Well, if I was to die over food, I’d definitely die over that Kobe beef burger on a multigrain bun, topped with pepper jack cheese, caramelized onions and oyster mushrooms. The flavours Sandy and I had chosen perfectly balanced the tender, juicy burger, which was unlike anything I’d ever tasted. It practically melted, that Kobe beef.
One great meal, and our last great meal in Vegas. For now, anyway.
The rest of the afternoon we take in some more sights, just walking around and being together. We see the streets, the shops, and the tourists coming in droves for the weekend. We’re both people watchers, Sandy and I.
We see the New York, New York, only because we haven’t seen it yet. It’s quite the structure, based on the famous buildings of the Big Apple skyline, and an honest to goodness fake Statue of Liberty blessing the passerby. But inside the hotel, it’s… kind of bland. I’ve never been to the real New York, but I certainly hope all the stores aren’t that flea market-ish in comparison.
On our way back to the Walkarail we also see the Excalibur, a mess of chivalry and suits of armour in the guise of a castle-shaped hotel & casino. It’s like the grand puke of Medieval Times, with slot machines.
We have a few hours left before heading to the airport, and we spend it in the soon to be defunct Desert Passage, in the soon to be forgotten Aladdin. Desert Passage is over a hundred shops situated in the Arabian Nights mindset, though I’m quite sure Ali Baba never had use for a Discovery Channel Store. Except maybe the money counter, or voice thrower. It might have helped fool the 40 thieves.
As I mentioned before, there’s a fake oasis in the plunk middle of Desert Passage, with a fake rainfall every hour on weekdays. Overhead sprinklers carefully clustered to aim at the solitary pool do their work, while the lights darken and thunder booms on surround sound. It’s quite enjoyable if you’re at least over five years of age, and those thunder cracks don’t scare the bejesus out of you.
We did enjoy it, over two scoops of ice cream from the Ben & Jerry’s beside the oasis. One cup, two spoons. And after that, Sandy bought a travel steam iron, which made me laugh. Ever the practical man, he is.
It was a couple of hours before our flight, and time to head for McCurran Airport. The cabs from the Aladdin/Planet Hollywood leave from the underground, in the back of the hotel, and to get there we cut through the new, not quite finished Planet Hollywood casino.
It’s a gorgeous creation of dark wood and luminescence; crystal chandeliers and lights of ever changing colours dazzle an array of gaming tables and slot machines. The vibe there is good; the crowd is younger, lots of 30-somethings chatting, drinking, shouting “Hey!” over won rounds of craps.
Passing through there and hearing those shouts, I realize something. “Ace?”
“Yeah, Cheech?”
“Are you are that we’re about to leave Vegas, and we haven’t even really gambled? Outside of slot machines and electronic roulette? We came to VEGAS for Pete’s sake and we’ve haven’t even played a real game!”
“It’s terrible, I know.”
We only have minimal time left, but I can’t leave the trenches without a bit of Blackjack. I find a table with a couple of seats left, take the middle chair, and toss the dealer two $20 bills. Minimum bets are $10, and that’s what I start with. Actually, that’s what I stay with, and five minutes later I’ve doubled my money.
The fourth hand was the best of all. I got an ace of spades right away; the ace cards always remind me of Sandy, naturally, and since he was standing behind my chair, I leaned backwards and he gave me a kiss. It was like a scene straight out of a movie when I pulled away from his kiss to see the dealer come around with my second card; a king of hearts. Blackjack!
It was a shame we had to leave so early since that winning vibe was in the air, but home was waiting. I said my goodbyes to the Blackjack table, and we ran downstairs to hail a cab. Once inside and on the way to the airport, I said to Sandy, “It was a good trip.
“Yes Cheeh, it was. Thanks.”
“Ditto.”
Our flight was delayed a bit, giving us dinner time to share a four-cheese pizza at Wolfgang Puck Express, and a few minutes for some shut-eye in the terminal waiting area. When we board the plane, a rather shabby United craft, it is time again for my prayer of departure.
Vacation three has proved to be
Quite the adventure, yet again.
Vegas lights, glittery strip.
The appearance of flip flops
Though minimal, is always nice.
Howie, shine on.
Miles of food, oy.
Walkarail, I won’t miss you.
New sunglasses, bargain couture.
Sharing lattes and dessert
Is divine,
Especially with my Sandy.
May life be one big
Blackjack.
Our flight is blissfully uneventful, and we only have enough time in Chicago to get to our connector gate, and stop for coffee on the way. And then, shortly after, we were home.
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5 comments:
Is it possible that EVERY single flight that EVER leaves Vegas is delayed? I've been twice and both times I had lengthy delays. Is it also coincidence that there are a billion slot machines in the airport? I think not.
Remind me to tell you my Blackjack/Vegas story next time I see you. I'm an idiot.
What an awesome way to end the trip, Blackjack!
Lance, it's possible that the pilots need to get out and play a few rounds before the next flight. The strip is super close to the airport.
Natalie, it was totally awesome, and I wish we'd thought of it sooner. Perfect way to end what was thought to be a gambling vacation, anyway!
Lance, you make me laugh! I'm going to ask you about your blackjack story next time I see you also.
I haven't had all my flights delayed at the airport .... only a few, say 4 out of 11. (I know, that 11 is such a sad, sad number - oh well) I thought it was the McCarran Int'l Airport? - but at the same time, what do I know....
Doesn't blackjack ROCK! Same thing happened to me last time we were in Vegas ... I started winning on the slots just as we started boarding .... damn!
And I TOLD YOU that Kobe beef burger was to DIE for. Yummy.
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