Viva You Know Where

So far we've been trying to follow some sort of chronological order but we're now nearly a week behind on account of actually doing stuff to blog about, as well as staying in places where asking for wireless would most likely get us a radio that plays Benny Goodman and His Orchestra. So while we're here at McCarran Airport making like a drunk Nicolas Cage, their superfast intermenet lets us put up a superfast post about where we're at and we'll fill in the gaps later.

First of all, here at the airport in Vegas - the reason most folks are here more or less slaps you right in the face as soon as you get off the plane.









Not even Ben Kenobi and his missus can resist the power of Gamblor.

Still, we decide to hold out on the gamblement at least until we get to our hotel, the illustrious Flamingo, the oldest on the strip with a colourful history (not all of it pink.)



















As it turns out, we are allocated a room that appears to have been untouched by the 60-odd years since the hotel's opening. It feels like it owes its existence to the mere fact that the management would prefer its clientele to pass out somewhere else other than the casino floor, thereby leaving out basic amenities such as room lighting and means of contacting the outside world. It takes us less than 12 hours to decide to get the heck out and move to the Travelodge down the road where the amenities and relative distance from the 24-hour party are much better-suited to us.

Having gambled and lost on our hotel, we're not really up to giving away money for nothing so, in the end, our entire casino expenditure comes up to a princely sum of 6 American dollars.













Most of our time is spent cruising the Strip where the entertainment is free.






























Of course, it's not just the sights but also the sounds we're here for...











For instance, these fellows make a flappity-flippity noise with their handfuls of cards depicting ladies who promise something called "full service". One can only imagine the conversations among the families who walk past trying to ignore them.

Kid: Daddy, what's a full service?
Dad: Um, it means they wash your car and do your laundry, son
Kid: So why are they naked?
Dad: Well, sometimes they have to do their own laundry, too..













Then there are these folks whose call sounds somewhat like "WALLA WALLA WANALLA" which we can roughly translate to be an offer of a bottle of water in exchange for a dollar.

But wherever we go, we feel reasonably safe with a strong security presence on the street....











Despite my best attempt at getting arrested...

























...apparently street drinking and picking a fight with the locals are OK here.

In this town, it's not hard to imagine why so many Americans, even their former Preznit, never feel the need to obtain a passport. This place literally brings the rest of the world to them...


































..especially when the foreigners happen to speak Americanese, as is the case of our oddly Italian-American gondolier.












But for all the fun we have here, sometimes, it's good to get out of town for a breather. At least that's what our fortune cookie tells us..











So off we go to a particular canyon nearby ( ok, 5 hours by coach) where mere words fail to adequately describe the scenery. Unlike the Wilshire hotel in LA, this place totally deserves the "Grand" in its name - not only for its age but also its sheer magfreakinificence. Seriously, you need to embiggen each photie to get something vaguely close to the view in full effect....




























Here's one we like to call "Gorgeous George Gorging On Georges Over The Gorgeous Gorge"






























As Gem says, "It's like the Mona Lisa - you look at it, then you look away but you can't believe what you've just seen so you keep looking back again."

And to the utter delight of us Perthlings: SNOW!!































Next: NOLA, or maybe back to Cali - who knows???