Viva Las Vegas

Las Vegas appears as a sun-scorched mirage in the Nevada desert. Built on broken dreams, cocktail napkin promises and the undying hope that maybe this is the night the dice will roll your way. Equal parts grit, neon and existential dread, Vegas has something for everyone, as long as you brought your wallet.

I drive the trusty but dusty Chevy down the Strip, a gauntlet of light filled with darkness. The city center is compact and the hotels are dead easy to find. Just look for giant black pyramids, faux castles and similarly lavish buildings.

The subtle view from our hotel room.

Fortunately the arrival to Sin City is less shaky than the one by Johnny Depp and Benicio del Toro in “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” (1998), and I even manage to stay off the sidewalk. The valet get the car key and sneeres a bit for not getting enough tip (the tip is never enough, even if you would give them a brick of gold).

Next step is to be oozing cool like George Clooney in Ocean’s Eleven, look as well-connected as Frank Sinatra and stay away from the freebie drinks to avoid ending up like Nicholas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas. But in reality I soon feel more like the later edition of Elvis, both size-wise after gorging on the ridiculously large buffets, and look-wise as I’m sweating like a pig in the heat while navigating through the hordes of drunk tourists roaming freely between the casino areas.

The Venetian in Las Vegas.

I tried to make up for the expensive hotel rates by filling my plate to match Mr Creosote, but soon discovered that I stood no chance in comparison to the tiny grandmas who ate twice as much, with only cakes on their plate.

The Grand Canal inside The Venetian.

The city is a carefully constructed trap where time melts under casino lights and no one really knows what day it is. Clocks don’t exist here. You’re always losing in the long run, choking on passive cigarette smoke, numbed by the hypnotic ding-ding of machines built to take your soul a quarter at a time. What happens here stays here. Not because it’s too wild, but because it often just doesn’t make sense anywhere else.

The trick is to not play by the rules. In Vegas, everything is a show, so go with the flow but stay away from the casino areas. Walk along the canals and piazzas of The Venetian, see a medieval tournament in the basement of Excalibur, gaze at the music fountain outside the Bellagio, check out the volcano at Mirage, take the derelict roller-coaster among the skyscrapers of New York and finally sit down at a Cold Stone ice cream parlor.

Viva Las Vegas, baby. Just don’t forget where the exits are.