The day has finally arrived. We have booked our helicopter trip to the Grand Canyon (months in advance, all paid for and confirmed earlier in the week). I have my camera – all charged up – and a spare memory card. We’ve had breakfast. We are both sitting at the entrance of our timeshare office.
Waiting for the minibus (minivan) to take us to the airport.
And it is late.
I phone up the helicopter people.
“The driver is held up in traffic. He will be a little bit late, but he is on his way …”
And, eventually, the bus/van turns up.
“Sorry I am late. Our driver didn’t come in to work today, and I am having to take his place.”
Ah well! I did tip the driver when we got there, but did advise him about getting excuses straight! No sense spoiling a nice day.

After the compulsory safety lecture, the weigh-in (anyone over 250 pounds pays 50% more) and the compulsory extra airport charge, we were escorted out to the flight line. No idea who Mr. McCarren was, but it’s a nice little airport.

There were five passengers in our helicopter. Me, the wife, a brainless bimbo and boyfriend (or husband, if his luck had deserted him) and their tag-along female friend. I was the only one with a professional camera, so, naturally, I was stuck in the middle in the back, with the wife on my left and tag-along on my right. The bimbo sat in the middle, at the front with boyfriend on her left. I presume that the pilot reckoned on getting a bigger tip from bimbo and boy.
Nope. Never works that way.

Soon, we were up, up and away. We soared over the Luxor and headed for Lake Meade. Las Vegas, from the air, consists of The Strip and a flat nothing filled with look-alike homes made of tickey-tacky. (No fears! You’ll get to see the ORIGINAL boxes made of tickey-tackey later).

First noteable sight was Lake Las Vegas. Not much of a lake, but the money down there was incredible! Did they really need to build a life-size bridge like the one in Venice, just to cross the creek? More pounds per square inch than the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

The thing that nobody mentioned at the time, was that, as we were soaring up, Lake Las Vegas was crashing down. Bust. Skint. Bankrupt. The pilot mentioned Celine Dion. Celebrities and extravagance. I guess that stoney broke doesn’t fit the image.

On we headed, out over Hoover Dam. Despite the totally opaque head of the bimbo getting repeatedly in the way, I still managed to get some usable pictures. The new bridge they are building looks impressive, but at the rate that the water in Lake Meade is dropping, they could have waited and driven over the lake bed in a year or two. It’s gonna get thirsty in Las Vegas soon.

The Grand Canyon is big. It is spectacular and a site to behold. Looking back, I wished that I had driven there to be in the Grand Canyon. The helicopter trip was worth the money, but we came away feeling that watching it all on television would have been very much the same. The Valley of Fire looked much the same – but redder. The pilot waffled the biggest load of nonsense and the bimbo took it all in. Plenty of space to put it all in, I suppose …
The most impressive sight, the most amazing site over the Grand Canyon was this. The reflection of the sun shining on the Luxor Hotel was so bright, the brilliant flare of it could be seen 50 miles away whilst we flew over Arizona.
Keep cleaning those windows, lads. You are doing a grand job.

On the way back, we flew straight along the strip. Lots of great photos of Las Vegas.
And quite a few of the back of a bimbo’s head.
Call me sexist if you like, but this was a woman with barely enough brain to prevent her ears from imploding. She could have sent sex-equality back a hundred years with one simple statement. I hope that the boyfiend likes that sort of thing.

After the trip, the boyfriend gave the pilot a tip. So did we. But not as much as we might have.
Was the trip worth it? Yes.
But no more than that.
Next time, I’ll drive.

If you care to have a re-look at ‘Heroes and Villains, you will see the first gallery of pictures from the Mojave Desert and Calico Ghost Town.

Just click on the thumbnails to see the bigger picture.

Las Vegas to come next!

Mesklin

The blog has just been updated to V3.0 and the theme has also been updated. As a result, the header graphics have been returned to the default pics. Annoying …

Will soon bring back the proper pics and do the long-needed changes to makeit easier to access the main tachras site and the Dave Book library.

Will need to do a read of what has changed.

Mesklin

The Luxor at Las Vegas

I am working at it. Honest!

Between the hell of return to work and trying to catch up on three weeks work left in the hands of others ( less inclined, shall we say … ), and a whole mess of other things, I’ve not managed to do a lot.

I’ve gradually managed to catalogue the pictures, and they will appear soon. And I hope to continue the narrative. Unless the less inclined screw up again. Trying times.

In the meantime, I leave you with this snapshot taken from a helicopter. Click on it if you want the Big Picture.

Good taste? Vegas style!

Back in the UK again. Was unable to find decent Internet facilities in Lake Tahoe ( journalism tends to falter at $1 a minute – $10 minimum – when using the business facilities in Harrah’s Casino! ), so the rest of the Nevada series had to wait till I got home ( and recovered from the time difference ).

At least, it gives me a chance to add some photos. We took about 1,200 or so! Don’t panic! We will only put in the best ones.

Mesklin

During the journey on the Metro, I had imagined the warm welcome awaiting me when I reached the home of the friends who were to give me hospitality. An hour later, I stood in a Paris street with my huge suitcase wondering what on earth to do next. The house was dark, there was no answer to my repeated ringing of the door bell. Even thumps on the door made no impression on the silent house. My mobile phone had abandoned me. And it was 11pm. Help!

Something stirred behind a high wall, a few doors along the street. I hammered on the wall door. A lady answered, listened to my tale of woe, offered me the use of a phone and a choice of tea or coffee. Three phone calls later, I had the answer to the question ‘Where will I spend the night?’ A Congolese family had offered me a mattress on the floor of their living room. My ‘adventure’ was over but had left me full of gratitude that in spite of what the media might try to persuade us, Good Samaritans are not extinct.

Well, here we are, back again. By now, we’ve driven down The Strip in Las Vegas so many times, that we probably count as ‘locals’. Or is that ‘strippers’? (We know where to get pole-dancing lessons. And one or two other dubious delights.

We tried the Monorail. Parked at the Sahara and bought a day ticket. It is clean, efficient, driven by computer – and very bumpy and rattly. And the non-stop high-speed adverts over the tannoy are an irritation until the mind automatically edits them out. But the coaches were always nearly empty. And we found out why.

To get to any Monorail station from The Strip (or the reverse), you have to trundle your way through a Casino. A winding path through slot machines, gambling tables, shops and more glitter than anyone could possibly absorb in a day. Usually about a half-mile walk before you see daylight. We got off at Bally’s/Paris. A long, long road a-winding through Bally’s just to get to Paris – which is entirely indoors. A huge span of ceiling which tries (unsuccessfully) to duplicate the sky. The supports of the half-size Eiffel Tower appear out of the blue. Literally.
The result is a claustrophobe’s worst nightmare. The combination of fake flagstoned, dingey streets, fake grotty alleys and grindingly absurd Ameri-Francais atmosphere, under a darkening sky make for a disturbing trek through a bad dream.
Spotting real daylight was a joy and a heartfealt relief. Only an urgent visit to the ‘toilettes’ came first.

The Strip is hot, glitzy and a tribute to the Big Sell. Along with a flock of coupon touts, drink sellers and outright beggars. The little sell. The peak and trough of Capitalism.

Looking for a particular shop – Swarovski Crystal – We headeded into the Forum Shops at Caesars Palace. And another Frankenstein shopping experience. Like Paris, the place has an artificial ceiling that goes (so they boast!) from dawn to dusk in an hour. For us, it stayed as a depressing twilight during our prolonged visit. The wife was unable to look up without feeling queasy, and she has happily visited a cave system in North Carolina! To me, it was just uncomfortably depressing. And I’m an ex-miner. I know it is cool and a relief from the desert heat – but we hated it.

The guide maps were confusing. The stairs and escalators were designed with one object in mind. To ensure that everyone was forced to walk past EVERY shop, on every floor. No short-cuts. No quick routes. Just follow the snake past all the high class ‘shoppes’, featuring anorexic models making their court to tourists who were universally 10 clothing sizes bigger. If Breughel had painted a shopping mall, this would be it!

Tired, hungry, thirsty. We headed into the nearest eating place. Planet Hollywood. We weren’t remotely interested in the authentic Hollywood movie props. We needed to sit, drink and eat.
I ordered the half-chicken with mashed potato. The wife ordered the ribs. She likes ribs.
The chicken was delighful. Even the mashed potato had texture and taste. And the wife rated the ribs as ‘fantastic’. So a big thanks and a 10 out of 10 for Planet Hollywood. Well done.

Eventually, we found Swarovski – remember, you have to pass EVERY shop in the place – and used the bouncing gift card (from the previous letter) to buy the wife a nice crystal necklace. As the price (with tax) came to slightly more than the value of the card, the saleswoman had to do a little bit of (legitimate) finagling. She’d had one herself, previously, and knew what a troublesome gift they were. Well done, Swarovski!

That was enough for the day. We made our way out again, and passed ALL the shops that we had seen on the way in. THe took a quick short-cut through Harrah’s Casino (well, another half mile of winding paths through golden glitz, slots and shops) to the Monorail, and escape! At least, Harrah’s had the ceiling done in a tasteful golden balls theme, and no artificial sky.

When we picked up our car again, it was top down and another run down The Strip. That part, we agreed, was always worth the effort. Back to the resort.

The next day was helicopter trip to the Grand Canyon. On my birthday.
For that, you can wait a bit.
I certainly had to!

Am now safely esconced (first time I’ve used that word!) in our Las Vegas accomodation. Nice place. Roomy, cool and reasonably well laid out. Not on The Strip, but then, we did choose the place ourselves. And the alternatives that were right in the centre of Las Vegas, were of the Mega-hotel type. Not to our taste at all.

Between the travelling, jet-lag and not much opportunity to have a decent meal, the first day or two in Nevada were not that great. Add in sunburn (convertible enhanced) and a trip to Polo Towers (the place we chose NOT to stay in) for a Timeshare heavy-duty sales assault, we were not too inclined to enjoy Las Vegas. The sales guy near blew a fuse when, after nearly three hours of waffle, I said that I could not actually see any benefit to the scheme that he was pushing. He did not say the word ‘stupid’, but in body language, voice tone and expression, it was set in 48 point Roman Bold Italic with flashing text and Font-Color Red!
Ten minutes later, we were sitting outside the back door with the smoking pariahs, clutching our ‘gift’ and waiting in the heat for a bus. We came in a stretch limousine, but when you say ‘NO!’, it is a soldier’s farewell and a quick exit.

The gift, to be fair, looked quite good. A Visa Gift Card to the value of $100. It bounced the first time we tried to use it!

Which brings use to the First Rule of Vegas.

“If you can’t afford to lose, don’t come to the table.”

We knew it. The timeshare guy, for all his years of experience, pressurising punters, did not. The other Vegas Rule – “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” – in consequence naturally applies. And his Polo Tower timeshare sale will stay in Las Vegas when we move on.

And on to better things …

Went to the Rick Thomas Magic Show in the Sahara. Great show. With tigers. Recommended.
The Sahara is old-style Las Vegas. Frank and Dean era. A little seedy looking, but none the worse for that. It is part of the atmosphere – and I liked it for that.

We have now driven around Las Vegas quite a bit. We took the Car-Navigator Challenge and followed its instructions to the letter. Cruising down The Strip at night in a convertible is really neat (a borrowed US expression ). A racetrack in neon. Ya jes gotta do it folks! I mean this. Do it!

So. A poor start, but we are getting into the spirit of things. Tomorrow is the BIG DAY. The Grand Canyon by helicopter. On my birthday. Planning gets you the prize.

Unlike the timeshare guy, I know how to lose. And I know how to win!

See you soon.

The military say that no plan survives contact with the enemy. Well, I plan my holidays like a military campaign …

… and I have met the enemy!

First – the Airline. Virgin Atlantic
Book months in advance. Pay up front. Arrange your seats long before you go.
Try to check your seat. Virgin won’t allow it because all the seats are booked, so you are NOT allowed to look. Not even to check!
Book in on-line, 24 hours before you fly. And discover that you have been allocated different seats. Phone them up.
“You can NOT change your seats 24 hours before flying, sir!”
“But you can’t check them until 24 hours before flying!”
“You’ll have to ask at the airport, sir! Anything else I can help you with, sir?”
“No thank you. You have been most unhelpfull, and you have the most awkward and stupid site I have ever encountered. Good bye”
At the airport, the red-clad Virgin (???) offered to change our seats – for ones that were far worse!

We stayed overnight at the IBIS Hotel, Heathrow. They charge you GBP 7.00 to park. The first you know of this is when you enter the gate to the hotel. The full English breakfast ( GBP 6.99 extra each) was slow, late and consisted of sausages, bacon, beans and scrambled egg (help yourself at the trough). Croissant, fruit, water and sour milk (for the cornflakes) were available. And a toaster that the Japanese guests had to have explained. Revenge for their video players!
The barrier tried to chop our car in half on the way out. IBIS – your hotel was lousy. And the beds were like jail cell matresses. I know …

And our first hero!

Quality Car Parking, Heathrow. Quick, efficient and friendly. Thank you driver – you were GREAT!

The flight was an hour or so late, and 11 hours of Purgatory.
Airline tip #1. If you must break wind (and on a long flight, believe me, you must!), then be sitting next to the couples with small babies. Nobody ever suspects that it is you!

San Francisco is a surprisingly small airport. Somehow, you always expect everything American to be bigger. It isn’t. And this will be a recurring theme on this trip …

Next hero (or as they used to say – heroine)
The nice lady at the SF Car Rental centre. Polite, helpful. Did as she is told – tried to get us to upgrade – but never in a pushy way. She managed to get us a convertible. Hooray! Love convertibles. Thank you.

Additional note. Driving an open topped car across the Mojave Desert, means thay you look like a Panda. Red face, with white eye sockets where the sunglasses blocked the glare. Not the most appealing look. But still, thanks for getting us the convertible.

Mojave Desert. Visited the Calico Ghost Town. Sorry, Calico, but the place looked and felt like it was built last year. The tatty wood look and the widely strewn old scrap iron doesn’t make up for the overpriced gift shops. Not recommended.

Like SF Airport, Mojave, Barstow and Baker looked so much smaller than I imagined.
And then we arrived in Las Vegas. It is spread out a lot wider than any town in England, but I have to say …

… it looks a lot smaller than I imagined.