What a town. Having spent years totally, utterly, unfussed about going, once it was on the cards I was obsessed. We spent two nights at the Golden Nugget. This place has a sharkpool, that sits within the actual pool, and then a waterslide that runs through the sharkpool*.
I’d heard of ‘The Strip’. I hadn’t quite understood what this was. A line-up of insane structures and bonkers flights of imagination.
Generally, tourism marketing bodies focus on the authentic aspects of local culture – ‘come here and meet the locals! Eat what they eat! Uncover the ‘real’ heart of this place!’ – but here, it’s tourism at its most constructed. The only thing that prevents the developers from indulging their inner 8-year-old is the money. And if there’s one thing that Vegas is not short of, it’s money. So you get rollercoasters, and flying women, and indoor gondolas, and sinking pirate ships. You get to drink 16oz of tooth-shrinkingly sweet margaritas from an Eiffel-tower shaped glass, while looking at $34m worth of Jeff Koons’ Tulips.
It turns out I am not a born gambler: $31 spent in 5 minutes, then panic at the sheer waste. Hedonism to make Hunter S Thompson blanch.
* This is an idea my boyfriend had when he was 8 years old. The fact that this is now reality is quite insane.