Monday, 23 July, 2003
Leaving Las Vegas - THE COMMENTARY
By Joseph Planta
LAS VEGAS, NV We're leaving Las Vegas in the morning, and it's time for some parting thoughts, some final cerebration before that egregiously long journey home. It's not that long actually, but it isn't short.
Las Vegas has been an interesting experience. We've been staying at the Jockey Club, right on Las Vegas Boulevard more famously known as "The Strip". It's not as tall as the Bellagio, which is right next door, or the Paris, which is across the street. It's 11 stories, at that quite comfortable. It's a time share property that's run as a hotel. Mere mortals may wish to board here, only if they can slot themselves in between the vacationing owners' of the said property. We're staying at the Jockey Club thanks to a relative on my mother's side, who owns a timeshare on this place and who could only, thanks to short notice, get us a one bedroom suite. But what a one bedroom suite it is. Having seen the rooms in at least two of the bigger named hotels on the Strip, I can say, our suite in the Jockey Club is absolutely fine. It's a one bedroom, with a bathroom, a full kitchen and a living room. It retails, I believe, for the same rates as any other hotel on the Strip, probably in the neighbourhood of $80-100 per night. The Flamingo, in comparison, for double occupancy only is around $60 per night, week nights, and more on weekend of course. Plus at the Jockey Club, unlike the Flamingo, maid service is daily. Family staying at the Flamingo tell me that they get housekeeping but every three days.
As previously writ, I do not gamble all that much. I've sworn off table games, so it's just slots for me. It's awfully addicting, but rather fun. It is after all Sin City, so one's vices are naturally uninhibited for the duration of the visit. I guess what Las Vegas really is excess and nothing less. It's awfully shallow, but it's fun. You see a lot, and even though your poor feet have given in, you walk a little more, hoping to cram in so much more in an already busy day.
One day during our week's long visit, we were driven out to the outskirts of town by some lackey of a property developer. The gist was to sell us a timeshare into another property, this one being a first class resort at the edges of Las Vegas, where development has ceased at least for now. Driving outside of the Strip and getting into the heart of the areas where real Nevadans call home was rather interesting. First observation to live in Vegas, one inevitably must drive. I do not drive, nor do I plan to anytime soon; thus taking up residence in Las Vegas is out of the question. Public transportation is few and far between and taxis are damn near impossible because traffic is so bad anyways. Rather than the trend which we see in Vancouver and the Lower Mainland, the tendency down here is to build out. We used to do that in the Lower Mainland go out to Port Coquitlam or Surrey, but now were seeing more multi-level dwellings right in the hub of downtown Vancouver, as density is much more desirable environmentally, as well as economically. The benefit financially for a condo development say around False Creek or around Coal Harbour is far more substantial than a dreadful gated community in Surrey's Panorama Ridge or Westwood out near Port Moody.
In Nevada, like everywhere else, there's a shortage of labour. The plethora of casinos, ever increasing as the years progress, need workers and so the cost of living in the desert heat of a tourist mecca, is rather low. Ditto for the labour needed in the healthcare industry, as hospitals everywhere seem to be beckoning for nurses and other healthcare providers. One could invariably live a comfortable life, were they to convert their modest lifestyle here, there. And for the boo birds who'll yelp about the Canadian dollar, well, at this time at least, the rate of exchange is easy to stomach.
All that said, I for one, wouldn't want to live in Las Vegas. As ideal as it would be economically, the sea change in weather temperature would not be suited for your faithful correspondent. Though I don't sweat as much as I do at home, the heat here is several degrees higher and drier. It's a desert heat that you get used to in the interim, but other than that, you might as well slit your throat and wish you were amongst the glorious greenery of the Pacific Northwest.
Also, you'd think that with the girth of some the people that you encounter in Nevada, I would feel right at home. I've seen men, women and children the size of pachyderms, or at least as big as the motorhomes they live in with the convenience of buffets and the cheapness of food, it's easy to let one's self go, and do so unabashedly. It's unhealthy, and coming home I feel a tad inculpative about having indulged one's self so well. But as my cousin's partner, Ian, said to me, as I equivocated so, I am rather good at deducing the situation with the thoughtfulness of one endowed with Jewish sensibilities.
So it's onwards, and because I'll be getting on a plane tomorrow, upwards as well. I didn't go for broke, because I didn't feel compelled to do so. I was actually well behaved on this trip, though I did see a woman being serviced as she hung out of a car's sunroof, by the driver who was driving (at least trying to) at the same time down Las Vegas Boulevard. Just about now, my old friend Mayfield is shouting to those in the room with her: "He says, he's seen it all!" I did, kid, I definitely did.
- 30 -
Questions and comments may be sent to: editor@thecommentary.ca
An archive of Joseph Planta's previous columns can be found by clicking HERE .