Las Vegas
/lotsa party/
noun
plural noun: lasvegas
1. Disneyland for grownups.
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Ahhh Vegas! Land of the All Day Buffet and Celine Dion. Home to photo-ops with pretty young things in angels wings and gold bikinis, teetering on impossibly high stilettos and gravity defying bosoms (trying desperately to escape their metallic lurex confinement). Soon-to-be home of Britney Spears (meh).
Where else can you walk the streets with a yard glass margarita - and refill it along the way? Or play a round of gold amongst rattlesnakes? (real snakes, not co-players).
I
adore Las Vegas. For many reasons (none of which are listed above, so don't go rolling your eyes).
I love driving in to town at dusk and seeing the latest ginormous billboards along the highway - advertising a divorce lawyer, or a plastic surgeon. Or a divorce lawyer who is also a plastic surgeon. I love the familiarity of our hotel - and knowing our way around when we want to wander the streets, sober OR drunk.
Most of all, I love the vibe. It's that low, energetic hum when you open the triple glazed sliding glass doors 33 stories up - and the wave of heat that rises as you gaze out over the Strip. There's an X factor to Vegas that just cannot be quantified. You either love it. Or you loathe it. Luckily for us, there is always a sign convention of some sort going on. So our holiday becomes a junket and we write off the trip as a tax deduction. Am I right? Or am I right?
We pulled into town late afternoon and decided to grab a new suitcase for our ever-growing collection of tacky souvenirs. So we stopped at DD's Discounts in a local shopping centre and bought what we thought was a fairly decent grade large luggage roller bag for AUD$70. The we went "home" - which is the Signature Suites on Harmon, just off the Strip near MGM. Collectively, we've spent around 30 nights in Vegas over the years. So we know our way around well. The Signature ticks all the boxes for our tastes. Non-gaming (don't laugh) non-smoking and very few kids. Private and secure - it sits among landscaped gardens in a gated community of three golden towers that overlook the Strip - or the Valley. We always opt for a Strip view for obvious reasons - tonight's room would be a Junior Suite in Tower 3.
Checking in to the Signature is less manic than most establishments. You arrive off Harmon Ave and sidle up to the elegant security gates - where a friendly chap welcomes you. He confirms your name and advises which tower you are checking in to, before opening the wrought iron welcome mat. Drive a few metres and you are outside your tower and greeted by efficient Valets. There is a reception and concierge in each tower, so you stroll up to the desk almost immediately. One glaring omission is the lack of recognition that you are a returning guest. In comparison, the Intercontinental almost gushes with gratitude, but the Signature - although courteous and professional, will simply process your booking and smile graciously as they outline the floorplan and features of the Hotel. I've left a few reviews under my Tripadvisor alias, but for the purpose of this years stay, I have flown under the radar and not bothered to review it. One might almost assume, that I have failed to recognize it as a returning stay?
So up to the 19th floor for tonight's hospitality. We settled in and figured we'd better pack the myriad of coughpy souvenirs we'd acquired so far. We've always bought from DD's, but was dismayed to see the suitcase handle break the moment we opened it. Too tired to return and refund - we filled it, locked it - then went in search of a cool drink and a hot snack.
We found both in the hotel lobby sports bar. A wall, dedicated to 3 flat screens, all showing a different sport, a bucket of Coronas and some chilli cheese fries. All we needed was a massage function on the leather armchairs and we were set. No such luck. We managed to catch some baseball (Dodgers were in the World Series) before sleep beckoned and we hit the sack.
Next morning we awoke and were greeted by a friendly phone call that advised we could now change rooms. We ducked down to the Miracle Mile for a traditional eggs/bacon breakfast sitting on the "outside" of the inside. (All cafes are inside this mall, but have pretend outdoor seating under a fake blue sky. Totally kitsch and totally fab). Breakfast under our belt, we jogged (wandered slowly) back to the Signature.
For the last few years, we've booked a 1 bedroom corner suite. We were lucky today - they upgraded us to a penthouse on the 33rd floor. My ears popped as we rose in the elevator.
At over 950 square feet - it boasts a massive living area, huge master bedroom, 2 bathrooms, balcony, hot tub, full kitchen (as if I'm going to cook) and 3 TV's - one in the bathroom (laugh now). One of those TV's rises from the desk in the master on command - pretty impressive a few years back, but now more of a lame inclusion. But the master bathroom is heavenly. I could do laps in the spa tub. And I have my own private vanity with a luxurious little pouffe stool and a very strong mirror for old eyes like mine. The spa was filled with a deliciously scented bubble bath concoction. It was just what I needed for a break from the crusty Toyota and Route 66, which were both a distant memory as I sank beneath the sudsy depths.
images 1 and 2 courtesy of the internet - my photo wasn't nearly as nice.
image courtesy of the internet - despite the heat, we never went swimming!
Our first 2 nights in Vegas were incredible. We strolled through so many shops, hotels and totally immersed ourselves in the atmosphere. The days were mild and the nights were clear. I noticed how many families and fiftysomething couples there were this year. All happy and sociable - and instead of ducking drunks and schoolies, we were weaving through a maze of prams and "Just Married" lovebirds wearing very common sense sneakers and toting a takeaway chardy. In direct contrast to previous visits - there was also a distinct lack of hard core salespeople trying to lure us into some seedy show.
The Strip may need to change its name - the well dressed oldies and their sensible sandals are moving in. And there is scarcely a hint of flesh to be seen.
Which, at our age - is a
good thing.