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I've been on a few rollercoasters. But never one on a hotel.
New York New York has a fully-fledged dipping, juddering switchback snaking
round and through its mocked-up Manhattan towers. As I was winched to the top
of the first plunging descent I got a jet-lagged view of a double-sized Statue
of Liberty and a mini Empire State Building before a rushing blur of technicoloured
crazy neon engulfed me as the Vegas skyline hurtled around and in front. The
twists and turns are particularly tight given the ride's very compact space
allocation. I bellowed myself hoarse and got off several loop-the-loops later
a tad shaky, pumped with adrenaline. It was the perfect introduction to this
crazy city in the middle of a desert.
I, and my mate Tom who was along for the ride, weren't staying at New York
New York though. We'd just come for a wander down the Strip. The hotels are
of course legendary. Outside Treasure Island every few hours they enact a pirate
ship battle complete with swashbuckling pirates, disintegrating pirate ship,
pyrotechnics and waves. A block further down the road outside the Mirage, a
volcano erupted right next to us. This was another hotel display, but the heat
of the midday sun in the middle of the desert made it feel all the more real.
Tiny spray guns pumped a moist mist of water into the air as we walked past,
but it was a bit of a losing battle at this time of year. Better to seek sanctuary
inside.
Our hotel on the Strip was The Luxor, one of Vegas' older dames, but still
one of my favourites. A vast smoked glass pyramid guarded by a massive statue
of the Sphinx. At night there's a laser beam of light projected from the apex
of the pyramid that's apparently visible from space – though I've not
been to check. Egyptian architects might have known a thing or two about creating
awe-inspiring structures, but they obviously didn't consider how impractical
a shape it would be for modern convenience. Because it's in the shape of a
pyramid, everything works on the strangest of angles. The lifts are called
Inclinators. They look pretty normal when you get in, but once the doors slide
shut you are winched at an angle upwards following the contours of the pyramid.
It's the oddest of sensations travelling sideways and upwards at the same time,
without being able to see out.
I'm no card shark or slot freak, but the casinos were truly, utterly fascinating.
They are entertainment in their own right – dramas take place in front
of your eyes. All the emotions are on show: euphoric delight, abject utter
disappointment, unbearable tension. There are plenty to choose from as every
hotel has its own casino. We ended up in one of the most famous of the lot:
Caesar's Palace. Here the ceilings are painted with blue skies and puffy white
clouds and lit with a subtle hue that makes it feel like day – 24 hours
a day. And that's the idea. The owners want you to forget all sense of time
and just keep spending your bucks. We gave ourselves a budget of a hundred,
got a stack of coloured chips that looked like play money – another smart
way to make you lose track - and went in search of the blackjack tables.
Blackjack is the obvious place to start if you want to bet on cards, as it's
the game most of us play at school as kids. I've a vague understanding of poker,
but it's too complicated for me. Different tables have different minimum and
maximum bets, so you can choose to play for a few bucks at a time. And that
suited me fine. I won a few times, lost a few more and that was cool. Tom seemed
to be doing quite well at another table, so I wandered off and chucked a few
more bucks on black at the roulette wheel. My winnings edged up and for a moment
I felt giddy with invincibility. And then I put it all on red. And lost. Out
of pocket, but shirt still on my back, I wondered in the maze of jangling slot
machines and card tables and ended up by the high stakes blackjack tables.
And this turned out to be the high point of the night. Here punters were sticking
down chips worth 5000 a time. Amazing. I watched a guy lose $15,000 without
breaking sweat. It was mesmerising. I must have spent an hour, just watching
the highs and lows. It was indeed like the movies.
I'd lost track of Tom completely, so feeling the jetlag really badly, I wandered
back out into the muggy night and stumbled back to the Luxor. I'd only been
looking for ten minutes at the brilliant throbbing Vegas skyline from our sloping
pyramid window before the door crashed open. Tom was there, swaying slightly,
brandishing a huge box of donuts. "I just won a hundred bucks!" he
yelled. Blueberry Cream wasn't quite what I'd had in mind for a late dinner,
but it did the trick.
After a day by the pool and another night of slot machine rattles and neon
razzmatazz, we decided to head out of town. This being Vegas, we'd decided
there was no point doing things in half measures. We were driving a Ford Cougar
Mustang convertible. The ultimate 1970s muscle car - in white, of course. Hood
down, shades on, we were kitted out accordingly in revolting bright orange
Hawaiian shirts with the Eagles blaring from the stereo. It was road trip movie
heaven. But heck the sun was hot. I could hardly see there was so much sweat
in my eyes. Sun block was an absolute essential, and wads of it.
Our destination was another man-made marvel, but this one of a more utilitarian
nature. The Hoover Dam is around an hour by car from Vegas. Built in the early
1930s it remains one of the highest dams ever built. We cruised over the top
of the dam, on one side the ornately spoked inlet towers looked reminiscent
of upended spaceships from scratchy black and white Flash Gordon movies, on
the other the vast valley dropped away, plummeting to depths below. We parked
up and headed over to the visitors' centre, where there were stacks of old
photos of people working in some of the toughest conditions imaginable. It
was an incredible endeavour. And a surprisingly beautiful one. Looking over
the side the graceful curve of the plummeting walls seemed impossibly broad,
almost too wide to take in. It was more than a little disorientating; giving
a sense of stomach dropping surprise that beat the rollercoasters and razzmatazz
of Vegas hands down. Vegas is great fun and in its way a truly remarkable creation,
but here was real artistry, permanent and proud. Perhaps a more telling, and
certainly more permanent, testament to the power of the great American Dream.
As the sun began to sink below the horizon, we jumped back into the convertible
and headed back to sin city. It was time for more donuts. And maybe a few more
bucks on black.
Viva Las Vegas!
Jeremy Head holds on to his shirt (and his stomach) in crazy Vegas