The Vegas

Viva Las Vegas?

Err....I'd rather not. Sorry Elvis.

OK OK so I'm a boring person. Shoot me. Or shoot me up with something - but I'm afraid I'm not a big fan of the Vegas. It's been fun. But probably never again.

That's not to say the place isn't extraordinary. We drove here yesterday from Arizona, pretending to be Hunter S Thompson through the more deserty parts, and arrived at around 3pm. That's the first thing you notice about The Vegas. It is literally in the middle of nowhere. I'm not quite sure what logic was behind building a massive leisure facility in such an uninhabitable place - but you really are out in the sticks. You drive for hours through nothingness, praying your car doesn't break down, and suddenly the Strip appears on the horizon like a mirage exposing all of its neon crudeness.

The next big thing you notice about The Vegas. It is hot. Like, unnaturally hot. You feel like you're melting like a wax candle the moment you step outside. When you look out the car window the view is actually wobbling in the heat. Sightseeing is near-impossible until after 6pm. We spent most of today near the safe cool haven of the pool - and it was so hot it actually melted THE SPINE OF MY BOOK so all the pages fell out.

So we've spent two nights doing all the things you're supposed to do. It's an odd experience because you've seen the hotels and landmarks so many times on films and tv that seeing them in real-life takes an edge off the wow factor. But there's certainly a lot to look at. Yesterday we hit Ceasers Palace, Paris, New York New York, and the Bellagio. Your mouth does fall open when you get up close and get a sense of a mass scale of the place - and exploring the outside of the hotels can be a pastime in itself. However the insides are disappointingly...similar. Yeah, in Ceasers Palace there's the odd statue and interesting sh*t on the ceiling - but slot machines are still slot machines, gross old gambling addicts are still gross old gambling addicts, and slaggy looking white trash girls are still slaggy looking white trash girls. It's hard to remember which casino you're in.

We spent tonight exploring the indoor canal of the Venetian, having a Chanel handbag taken out of my hands in a designer boutique (they could obviously tell I didn't have any money and therefore just snatched it away like a strict mother - I felt like Julia Roberts in 'Pretty Woman'), saw the giant artificial mountain they've built recently, and watched the Pirate show outside Treasure Island which really should be re-named 'The Pirate Porn Show' because it merely consisted of past-it slappers in bikinis writhing around on a pirate ship like porn stars whilst confused parents covered the eyes of their bewildered children.

And I think that's what I dislike about Vegas. Yeah it's huge. Yeah you can have a lot of fun here. But there's this unavoidable seediness about the place that leaves a sour taste in your mouth. Walking from hotel to hotel becomes a artform and you have to dodge and duck like a boxer whilst making your way through, what I like to call, the many 'Porn Gauntlets'. As you navigate the insane pedestrian traffic it's impossible to avoid the hundreds of workers wearing tee-shirts emblazoned with 'GIRLZ DIRECT 2 U' who shove postcards of women pleasuring themselves into your hands. And, despite everything being vast and sensational, the whole Strip just seems entirely pointless. I mean, do we really need to build a pyramid with a beam of light that can be seen from space? Is it essential to build a replica Statue of Liberty? And is it useful to put a Lion in a casino? I dunno. Maybe I'm a killjoy, and I've always been more of a neurotic than a hedonist, but I just don't get it.

I think a huge contributing factor could be that The Vegas isn't somewhere to go when you're broke. We're staying in a hotel off the Strip and can't even afford the bus fare in - so have to brave the heat and walk. This morning I woke up to find a cockroach in my bed, which was so unbelievably awful words can't even describe it. Everything we wanted to do - we can't afford. Going up to the top of the Stratosphere will cost $35. Tickets to see a show cost £100 each. They don't even let you put quarters in the slot machines anymore - they've made them notes only. Hell - I can't even window shop in Chanel without being treated like a common criminal.

So I don't like Vegas. No doubt you'll come here and you'll love it. And you'll think 'Oh my God that Holly Thompson is so BORING. I can't believe she doesn't like having free porn thrust upon her.' And hey - that's your choice. But I, for one, don't think I will be making a return journey. Well, unless I win the lottery (which will be hard because I don't play it) and then I can return and go into Chanel decked out in designer gear and be rude to the shop assistant.

We leave tomorrow. It's a two day drive to Yosemite. And that's it. Road trip is over. Wow. We'll spend a week and a half in the National Park, then it's onto San Francisco and home... Mental stuff.

So I better go and check the room for cockroaches. Again. And then probably again. And then I might shower. Again. And spray some more antibacterial spray around again.


Love

Holly xxx