MY THOUGHTS ON...
Vegas… land of decadence, facade and the ultimate in disingenuous recreation – an adult Disneyland providing the illusion of other cities, other places. If you're a poet and bohemian in spirit, as I am, Vegas is NOT your city. You'd rather be in the real Venice, Paris or New York any day of the year than in this blazing sea of phoniness. In fact, I hadn't been to LV in ten years, because I can barely stand it more than a day or two (this still holds true). Yet in ten years, it has changed dramatically. Now known as a 'foodie mecca' with top chefs from other cities, including my own, opening their umpteenth restaurant in the hotels, I had to go, if for nothing else, the food.
My husband and I enjoyed a bargain rate mini-suite at the Venetian. By far the sweetest deal we'll ever have for a room at that price: living room, two TVs, marble tub, glass shower… a haven from the smoke-drenched gaming areas and tacky clang of the slot machines. Like my first visit ten years ago, this 'new' Vegas was far from classy and ridiculously overpriced in food and events. Yet there were a few experiences so uniquely "Vegas", they stay with me; the Bellagio water shows being possibly my most favorite Vegas moments (I could not tire of hearing my favorite Frankie - Sinatra, of course - singing "Luck Be A Lady" to the glorious spray of dancing water across a broad lake.)
The sumptuous Wynn Las Vegas and Mandalay Bay hotels were a refreshing respite from the over-the-top themed "Pirates of the Caribbean shit", as the movie, "Swingers", so aptly described Vegas hotels. Two nights in a row, my husband and I lingered on the upper level patio deck of Parasol Up/Down; a scenic bar inside the Wynn overlooking the manmade (of course!), stylistically modern, lake. The lake wouldn't have been complete without the wall of running water and trees illuminated by intensely colorful lights. One night, while sipping a fresh ginger mojito, the waterfall suddenly stilled and a giant frog, as large as a house, rose up behind the wall, placed his Kermit-like legs over the edge and began to lip synch to Louis' Armstrong's, "What A Wonderful World". The lights glowed, an older lady next to us laughed and clapped delightedly, and I sat dazed by the surreal, strangely emotive, childlike moment. As smoothly and quickly as he entered, the frog exited, and we were left baffled by such a preposterous scene.
Earlier in the day, in the "oh, so 1980's" Aladdin hotel mall, we stumbled upon yet another cigar shop (plentiful in Vegas), a prospect which makes my husband perk up with manly delight. This shop was quiet and airy, with an entire room for on-premises cigar rolling. The Cuban owner immediately welcomed us with lonely eagerness in his voice, asking us to sit and watch him hand roll cigars with 'ingredients' directly from Cuba. As he rolled, snipped and formed a cigar, he asked where we were from. He began waxing ecstatic about how gorgeous San Francisco was: "It reminds me of Havana, my hometown. Cafes! People! They talk to each other, exchange ideas, interact…" he gushed. "Not like this place where everyone stays inside casinos or their cars. No one wants to look each other in the eye. Everything is illusion. Nothing is real. Soulless."
He trailed off and we remained silent for a moment. Then, as quickly as the conversation died, he buoyantly returned, enlivened by our talk of good food, artistic endeavors, great cities of the world. Still, we felt the sadness behind his gregarious personality … the dissonance of a soul alive in a place as counterfeit as a shadow compared to real flesh and blood. |