01.06.09 - Las Vegas

  Las Vegas, Nevada, United States
Monday, June 1, 2009

We woke just in time to miss breakfast and were therefore forced to take in the Bellagio lunchtime buffet which is, essentially, a portly man's paradise. Every food known to man, then some we've yet to classify, was on offer and a good number of our American chums clearly mistook this as an opportunity to eat so much that it really was akin to funnelling grain into a helpless foie gras goose.  This was certainly the case with the gentleman sat not too far from us who was the second contender for the 'fattest person spotted in the US' award - literally an airship, this chap went through more plates than a greek wedding in a wedgewood factory.  Despite a more controlled approach, we still waddled out of the dining hall and out to the pool like a couple of pregnant women. 

The pool area at the Bellagio is predictably outstanding, complete with private boudoirs for hire, 4 or 5 different pools, table (sun lounger?) service and a good dose of complete posers.  We spent the afternoon relaxing in the tropical temperatures - I cracked on with the blog whilst Greg finished 'The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas' (If the holocaust doesn't get you in the mood for a good night out then nothing will) and we thought it would be unfitting not to indulge in a few beers for good measure. 

Bellagio and fountains

Rumours were that the Palms hotel was a good place to go on a Monday night so we headed that way via taxi for some Mexican chow (great pink frozen strawberry Margarita from Greg giving off the alarm bells to all and sundry that we were probably a 'couple').

In our search for a pool table to cure the post-dinner lull, we went for a wander to the bar next to the Palms and were amused to see a gentleman, clearly absolutely pissed beyond all salvation, driving a Mustang around the car park.  He even found the time to stop next to us, garble "better call 911 dude" then accelerate off at the speed of light.  Our search for billiards was in vain so we went up to the Playboy bar on the 52nd floor for a couple of drinks before the Ghost bar. 

Playboy Bar - vastly over-rated

Despite thinking that the Playboy watering hole was probably going to be pretty decent it was, in fact, shite.  Plastic women breezing from table to table in an attempt to persuade punters to buy the quite ludicrously priced cocktails (a bottle of vodka was $450 - even funnier since this worked out to be around three times as expensive as buying the equivalent amount of alcohol in individual drinks) provided little entertainment - though a quick chat with the bouncer, who implied he'd slept with pretty much every woman in America (God help him), afforded some temporary salvation.  One of the ladies did attempt to chat to us but her banter extended no further than the fact that she was currently taking swimming lessons and that, if she got into trouble in the water, it didn't matter because her boobs helped her float.  Amazing - talk about pigeonholing yourself.....mentioning your fake breasts within 14 seconds of speaking to us.  We made a swift exit and took the elevator up to the significantly better Ghost bar which is on the 55th floor on the other side of the hotel and therefore gives fantastic views over the glittering Vegas Strip. 

Vegas by night - sparkly

Again, as it was Monday, it wasn't exactly the Rio carnival but we still managed to get some good pictures of the city lights whilst being mildly entertained by a rather excited chap dancing away on his own in the middle of the whole bar.  A couple of recommendations from the bar staff entailed us moving location to Jet Club at the Mirage hotel which turned up trumps as the place was packed to the rafters by the time we arrived.  The downside was the queuing system which somehow used 5 different lanes and seemed to be arbitrary in terms of who was allowed in and when - indeed, when quizzed, the bouncer managing our line retorted "I've no idea either, I just let you in when they tell me to", clearly overwhelmed with job satisfaction.  After eventually making our way in, the remainder of the evening was characterised by becoming a little too tipsy and discovering a room playing late 90s dance music - thus resulting in some inexplicably bad and lengthy dancing from the both of us.  Rather ironically for a packed club, such was the enjoyment of the aforementioned trip down musical memory lane, we only spoke to two people - a prostitute who asked "you boys after a good time?" (n.b. answer - "not that sort of good time I'm afraid") and two girls who were from Billericay (and clearly in possession of good appetites but loose morals) that we had to make a swift getaway from.   On the way out we also spotted a couple of the least convincing transsexuals you're ever likely to see stood at the bar - basically both about 7ft tall and built like tanks - it was the equivalent of putting lipstick and handbags on Shaquille O'Neal.  A little scared, we made for the taxi rank and went back to the Bellagio (despite our taxi driver insisting that a strip club was the way forward) where we had the misfortune to think that blackjack was a good idea at 5am.   Damage was limited given that we were on the $5 minimum bet table (high rollers!) and I can assure you that there wouldn't have been too much difference in the outcome had we placed a couple of turnips on our stools and asked them to play the hands instead.  Not exactly pro gamblers, Greg and I.  After somehow procuring an excellent pulled pork sandwich at the 24 hour Bellagio Café, it was eventually bedtime.

Day Thirteen Stats:

Mileage - 0 (3680 total)

State registration plates seen - 0 (47 total, still...)

States visited - Nevada