 8726 times to purchase timeshares. Busy city.

We get to the Bellagio, and admire the opulence. It was modeled after Lake Como in Italy, and has a lake in front, complete with atrocious fountain show every night. If I never again see sprinklers go haywire to the warblings of Celine Dion, my heart will go on.

Inside, the Bellagio is magnificent: a ceiling of mouth-blown glass flowers, botanical gardens in back, and waterfall of liquid milk and white chocolate encased behind glass, surrounded by the ding ding ding of slot machines and gaming tables as far as the eye can see.

After the Bellagio we trek to Caesar’s Palace, a grand bloodletting of the infamous Roman Empire. If you wish to bed a fake gladiator not working in a nudie bar, I can assure you that you will find him here. Caesar’s Palace is home to Caesar’s Forum, bevy of shops and restaurants, among which is the Cheesecake Factory.

I always make a trip to the Cheesecake factory when in the vicinity of one, which isn’t often, because there aren’t any at home. I always order the same thing, too: Avocado egg rolls, Bang Bang Chicken & Shrimp, and a slice of Macadamia Cheesecake. If I’m sounding like a bit of a glutton, fear not: the best part of going to Cheesecake Factory is sharing the lot.

Sandy’s a rookie to the Cheesecake Factory, and absolutely loved the avocado egg rolls. He had a craving for Edamame, and ordered those too. I was justifiably worried when my Bang Bang and his Orange Chicken came, because the portion sizes are mental, but I quickly discovered the secret: eat *around* the bucket of rice in the middle of your plate.

Apres all that food, we’re popping at the seams. But a visit to the Cheesecake factory just isn’t complete without one thing. “Hey Ace…”

At this point, Sandy is slumped over on his side of the booth, sucking down his club soda and struggling vainly to breathe. I am faring no better, as that was one serious meal. “Yeah, Cheech?”

“You know, coming to the Cheesecake Factory just isn’t the same without some cheesecake.”

He gapes at me. “You’re not serious?”

Unfortunately, I am. “I’m stuffed out of my mind, but it’s your first time here ever. We’ll share a slice.”

“Noooo….”

“We won’t even eat the whole thing… it’s all for the sake of the moment… I swear…”

I was dead serious too, the thought of eating anything else at that point sounded dangerous. Sandy put his club soda down, straightened up and said, “How about we order the slice, and the take-away container to bring it back to the hotel room for later?”

“Deal.”

We get a slice of the White Chocolate Caramel Macadamia, complete with bag, container and two plastic forks, but decide to christen it with one bite. Then two. Then three. When you’re sharing cake it all goes so quickly, and the slice was gone before you knew it. So was our self-respect when we stood up and the extent of our fullness hit us, but heck. It was his first time at the Cheesecake Factory.

After lunch we spend a few hours touring the rest of the Forum, admiring the shops but not the prices. I pick up a $600 purse and put it down again. I pick up $1200 sunglasses and put down those, too. The $2000 spring jacket was lovely, but who am I kidding? If I’m going to do any shopping here, I have to do some serious winning first.

We also go to F.A.O. Schwartz, and buy colourful, striped kazoos and black retro Slinkys. I even play the big floor piano, just like Tom Hanks in Big.

And, we ride the Las Vegas monorail. This is supposed to make Vegas touring easier, which is a big farce. Sure it takes you somewhere, but you still have to walk the remaining three miles to your destination. Sandy and I re-christened it the Walk-a-Rail.

Our last touristy spot for the evening is the Venetian, an impresario of the glory of Venice, complete with grand canal and opera singing gondoliers. By the time we get there we’re running on empty, so we spend the better part of our evening contemplating the overly blue canal water, while sitting at an oxygen bar with tubes up our noses. That’s right, we spent 20 minutes inhaling overpriced, eucalyptus air on the premise that it was to give us more energy than downing a case of Red Bull.

Piffle. It gave us enough energy to drag ourselves to a midnight snack at the Barbary Coast. Steak & Eggs served 24/7 for $13.95. At last, prices we can agree with.

After we drag ourselves back to the Paris, up the elevators and back to our room, Sandy is comatose within minutes. I follow shortly after, but not until realizing that I just spent my first day on the strip touring all the Italian-themed hotels, with a genuine Italian.

Divertente.