[TRAVEL: LAS VEGAS]
In March and April, 1971, author Hunter S. Thompson and
prominent Mexican-American political activist and attorney Oscar Zeta Acosta
took two trips to Las Vegas, Nevada for two assignments: writing photo captions
for SPORTS ILLUSTRATED's coverage of the Mint 400 and covering the National
District Attorneys Association's Conference on Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs
for ROLLING STONE. Thompson's
experiences—injected with a dash of gonzo journalism and psychedelics—became
the great counterculture novel FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS, chronicling the
demise of 60's peace and love hippy sensibilities and foreshadowing the excess
and greed of the late 70's and 80's.
The decadent and flashy novel replayed through my head as
the Southwest plane sliced the cool and cloudless afternoon and touched down
onto Nevada soil—my first sojourn to Vegas.
The tan, sandy landscape contrasts the green and wet climates I normally
inhabit. My lips are already chapping.
I am traveling with Adelle, my ghoulfriend, and Huxley, a
plush hippo we purchased at Disney's Animal Kingdom during a Thanksgiving
excursion. Plush hippos are only capable
of four things: sleeping all day, snuggling, traveling to exotic lands, and
eating people. Today, Huxley was in good
spirits, so the other flyers were safe as we exited the plane and entered the
desert kingdom.
Slot machines thrust their hungry hands in front of newsstands
and bathrooms; their electronic hum denies soda dispensers and fast food
outlets a chance to speak. Several
air-weary souls are already feeding the slots dollars which they happily
slurp. Slot machines seldom choke on
cold hard cash, especially when the bills wear a few zeros for badges.
We hop a shuttle to the Luxor, passing several seedy motels
before hitting the edge of the strip and getting dropped off at the Egyptian
pyramid that would be our home for the next few days.
The Luxor's architecture is beautiful, a magical blend of
ancient and modern. Egyptian deities
adorn the walls, watching mortals kneel before swank bars and neon
salvation. Starbucks and Chris Angel,
gift shops and poker tables, restaurants and exhibits—an entire city filled
with everything you could possibly need or desire confined within the towering
edifice. My first glimpse at how easily
Las Vegas molds reality.
Techno hangs in the air while we wait for check in,
throbbing out of sync with the dings and alarms of the slots. Where New Orleans is a city rooted in live
bands and jazz, Vegas is an electronica mecca.
Ads for world class DJs like Tiesto, Benny Benassi, and David Guetta
flash across screens everywhere you look.
Already Las Vegas is showing me how deep its relationship with
electricity runs, how insistent it is on being modern and cutting edge.
The front desk clerk is deep-south friendly, and explains
that although our room is on a lower level of the pyramid, we have a great view
of the pool and we can upgrade to a higher spot between 11 a.m and 3 p.m. the following morning. After opting for the late check out on Monday,
we get our door keys and ride escalator 2B to our room, throw open the curtains
and behold our amazing view of the pool.
Not what we expected, but we didn't travel to Vegas to hang
out at the room, perving out watching people splash around in their
swimwear. I've already lived in Florida.
The room is nice. Huxley takes to it right away.
In the bathroom, we have soap that looks like a pyramid. I instantly make it a mission to collect as many as these as possible.
We take to the strip, beginning next door with the Excalibur
for dinner at Buca di Beppo were we have fried calamari and a pasta dish Huxley
picked out. The food was excellent, and
our waitress was top notch, turning us onto a free brownie dessert for filling
out a survey online.
After dinner, we barely had enough time to race to the
forecourt of Caesar's Palace where we caught a performance of ABSINTHE, a
risqué vaudeville/variety show featuring acrobats, low-brow comedy, tightrope
walkers, tap dancers, and burlesque dancers under a striped Spiegeltent.
We were VIP, so we sat in the third row and Adelle and
Huxley sipped complimentary champagne from plastic flutes while the lights
dimmed and the fog machines kicked on.
As cigar box girls peddled absinthe cocktails, a disembodied voice
filled the room and asked us to not photograph the performance, so I don't have
evidence of the following events. We
were also warned that there would be vulgar language and jokes, so I settled in
my fold-out chair and hoped for the worse.
The first act featured a man stacking and climbing chairs
until he stood high in the tent's apex, occasionally sliding one of the legs at
the bottom of the stack off the edge of the table he was building on. This was followed by our first burlesque act
of the evening: the Green Fairy, a scantily-clad vixen wearing green, feathered
wings, singing while swinging high above our heads. After an act featuring four Russians
balancing on each other, the host of the show, the Gazillionaire, and his
assistant, Penny Pibbets, dove into a raunchy stand-up routine that singled out
audience members and curicified them for being too sexy, too ugly, too young,
too old, too gay, too republican—the works.
No one was safe, and I found myself wishing Huxley was large enough to
hide behind. Their wrath never focused
on me, and soon the stage was filled with a striptease-within-a-giant-balloon
act, more acrobatics, roller skate ballet, amazing tap dancers, and a tightrope
act, all interlaced with silver tongue humor and beautiful performers.
We left the show and managed to catch the dancing fountain
show from windows in a shopping corridor linking Caesar's Palace to the
Bellagio. In this same hallway, we saw
an outfit worn by the great Nick Cave.
Back on the strip, the lights are so bright they blot out
the stars, and the complex walkways heard people over the multi-lane road
bisecting the sparkling Las Vegas Boulevard.
This maze of allows visitors access to all the hot spots, each casino
its own glitzy world distracting you while slipping two sticky fingers in your
pocket so effortlessly that handing over your money is a legitimate
pleasure.
That's the great con of
Vegas. While New Orleans scam artists
come to you in the form of street hustlers selling strands of broken Mardi Gras
beads or betting five dollars they can tell you where you got your shoes, Vegas
swipes your wallet the moment you cross the welcome sign. Food is expensive, and there is no shortage
of shows, shopping, drinking, and gambling to indulge every whim. Going in with that knowledge, however,
prepares the visitor to spend…and enjoy.
I begin searching for a green plastic Las Vegas visor like
Hunter S. Thompson wore during interviews when discussing his novel. In and out of several tourist trap gift
shops, I find the visor, but not the color I'm seeking.
By the time we returned to the Luxor, the arid night has
left my skin feeling like a salted slug.
I know with all the walking I should be sweating, but not a bead of
perspiration appears on my arms or brow.
I'm a thirsty creature by nature (I assume this has something to do with
a wager I lost to Tantalus), and I found that unquenchable impulse
exponentially enhanced by the atmosphere's lack of humidity. We take some water and fall asleep peacefully
in the comfortable beds.
The next day, I got us lunch from Johnny Rockets at
Excalibur while Adelle got dressed. As I
waited for the food, the restaurant filled with Kool and the Gang's
"Celebration," and four soda jerks came from behind the counter and
danced to the music. All but one of the
girls really got into the dancing; only one seemed embarrassed, and I sensed by
her off-time awkwardness that she was new to the gig.
After lunch, we went back down to the front desk and moved
our room. This time, we landed on the
18th floor. Alas, our view of the pool
was gone, but it was well-replaced.
We moved our stuff and explored the Luxor's lobby where they
were showcasing Bodies as well as a titanic exhibit. Adelle and I found the chapel and posed for a
photo in order to execute a hoax on our loved ones back home.
Posting on Facebook, without any comment or explanation, we
sat back, licked our lips, and waited for responses. Feeding our pleasure, many people congratulated
us, liked the pics, and my phone started ringing. Several friends in California offered to
drive out to Vegas and celebrate with us.
Glorious success!
We hit the strip again, this time starting with Mandalay Bay
where we visited the aquarium.
Not as
impressive as the aquarium on the New Orleans Riverwalk, there was still a lot
to see.
I notice the Las Vegas strip is clean, like Disneyworld
spotless.
No graffiti adorns the
walls. No plastic neon green Hand
Grenade yards to stumble over. New York,
Rome, Paris—all well-kempt. Well, except
for the bums. There's plenty of them,
but they seemed a little less aggressive than the khaki dogs begging for spare
change and leftovers in the French Quarter and the Marigny.
By the time we finished, Adelle's mom, Anna, had arrived
from South Florida.
We regrouped at the
Luxor, got her into the room, and then hit an Irish Pub. Anna had soup and wine while Adelle had a
dark beer. I've been abstaining from
alcohol, so I had water while we talked about our lives.
We wandered around, checking out casinos and making our way
to the heart of the strip where we ate at Rainforest Café.
Our waiter was on point. He had us laughing and told us a lot about
the strip's history, including how the original MGM burned down in the worst
resort fire in Las Vegas history, killing 87 people, and then was subsequently
replaced by Bally's because several cultures will not stay on sites where great
tragedies and loss of life occurred. He
also clued us onto the location of the largest chocolate fountain in the world,
at the Bellagio's Jean-Philippe Patisserie on the promenade of the Spa Tower.
After dinner, Anna retired to the Luxor. Adelle and I attended a production of EVIL
DEAD: THE MUSICAL at Planet Hollywood's V Theater.
Again, pictures were not permitted, but our host let us snap a quick pic of the him and the stage before showtime.
The show was excellent.
It was a lot of fun, and the production did a good job of showing the
audience a great time. We'd purchased
tickets in the Splatter Zone, special seating in the first three rows
surrounding the thrust stage where the actors and stagehands could drench the
audience in fake blood. During the
intermission, one of the players came out and made sure the white shirts signed
by the cast that came along with Splatter Zone tickets were properly doused in
the warm, cherry-smelling blood. Using
dangling intestines as a macabre soaker, everyone in the Splatter Zone could
not hide from his wrath.
Afterwards we were granted the opportunity to meet and greet the entire cast.
This show is a
must-see for horror fans, and Splatter Zone tickets are a necessity.
More gift shops and no trace of a green Las Vegas visor. But I did see a dinosaur.
The next day, we got an early-ish start.
While snapping photos of the sheer opulence of
Caesar's Plalce, I got separated from Adelle, Anna, and Huxley.
I wandered around until I found this statue of David.
Adelle called, and we hooked back up around the poker tables
before taking brunch at Gorden Ramsey's Pub and Grill. Fish and chips, lamb burger and fries—another
fantastic meal. For dessert, we shared
red velvet and sea salt caramel cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory. I sipped cappuccino while we waited for the
moving statue show.
We visited a Picasso exhibit at the Bellagio showcasing 19
lithographs, 13 linocuts, 8 paintings, and three rare plates. The lithographs were lined up along the wall
so you could see each impression progress as Picasso moved forward in the
printing process. The paintings present
focused on his lovers. Included in the
exhibit were Femme Etendue Lisant, Femme
au Chignon et au Chapeau, and Femme
au Collier Jaune. While looking at
the painting, I listened to an electronic curator, an iPod filled with
information about Picasso and his creative process, each track lining up with
individual works.
We found an area of the Bellagio dedicated to fall, and
spirits of the forest. Although manmade,
the pagan effigies radiated with energy, traces of folk magic dancing in the
citadel of excess.
The chocolate fountain Jean-Philippe Patisserie proved most
impressive.
Window shopping the
pastries, I discovered an edible hockey mask from the Friday the 13th franchise as well as other horror-themed confections.
Following the strip all the way to Circus Circus, I find the
green visor in a store that could have been on Front Beach Road in Panama City Beach had all the
merchandise been sand dollars, starfish, and seashells instead of lucky dice,
ashtrays, and plastic slot machines.
Apparently, no matter what city you're in, sunblock, beach towels, and
postcards are essential when stocking for the non-natives.
Anna parted ways with us, heading back to the room via cab.
Circus Circus is not what I expected.
In the Fear
and Loathing in Las Vegas movie, one of my favorite scenes unfolds in this
casino. Indeed, when entering, there is
a net with people juggling and performing other circus acts, but the infamous
carousel bar is nowhere to be found. A
little digging and Adelle discovers that a set was built for the film. Despite this revelation, the casino is not a
disappointment. We find an amusement
park and ride one of the roller coasters after shooting at an electronic
haunted house.
We hit the old strip:
Downtown Vegas, Fremont Street.
Exiting
the cab, I felt as if I'd finally come home.
Where tourists who come to New Orleans tend to find what they expected
to see on Frenchman Street with its jazz clubs, bohemians, and brass bands
going to town in the streets, Fremont Street fulfilled what Vegas was in my
mind.
Old school slot machines, people partying in the streets,
hookers, graffiti, and marijuana smoke hanging in the air—this was a part of town
that felt natural. Overhead, giant LED
screens arched across the street. Music
and images danced like fire above us as bands played on the side of the road.
Every hour, the casino lights darken and the LED ceiling comes alive with music and images. I managed to catch a show featuring cats.
Between us the neon sky, zip lines allowed thrill-seeker s
to glide over the crowds.
We wandered past the electronic haven, and found a seedier
part of the strip. Here a giant metal
praying mantis shot fire from its antenna and lured us into a shopping center
made entirely of shipping containers.
Catching up with old friends from Club La Vela, we played
Wheel of Fortune slot machines in a casino where foxy blackjack dealers danced
over their tables, finishing up the evening by listening to an 80's cover band
playing in the street. Not only did they
look the part, they sounded wonderful.
Our last full day was spent wandering through the
casinos.
Adelle and Anna took a nap in
the afternoon. When I tried waking and wiggling
away from Adelle, she pulled me closer and called me her heater. That evening, I took Adelle to Chin Chin in New
York New York, and we shared sushi, General Tso's chicken, and green curry
noodles. There isn't any original local
cuisine in Las Vegas, but the food, although expensive, was perfect. Coming from a city that has incredible food
in every restaurant you set foot in, I was not disappointed.
After dinner we rode a roller coaster that weaved through
the New York skyline and explored Paris, marveling at its massive halls and
intricate architecture.
Spending some
time observing street performers and exploring gift shops, we watched the Bellagio fountain one last time.
Before checking out the following morning, we ate burgers at
the House of Blues and discovered an area set aside for an 80's party happening
after our visit.
We packed our bags, said ciao to the city of lights, and
hopped a plane home to the swamp.
Although I found the green visor—"a move in literature,"
I told Anna—my trip was not the drug-fueled insanity Hunter S. Thompson
experienced. I respected him the only
way I knew how: by making the journey totally sober. If you don’t take the past and make it your
own, you're nothing but an echo.
Vegas was fun.
It's a land where Michael Jackson sings and dances almost
nightly at Mandalay Bay, and down the road Sinatra still croons with a glass of
bourbon in his hand. You meet Elvis more
than a dozen times, and once or twice he may be in motorized wheel chair waving
an American flag and asking for loose change.
Well-dressed men on the street corners slap cards in their hands,
offering you discounted admission to strip shows and escort services. DJs mix CDs in clothes stores. A trip around the world takes as long as your
feet can walk.
Vegas reeks of excess, greed, and ambition. The neon lights and slot machines are works
of art, and like a moth to a flame, once you rest eyes on them, there is no
escape. I'll be back soon, Las
Vegas. Next time with more jingle in my
pocket and more time on my hands. It's
not home, but there is no staying away.
I can't help myself; I'm feeling lucky.
