On my feet early and to LAX airport for a troublesome flight to Vegas. I was booked on a regional version of American Airlines called American Eagle and having gone through the whole security procedure we were bussed out to a small satellite terminal, independent to the other main buildings where a series of attractive, small jets were sat on the tarmac waiting to fly to destinations in the area. The flight to Las Vegas, we were told, would be delayed half an hour due to technical difficulties (the non-specific airline equivalent of a child saying they feel 'sick' on a school morning) and then told it was cancelled and we'd be put upon an American West flight leaving that afternoon. Remarkably I was the only one of the thirty or so passengers that uttered an expletive.
This involved getting a bus back to Terminal Two, which we had to leave for Terminal One, check in again, go back through security, and in a very limited amount of time. I doubted we'd make it and sat back on the bus, most shared my pessimism. But we needn't have worried, the American West flight was delayed by a couple of hours because it was still in Nevada receiving maintenance for it's own technical misgivings. The good thing about pessimism is that you naturally assume you'll never get to where you want to go and so I sat in the bar watching Australia rally to a draw against Croatia with a bunch of Antipodeans. It was enough to see Oz through to the next round with Brazil and so we cracked open a few more. The World Cup is being watched keenly in America.
I left the bar to just check the flight hadn't been less delayed to see our gate empty. Apparently we'd now been moved to another one which meant legging it through the terminal where we were boarding prematurely. I'd have missed this one too if any of the information they'd given us had been correct. But soon we were on our way on the short hop, and the promise of getting to Vegas was realised after a whole day spent in the airport.
Landing in Vegas is surreal. The airport is next to The Strip, which all the casinos line, and so a fake Eiffel Tower passes your window, followed by a mock-up New York, then a black pyramid before tyre meets concrete. Whist most airports look alike, in this instance you know you're not landing in Southampton.
110 degrees in Vegas. I've never felt heat like it before and it's comparable to being smacked with a hot towel and then buried in a pit of ashes. You could light a cigarette by pointing it to the sky. There were a line of limousines, not cabs, and it was a very reasonable twenty quid to drive me alone to my hotel, The Plaza, which is slightly away from the action in Downtown. I say away from the action, I mean it's away from the gigantic, famous casinos, but still surrounded by them. Everything's a casino.
I carefully unpacked and felt comfortable that I was now here for a few days, with the essential Modern Drunkard vitamins laid out around the sink. I'd need the vits to survive the following few days of outrageous drinking, coupled with a fresh tube of Berocca. Never leave the Berocca behind, this little miracle I knew would be my saviour.
I took a stroll, keeping out of the sun. A mist of water is sprayed onto you as you walk along the pavement because of the severity of the heat on our wimpy British faces and it's welcome. It's like when it's bitterly cold, you have to plan your manoeuvres. It's weird that LA, a forty five minute flight away, is such a pleasant temperature but Vegas, inland in the desert, is so oppressive. No - it's not weird. Vegas is in a desert, LA is by the sea. An amateur meteorologist could see that's going to make a hell of a difference. Shut up, Stanley.
I walked up as far as The Stratosphere, a huge slender tower - 900 odd feet high - with an observation deck on top. But this being Vegas, there are rides on the top as well. I enjoyed them immensely, taking advantage as they do of making you think you're going to plummet to your death onto the tiny houses and cars way, way below. One is perched on the edge of the tower, sits you in a traditional roller coaster car, and is stationed on a single piece of metal jutting out thirty feet over the edge. The metal then dips down on an axle, leaving you staring at the ground below before you shoot forward along it - to certain death - before jamming to halt at the end, staring down at your presumed doom. It's not pleasant. Another, which if I remember right is called Insanity, really is an insane idea. You sit upright in your block of two seats and begin to swirl around in a circle, looking at your fellow riders opposite and to the side. Then the arm of the carrousel swings out over the edge of the tower, so your feet are dangling 900 feet above the ground, and you spin around - the centrifugal force tilting you outwards - in one of the more bizarre experiences of my life. It's the best ride I've ever been on, without question.
It was dark now and the view of shimmering Vegas was wonderful. Back on the ground, I walked up the main strip to the famous, gargantuan casinos that are ludicrous in scale. One, called Treasure Island, has a galleon outside it on a lake and I saw the end of their pirate show which hundreds of people had stopped to watch. At the climax fireworks shoot high into the sky off the top of the hotel - and to think this happens several time as night. It's tacky, yes, but if you're afraid of tack you're in the wrong place, you have to treat tackiness as an art form, one that has been wonderfully mastered here.
I eventually settled in The Mirage at a bar called Stack and was joined by my old friend Jennifer, freshish from Denver. We drunk in the casino before getting in touch with the Modern Drunkard mob who were back downtown, drinking in the Vegas Club casino.
It was great seeing Frank, Christa, Jimmy, Brian, Lorin and Troy again. It's like a drunkard family. We went through until the early hours until Frank and Christa left, having to set up the first day of the convention in the morning, and I too retired after a game on the roulette table that eventually saw me an incredible three dollars up. Tomorrow the real show in town begins.
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