Conventional wisdom
dictates that "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas". Right? However, I’m not
often accused of being conventional. Plus, this would be a very dull
blog. Yes some of you are shouting, even more dull than usual.
So this blog is more
along the lines of "almost all of what happens in Vegas,
stays in Vegas".
If last month was an
ode to how much I love my mum, this month is an ode to how much I love my
friends. And I mean my REAL friends. Not the Facebook variety. And by that I
don't mean I don't have real friends on Facebook. I do. Lots of you.
But I mean real, get
drunk with, argue with, fight with, joust with pool cues with, tell ALL your
secrets to, play wing-man with, type of friends. The ones you fall out
over football with. The ones you sit up with through the night drinking
and putting the world to rights with. The ones you watch grow, get
married, have families. And through all the changes life throws at us, we
remain friends. These type of friends are my best friends.
I went to Vegas recently
with 3 of these very same type of friends, and as we always find, before we
have even finished our first pint, the banter is flowing like we have never
been apart. Dissecting previous years trips, and the absurdity of our discussions. Who has ever heard of playing a guitar upside down? And had discussions about there "being winners and losers in this life"? I'm laughing just at the recollection. Greg Wallace has a lot to answer for.
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| Totally sober...honest |
Our annual tradition,
for the last few years at least, has been to catch up somewhere in the world.
The first agenda item on this year's Annual General Meeting was where we
will go next year. Previous trips have seen us have quiet, cultural visits
to Prague, the home of Kafka. And Munich, Germany's third largest city,
and home many lederhosen clad gentlemen.
This year we
revisited an old haunt. The same venue for my 40th birthday celebrations.
Back to the very famous Las Vegas, Nevada. Named by a Mexican in 1829,
Las Vegas (The Meadows when translated from the Spanish), has a
very long and illustrious history.
Initially used as a
water stop on trips between Los Angeles and eastern outposts, many of us are
more familiar with Vegas's sin city reputation. The building of the
Hoover Dam, which started in 1931, saw the population of Las Vegas swell and to
entertain the mainly male working population, the casinos and show girls were
born into Vegas history.
Organised crime
wasn't far behind, and financed by the infamous Meyer Lansky (incidentally
portrayed as Hyman Roth in the Godfather movie), Bugsy Siegel built the
Flamingo hotel and casino. Still proudly standing pride of place on the
Strip opposite our home for 4 nights, Caesar’s Palace.
I travelled from
Sydney and took a very circuitous route, with a 2 hour delay in Sydney, and
then an unscheduled stop in Honolulu, before travelling through San Francisco,
changing planes, and culminating in a short hop to McCarran airport, Las
Vegas.
I should probably be
grateful I got there at all as when I checked in I was greeted by a very
furrowed brow on the face of the check in assistant. "You don't seem
to have a visa for entry into the United States sir". Oh yes I do.
And I dug out the email to confirm it.
The email which
states "approval to travel".
I was told "They
don't mean anything. If there is a
subsequent issue that confirmation is useless". It seems the
"subsequent issue" was some problem with the actual processing of my
visa. Oh dear. However, as you know, we eventually resolved this,
and I did get to travel.
Having arrived more
than 7 hours later than planned, my friends were already well on their way to
their 2nd, or 3rd pint. I lost count, and evidentally so did they.
By about 3pm it seems. I had managed to avail myself of numerous
complimentary alcoholic beverages in the business class lounge at Sydney, and
managed to keep suitably topped up en route. I hadn't planned to imbibe
quite so much in the lounge, but the kind hostess kept bringing me beers.
And I felt obliged to accept. I have read that declining such
generous hospitality is seen as a slight in some cultures. Right?
Much of my travails
of actually getting there faded away as we made our decent into the desert. Is there a better sight than flying into Las
Vegas at night, with all the flashing neon lights looking resplendent?
The result of all of
the proceeding hospitality (thanks
Singapore Airlines for my gold card allowing business class lounge access) being
that I was soon talking as much nonsense as they were not long after my arrival
at Caesar's Palace. Not, I hasten to add, where the actual Caesar used to
live. Just in case anybody was wondering.
Our quiet first
night, turned into a quiet early morning. As is wont to happen in Vegas,
where there are no clocks in the casinos, the early hours of the morning soon
creep up on you. As we turned in slightly later than planned, we all
agreed to a small adjustment to the itinerary. A little lie in in the morning,
and reluctantly cross off library and museum visits planned for the following
day, due to time constraints.
The following day was
the England v Uruguay match, and by the 12pm kick off we were settled in front
of a large TV screen in Gordon Ramsey's "Pub and Grill", with large
burgers, and exceptional pints of Guinness.
Hoping that Luis Suarez was not going to take a large bite out of
England’s ambitions of progressing through the group stages. Alas.
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| Whisky and cokes...with a ladyboy chaser |
The less said about
the football the better. But the
afternoon drinking set the tone for the rest of the trip. Maybe except for one of our travelling
party. Know as “the bambino” for his
predilection to warm milky drinks, and pineapple with every meal, at times I
thought I was with Alan Partridge, and was going to have to order a “lady boy
chaser”, also known as a Baileys.
Indeed, at one point I did. The
look on the waitresses face was a picture as she waited for the punchline from
the Bambino. There wasn’t one. He simply wanted to enjoy a Baileys.
Things didn’t improve
in Jimmy Buffet’s. Whilst we sampled
what looked like the world’s largest margarita, the bambino plumped for a nice
milkshake. I had to draw the line at him
ordering a snowball. Things were crazy
enough.
The days, and nights
rolled on and we had a great time laughing and catching up. Probably more “Last Vegas”, than “The
Hangover”, but we are very sensible chaps, what did you expect?
Our time together
came to an end all too soon, and with sadness we parted on a hot and sultry
Sunday afternoon. Already the
conversation turned to our next trip, and possible venue. Reykjavík was mooted, as were the German
hedonistic hotspots of Berlin and Hamburg.
Auf wiedersehen!
