Not that we don’t enjoy our family life, far from it.
But it is nice to get away from having to change
diapers, make lunches and dinners, give baths, and do everything else, and even better to periodically replace our normal day-to-day responsibilities with little or no responsibility at all.
Our destination of choice, when the opportunity of a
little freedom presents itself, is always the same.
Las Vegas.
Sin City.
A place of indulgence. Of excess and extravagance.
A place where a mom and a dad can lose themselves in
drunken debauchery, stay out late and party the night away, without having to
get up at 5 a.m. the next morning to put on some cartoons and spread Nutella on
some toast. We don’t do it often, but we need it from time to time.
Our most recent travels to our favourite vacation
destination came in early April, when we escaped to Las Vegas for five glorious
days of eating, drinking, gambling and all-round corrupt behavior.
It was fantastic. So fantastic that I felt compelled
to summarize our travels in writing for the benefit of the many, or the few,
who patronize this page.
Below is Part I of the story; the rest will follow in the days to come.
---------------
PROLOGUE: I came to love Las
Vegas quite accidentally. Up until 2008, I had barely ever set foot in a
casino, let alone envisioned putting more than $20 in a slot machine or
actually sitting at a blackjack table at even $5 a hand. It just was not my
thing.
Then Mrs. Family Man Muser surprised me with a trip to Vegas for my
30th birthday. By the end of the first day, I was so hooked that I
fearlessly, but quite accurately, predicted that we would be back, and probably
frequently.
That was not quite four years ago. We have been
another five times since.
Our most recent return engagement was a five-night, four-day extravaganza that was so good that it prompted me to
put together this trip report, if for no other reason than because I don’t want
to forget the finer details of what was one of our most memorable trips yet.
NIGHT ONE: After landing in Las Vegas at 10 p.m., we
hopped a cab downtown to The Golden Nugget,
where we would be spending our first two nights. On the way, our cab driver
bombarded us with tales of how his slot machine system can’t lose, and
proceeded to give us the long-winded details of how we could hit it big playing
Wheel of Fortune.
Okay buddy, I wanted
say. If you’ve got it all figured out, why the hell are you driving a cab? But
instead the wife and I just rolled our eyes and let him go on and on about it
until he finally had no choice but to give it up as we rolled into The Golden
Nugget.
Coming in from the
east coast, we already were riding on fumes by the time we checked in to our
Carson Tower room. Still, it’s Vegas, and The Family Man Muser wasn’t quite ready to call
it a night.
We strolled down to
Fremont, myself with the first of a few giant beers in hand, just in time to
catch The Doors belting the classics while the light show flashed up above.
This never gets old. After strolling the street awhile longer, and reluctantly
agreeing with the Mrs. that it was best to save the bankroll for Tuesday, we
made our way up to the room and hit the sack some time near 12.
DAY ONE: For the first time in recent memory, we
managed to sleep in until 8 a.m. The three-hour time difference usually wreaks
havoc on my internal clock; rarely do I ever make it past 6 a.m. in Las Vegas,
which frankly is fine with me since the room is usually the last place I want
to spend my time anyway.
We indulged in a
fantastic breakfast at the Nugget’s Carson Street Café before finally emerging
onto Fremont Street once again, this time to quickly cross over to our downtown
gambling establishment of choice, Binion’s.
The combination of
old-school vibe and friendly folks lures us in every time.
Within minutes we
were finally—finally!—sitting at a blackjack table ready to break this town. It
didn’t happen that way, nor, apparently, had the friendly faces arrived for
work quite yet.
Within an hour, we
were both cleaned out of the morning’s budget, at the hands of some sour-faced
dealers no less, so we decided to venture down to the strip for the day and
save Binion’s for later in the evening.
We hopped the Deuce, Las Vegas’
answer to the famed double-decker bus, and within about 10 minutes remembered
why we hated taking the Deuce when we last fell for it on our prior trip nine
months earlier. Yes, the Deuce is cheap. At seven bucks each for 24 hours, it
is a decent deal compared to a cab. But it is slow. Real slow. Excruciatingly
slow.
By the time we
reached the Fashion Show Mall, we
could handle it no more. Off we went, opting instead to continue our journey on
foot—destination Flamingo.
We are fans of the
Flamingo, for many reasons. Like Binion’s, it has some character. It makes us
want to kick back, have some drinks and some fun, and hopefully win some money.
Plus, we are more on par with the riff-raff that hangs at the Flamingo than
some of the haughty, highbrow folks for whom the Flamingo just isn’t good
enough. So off we went to play some more blackjack, hoping for a better result
than that morning.
No dice. The
Flamingo was no better than Binion’s, so instead we went to Bill’s, another of
our favorites for many of the same reasons outlined above. Character, vibe,
old-school charm.
Bill’s has it in spades.
And now Bill’s has
our money too, because we failed to win a cent at their tables.
It wasn’t looking
good, so with only $30 remaining for each of us from that day’s envelope, we
stepped back from the table and went for a table of a different kind—the lunch
table. Our choice, the Burger Brasserie at Paris.
I will spare you the
details of what we ate and drank, but I will say that we came away full and
fully satisfied, as always is the case at the Burger Brasserie.
From there, we
lingered on the strip for a bit before deciding to head back to the Nugget to
get our evening rolling. Reluctantly, we took the Deuce again, though this time
it mercifully got us downtown far sooner than expected.
After the
pre-requisite freshening up, and some dinner at Grotto, we walked up
and down Fremont, enjoying the sights and sounds that only Fremont can supply.
The flashing neon
lights of golds, and blues and reds, from the Nugget, to the Fremont, to
Binion’s and beyond.
The hoots and
hollers from high-above as the next daredevil whooshes by on the zip line.
The acrid smell of
spray paint in the air as the artists so majestically put the last touches on
impossibly perfect renderings of the strip or Spiderman or whatever whimsical
images they can create from nothing.
The cast of
characters—Captain Jack, the chick with the strategically placed pasties,
Gumbi, Michael Jackson, KISS, the buffed up native American dude, the Gladiator—each
one so absurdly out of place, so incredibly tacky, but at the same time so
incredibly right for Fremont Street.
We ambled.
Sauntered. Lingered, and otherwise enjoyed ourselves, taking in the fact that
for the next three days this mom and dad would be rolling without three little
kids in tow, unlike so many others who for whatever reason seem to think of Las
Vegas as a great family vacation destination.
I don’t think so,
and won’t debate it here.
It was just about at
this point that all around us the lights dimmed and the crowd hushed. On
Fremont Street, life has a way of standing still for that very brief nanosecond
before the light show begins. There we were, suspended in time with so many
others, when a thousand Don McLean’s sang out in unison: A long, long, time
ago…
What a rush. So much
fun to be in the crowd at the moment, necks craned towards the canopy, eyes darting
up and down, back and forth, trying to keep up with the million and one images
coming and going on the screen.
This is Fremont.
This is Vegas. This is fun.
There are few things
I enjoy more in Las Vegas than being in that crowd at that moment for what is
always a highlight for me.
As American Pie hit
its final notes, we began walking back towards our home base, but for whatever
reason started drifting away from the Golden Nugget and
instead across the street, pulled in by that charm and character and those
friendly Binion’s faces.
Here let me point
out that we sat at a five-dollar Party Pit blackjack table against my better
judgment. With $30 each, the last of that day’s gambling budget, I could see us
lasting no more than 20 minutes before the cash ran out. But the wife’s “what
have we got to lose besides $60” argument convinced me, so we pulled up a
chair.
Am I ever glad we
did.
From the minute we
sat down, we did nothing but win.
And win, and win and
win.
Our five-dollar bets
became 10, and 15, and 20, and 25. I may have even pushed it up to 40 on a few
hands, seeking to capitalize on our decent run.
Others joined and
they won too, even despite some less than stellar play. A 13 against the
dealer’s six, and the guy to my right takes a card. I cringe. He hits a seven.
The dealer busts.
Twelve against four.
He hits. She busts. We win.
It was that kind of
night.
By the time we
wrapped up, the wife and I cashed out $550 between the two of us. Epic. At
least to us, considering we started with $30 apiece and managed to reclaim all
of that day’s losses plus a little more on top of that.
Everything lost was found again.
Everything lost was found again.
Well into my cups by
then, it was time to head back out onto the street for more of the same. The
Doors on the light show. Singing. Dancing. Hooting and hollering and an
all-round good time before we finally wrapped it up for the night.
We needed some rest.
Day Two would bring a change in hotels and a late night after surprising the
wife’s parents, who had no idea we would be in Vegas with them.
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