Oh La La Las Vegas
“Do you want to go to Vegas?” Josh asked.
“Vegas? Yeah. Sure,” I agreed.
“Paris is offering a deal for rooms. It’s pretty cheap.”
“Sounds good. Let’s do it!”
Voila. A vacation was born. On a whim, my husband and I booked a trip to Las Vegas for a week- last week to be exact. Most warned us that such an extended amount of time in sin city would lead to our probable financial demise, but hey, we had the itch. More importantly, we needed some fun. Our last vacation, as I still like to reminisce, was in March 2015 when I formally introduced Josh to my good friend, Paris. During which we ate our weight in baguettes and crepes. A year later, and we were very much overdue.
Josh is Vegas connoisseur. This would be his sixth trip to the city, and at this point, he’s played it all. Being a man with a healthy affinity for gaming, he thrives on the thrill of a good hand. Watching Josh’s euphoric transformation while the plane lands at McCarran International Airport is the Christmas morning experience, minus the ninja turtle footie pajamas. I’m fairly certain if we weren’t packed tightly with the other passengers, he would frolic out of the aircraft. He’s in his element there, and it’s awesome to watch.
Me? This will be my fourth excursion, and I still can’t find my way around Caesar’s Palace. Shying away from the games mostly, I tend to enjoy the pools, the shows, the spas, the dining, and the superior opportunity for people-watching. There’s always a woman who’s been at the same slot for over an hour, betting away. She’s casual with her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, while dutifully puffing a cigarette. I wonder where she lives, or what brought her to that particular slot. Is she on vacation like me? Is she alone? Watching the table games in action is equally fascinating. Players seem to have their traditions, be it their sassy colloquialisms or even the way the die is tossed across the craps table. Sometimes, the dealers are amicable and chatty, and sometimes, they want nothing to do with you. I wonder if they enjoy their jobs, or if they, like so many, do it because it pays the bills. Regardless, Vegas is the ultimate social experiment.
Vegas culture can be jarring for a simple gal such as myself. Even though my feet are covered in grime within five minutes of walking on the strip, it’s becoming increasingly glamorous with newer, swankier establishments. I don’t know where I fit into that, exactly. I’m not certain I do. Sure, there is an overabundance of fanny packs, kitschy t-shirts, and neon visors, but the places there that intrigue me generally have a female clientele who take great pride in their flawless frames, designer stilettos, blowouts, and false eyelashes. None of which, I’ve yet had the ability to entertain. I just taught myself to wear red lipstick without looking like the predatory clown from a Stephen King novel. Achievements, am I right?
My feminine ineptitude aside, and despite a slight feeling of awkwardness, I was particularly excited to search throughout the luxury for little French influence that would appease the quench of my Francophile existence for several days. Vegas did not disappoint. In fact the week time span, which Josh and I were initially teased for spending, proved to be grossly insufficient. I still have a lengthy list of places I hope to visit upon our inevitable return. That is not to say that my trip was unsuccessful. Quite the opposite! I have much to share after our wonderful vacation. In fact, so much that I’m breaking the trip into multiple segments. So, can Las Vegas really please the devout Francophile? I guess you will just have to wait and see…
À la prochaine!