Tuesday 8th July - I Guess our Inability to Gamble Should Stay in Vegas

Our flight to Las Vegas, whilst delightfully short, was worse than Alton Towers’ Oblivion, I am sure, because I would have to have been on it to know, but hopefully it paints a picture. I am plagued by the daft notion that I have to concentrate on a plane, otherwise it won’t stay up. As the plane jostled around, a kid kicked me in the back whilst giggling with glee at the turbulence, and Tim chatted away – the power of my concentration was dangerously questionable.

Our first impression of Las Vegas: It’s hard at 110F to have any other than this place is like being dropped into an oiled skillet fully clothed. We sidled as slowly as possible the 10m from baggage reclaim into the air conditioned oasis of a hotel transfer mini-bus where I have never been so happy to listen to the disjointed sentences of a Russian driver telling us every restaurant in our hotel was ridiculously expensive. As ever no attention was paid to our glorious exchange rate.

Various encounters prior to landing in Vegas had led us to the notion that somehow we had booked ourselves into a 5 star hotel. Nothing, however, had quite prepared us for a room the size of our London flat, button operated curtains, a television in the bathroom and a phone in the toilet. Not to mention the mini-bar on steroids that made Harrods look like a 7 Eleven. Slightly in awe of our surroundings we took a moment to enjoy our view of the Wynn golf course and waterfall, and booked ourselves some theatre tickets.

Completely shell shocked by the grotesque grandeur of Vegas, we walked around the Wynn casino like we were seeing one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Ashamedly I’m not sure we were even this silenced by Yosemite National Park. Slot machines filled the floor and in my naive innocence I laughed at how close to reality the music in Hotel Babylon was. There was even a Ferrari show room, neatly placed next to the poker room, like chocolate bars at the checkout.

Sadly we were too embarrassed to ask a member of the staff how to go about betting and instead headed out onto the strip – the debaucherous antics of a Las Vegas casino could wait until we had enough courage to admit to our ignorance.

Leaving the Wynn, I clung onto the escalator hoping for a small rest, only to recoil as the bubbling rubber scorched my hand. At Treasure Island – once touted as child friendly – we stayed for the raunchy Sirens of TI who caused a storm strong enough to sink a ship. As if Vegas wasn’t hot enough, flames shot out what felt close enough to singe my eyebrows. At Caesar’s Palace we wondered around the Casino before winding our way up to the shops and their sky painted ceiling.

It didn't take us long to form casino preferences. They were all pretty much the same thing but the Wynn was yet to fully give in to the stench of cigars and alcohol. The natural light was even a welcome change, but the irony of people entering the casino floor (which was open plan to all the other facilities any way) to smoke was soon causing me a headache.