Although I got back from Sin City late Sunday night, it's only within the past twenty-four hours that I've felt human. On Monday and Tuesday, I felt like horseshit so much so that I think I might have been jetlagged. Don't laugh or snort—it's not outside the realm of possibility. Besides, I have no other answers for the fatigue, sore throat, and general discombobulation.
But, today I have a new lease on life.
Before I left town, I vowed that I would jump-start my job search THE MINUTE I returned from vacation. I should be writing a cover letter right now, but I all I want to do is blog.
Let's start with the Vegas report. While I have plenty receipts and a few photos, this is my only written record of my journey. As a result, the account is a little detail-obssessive. Here is the first installment.
Flight
I flew out of MSP on Friday (5/9) at 9:30 a.m. Every aspect of my flight—check in, security, take off, time in air, landing—went without a hitch or delay, which is always better than one can expect. Something was missing, however. The flight, in general, was remarkably quiet. It took awhile for the reason to register—there were no children on this flight. None. Not even teenagers. Which was weird considering that sometime late in the last millenium, Las Vegas, best known for gambling and prostitution, started marketing itself as a family-friendly destination, with amusement parks, Planet Hollywood and similar restaurants with uncomplicated menus, resorts with water parks and animal exhibits, to name a few features. No. Kids. No. Lie.
Since I was traveling alone, I was able to read for the entire flight, and almost managed to finish Donna Leon's Death in a Strange Country (my favorite of the series, so far). Of course I packed a pile of books, completely deluded that I would finish at least one. The passengers on this flight weren't the most literate I've encountered (that would be Newark, NJ, to San Jose, Costa Rica, April 2006). Many folks had their laptops out; a fair number were doing sudoku puzzles. I spied the following books: Dead Father's Club (Matt Haig), How to Make Love Like a Porn Star (Jenna Jameson), a Sidney Sheldon "romance", a J.D.. Robb mystery, a Ruth Rendell mystery, and something by Oliver Sacks.
The baggage carousel area at McCarran was a zoo. I have been in many airports, in the U.S. and abroad, which I mention only to qualify my astonishment at the enormous crowd of people milling around a single carousel, waiting for their luggage. Soon, I learned that the crowd represented three flights. All the luggage was coming into one carousel—at the same time! Luggage was piled so high that passengers were digging frantically to get at the handle of their suitcase, rather than letting it make another circuit. People, maybe it will be easier to grab your suitcase on the next pass, after the top layer of suitcases has been moved. Sheesh. The number of similarly sized black suitcases was overwhelming. Remind me to carry-on next time.
Vegas, first impressions
Whenever I picture Las Vegas in my little mind's eye, I imagine bright lights and neon announcing hotels and casinos. And, at night, you'll see that view of Vegas. Arriving in broad daylight, however, the natural light is overwhelming. No leafy green trees or grass to absorb or diffuse the brightness. A string of malls and car dealers lines the drive from the airport to The Strip. Then, there's The Strip, enormous high-rise hotels with thousands of rooms. Residential areas and UNLV lie somewhere beyond The Strip, but I didn't see either. Ringing it all—mountains, the sight of which is refreshing, yet completely incongruous with the artifice of Vegas.
Edited to add: the photo shows a view from my fourth-floor room at The Mirage, but this is how Vegas appears from every angle. If I were to have turned 90 degrees and taken a photo—had there been a window on that wall of my room—the names on the hotel/casinos would have changed but the image would have looked the same.
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