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| Can you spot the "Exit" sign in this picture? No, me either |
I've been back from the U.S. a week now, but I'm still processing a lot of our experiences. There'll be future blogs extolling the various and plentiful virtues of San Francisco. Perhaps I'll compare the menus of restaurant chains like the Cheesecake Factory, Rainforest Cafe, Joe's Crab Shack and Red Robin.
Today's offering though, is an effort to exorcise the demons of Las Vegas.
I know what happens in Vegas is supposed to stay there, but my first few hours scarred me emotionally and I feel obliged to share my experiences as a warning to other would-be revellers.
Las Vegas, it turns out, is in the middle of the desert. This means it can get pretty hot there, even in spring. We arrived after a week in moderate Anaheim to a blindingly clear, 35 degree afternoon. The good news here was our hotel had a wide selection of swimming pools available to us. The bad news was I'd left my board shorts in Disneyland. Bugger.
You know how it is; when you're living in a hotel room, the hunt is always on to find the best location in which to hang wet things. There are two basic requirements - you don't want dripping togs in your face and you'd quite like them to be dry in time for the next swim. I thought I'd discovered the ideal possie in our room in Anaheim... a rail running across the window. Lots of light for drying and tucked neatly out of sight behind the curtains.
The problem there, (which you may have already spotted) is things that are tucked neatly out of sight can be quite difficult to spot when it comes time to pack your bags. At this point I'd like to make a suggestion to any budding app developers out there. Can I suggest an app that might be called something like "RePack" which uses your smart phone to scan everything you take OUT of your suitcase and creates a checklist to ensure you put each item back in. I can't be expected to remember these things myself.
The point is, I arrived in the City of Sin one pair of togs down. As I'd only brought one pair of togs to begin with, I was officially screwed. "Don't worry about me, guys," I assured the Domestic Manager and the 2 monsters, "You go on down to the pool. We've got some outlet shopping scheduled in tomorrow. I'll be able to replace my board shorts then."
Domestic Manager and monsters poo-pooed this plan immediately. No fun could possibly be had aquatically without Dad. Who would be the crocodile in the crocodile game, for example?
Therefore Plan B was hastily formulated. Domestic Manager and monsters would form an advance party pool-side, while I Googled the nearest ABC store in order to snare myself a cheap pair of swimming trunks.
"There's one just around the corner on The Strip," I exclaimed as they headed off in their fancy schmancy bathing suits. "Give me 15 minutes and I'll be right there. 20 at the most."
My trusty Samsung Galaxy gave me excellent directions... once I was outside. What I SHOULD have asked it was, how to GET outside.
We were installed in Tower 2 of the MGM Signature, which is one of three towers about a block back from the MGM Grand, all connected up by an internal walkway, complete with travelators. After just 5 minutes or so I found my way into the MGM Grand, so that was a start.
Little did I know, my ill-fated expedition was only just beginning.
There was a block of shops, (sadly, not swimwear shops) a food court and several restaurants. All part of the MGM Grand, and all before I even got to the main casino. According to the signs I'd have to traverse the gaming floor to make it to the lobby. By this stage my initial 15 minute mission estimate was looking wildly optimistic, especially given I'd already been gone 15 minutes.
Never mind, how big could this casino possibly be?
Oh, it's big.
And noisy. And crowded. And confusing. And all the walkways seem to lead to other bits of it. Some signs pointed to theatres, others to more bars and restaurants. Some promised the main lobby, but continued to fail to deliver me the main lobby. I was beginning to wish I'd set out more prepared - you know, food, water, backpack... maybe an emergency locator beacon.
By the time I was approaching the half-hour mark, I was completely disorientated and starting to panic. Then suddenly the lobby came into view. Quite a big lobby. In fact, there was a full-sized boxing ring in the middle of it to promote an upcoming fight. However, the main lobby's most redeeming feature was the large row of glass doors at the other side of it. Behind them I could see light, real light, DAYlight. Saints be praised! I was going to breathe fresh air again.
Cars, limos, bellboys, valets. Where was the street, god dammit? Where?
A staircase, a footpath and I'd made it. I was out. I couldn't remember my name or what country I was from anymore but I was out and now I just had to find the store, find some togs and hit the pool.
Except wait. This wasn't The Strip. The sign I was looking at said this was something called Tropicana Avenue. "Why aren't you Las Vegas Boulevard!" I demanded. "What have you done with my ABC store?" I may have cried a little bit at this point, it's not important. As I mentioned before, it was hot outside.
A walked aimlessly one way, then the other, mumbling like a drunk except making less sense and looking more dangerous to bystanders.
Finally I saw I yet another sign; "THIS WAY TO LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD."
I no longer knew how long I'd been gone. Minutes, hours, days maybe. It didn't matter. I was going to find that ABC store if it killed me. By now my desperate heart was beating so fast that possibility seemed all too likely.
More stairs. Then strangely an outdoor elevator. A pedestrian overpass. And...
I was back in the MGM Grand Casino.
I started crying again. The normal laws of physics do not apply in Las Vegas. I hadn't lost my money, just my will to live. And I'd only been there one afternoon.
I don't remember the details of my voyage back to my family. Like Hillary's decent from Everest, it wasn't the important part of the story.
A lifetime later I emerged blinking at the pool, confronted by a cocktail-sipping Domestic Manager who seemed confused by my continued lack of appropriate swimwear. "Just go in in your shorts," she said.
She's an ideas woman, that Domestic Manager.
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| Then even if you DO make it outside, you may regret what you see |
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