Las Vegas: The Glamour of Dead Man’s Junk
Las Vegas has many faces.
First, there’s the Strip, all lights and noise, all sensually overwhelming, all such a sleek, perfect money-making mechanism.
Then, there’s the back side of all those glamorous casinos. Busy little people dart around, dwarfed by the skyscrapers which they so loyally serve.
Vans pull up and disgorge their contents into the pitch dark of delivery bays. The buildings swallow up the contents of these vans — and then convert food, and linen, and electrical appliances, and office paper, and God knows what else, — into a torrent of dollar bills which flows through the city’s slot machines.
Inside the casinos, the fun looks almost real. But gamblers sit behind tables, and at slot machines, with the look of intense, workalike concentration on their faces.
Outside, the desert sun beats down on copies of the Eiffel tower, of Trevi Fountain and the Coliseum; of Egyptian pyramids, of Venice’s canals, — all made of plaster, gypsum, and reinforced concrete.
They look almost real. But they are not. Like so much in this city.
We woke up on one of the top floors of Bally’s, an iconic hotel and casino. From our window, we could see Hilton Grand Vacations. It was still early, so the letters forming the hotel’s name were lit up. All of them, except for the letter “N” in the word “Grand”.
This was luxury held together with gaffer tape.
We took a long walk from Stratosphere casino to Fremont street and did what tourists are advised to never do here in Las Vegas: we turned off the main boulevard into one of the side roads.
I thought we were entering a shortcut. But we entered a different city. The street was called Main Street. But it was empty. In the midday heat, we walked for about an hour and only saw six or seven people; all of them, — either homeless or just very, very weird.
We walked past bail bond offices (I counted seven within four blocks), used car dealerships (“We’ll get you on the road for $999”), dozens of boarded-up shops, and many, many, many stores selling what I can only describe as junk.
One such store lured me in by its sign: “Dead People’s Junk and Stuff You Know You Don’t Need”.
Inside were old photographs of people I don’t know; cheap Chinese Christmas toys; old typewriters, and, suddenly, right in the middle of the shop-floor, — a fighter pilot’s ejection seat. Allegedly from an F15.
Considering the sign outside — “Dead People’s Junk” — I don’t even want to think about what happened to the pilot.
Back on Main Street, a woman was pushing a Walmart trolley with heaps of clothes, blankets and other paraphernalia of a homeless life. She stopped in the shade to catch her breath. She lit up. The street filled with the sweet smell of marijuana.
Across the road, a sign advertised “Marijuana cards — Dr. Gomez — no appointment needed”.
A man with an advertising board was trying to attract drivers’ attention. The board said something about girls 24/7.
A huge, empty car park marked the location of yet another failed business. Adverts on the wall proved that bail bonds can happily coexist with Jesus.
But as we approached Fremont street — the historic heart of Las Vegas, where it all began, — life started to re-appear.
There was a man in white overalls pacing up and down alongside an impossibly pink fence. A mechanic fiddled with a water hydrant. And then, suddenly, we saw people in office uniform. A woman with a lap dog. A nearly-naked man, only wearing a loincloth, waved his money-bucket in front of tourists.
We were back in the madness which is Vegas.
At the junction of Fremont street and 7th street stands a giant, fire-breathing machine, shaped to resemble a praying mantis. This piece of art was a gift from a local engineer to his wife. For some reason, she did not want to keep it in the family home.
A brochure we picked up nearby advertised a casino which housed Dali’s largest painting. The brochure did not say which painting it was. Whoever wrote it must have thought that size alone was would be attractive enough.
A few minutes South from Fremont street, a neat row of chapels offered quick weddings. A Las Vegas wedding is a meme in America, — something you do when you’re very, very drunk.
A wedding party was leaving one of the chapels as we walked by. The bride, a sizeable lady who looked to be in her 40s, dragged the groom behind her. He looked slightly lost. There were no family members, no photographers, no well-wishers.
A chariot, painted in bright pink, awaited outside. Plastic swans crossed their necks on the roof of the carriage.
For many people, their wedding day is the happiest in their lives. This couple — and their matrimonial paraphernalia — looked sad and, just like the swans, very plasticy.
Our Uber driver to the airport was a very talkative middle-aged man called Donald. He’d lived in Las Vegas since 1994. He told us how to “do” Vegas properly.
“You’ve got to hustle here, man. If you do, and if you don’t drink and gamble, you’ll have the good life. I know everybody in this city. And everyone knows me. I scratch their backs; they scratch mine. I’ve done everything: I’ve been a radio DJ, a car mechanic, a barman, a trucker. My motto is: take whatever life gives you and use it. Like, now I’m setting up this website about how to “do” Vegas like a local. I’m not getting a lot of traffic yet, but I’m now building an app. It will absolutely explode, no doubt about it. It’s all about small businesses here; nothing corporate is allowed. People love this sort of shit. Did you know, for example, that if you live locally, you get discounts for shows and concerts? So what I’m proposing is putting visitors in touch with locals. Somebody like me, for example, — I can get you a half-price ticket to see David Copperfield, you’ll pay me 10 or 15 dollars — everybody is happy. You’ve got to hustle, man, you’ve got to hustle. And this wonderful city will open up for you”.
Practical Advice: Las Vegas
Gambling
Of course you have to try it. Don’t expect to become a millionaire. Set yourself a budget. We blew a staggering $5. That was enough for us. Other people have other ideas. I watched a woman feed $250 to a slot machine in the space of 10 minutes.
You can smoke on casino floors. Weirdly, there is next to no smell. But, like all reformed smokers, I was still unhappy about people lighting up indoors.
Hotels
Big hotels are heavily subsidised by casinos. You can get a luxury room for $90. And if you ask for an upgrade, you will probably get one.
The Strip and other attractions
The Strip is not very long at all, — it can be easily walked. So there is no need to buy a bus tour, or to order a taxi. Fake Venice, Paris and Luxor are quite cute, — something you need to see once in your life, to tick the box.
Food
Your choices are either soulless feeding stations in casino hotels, or small restaurants outside the tourist area. I would go for the latter.
Next and final stop, — San Francisco, where I sum up the journey and drink far too much coffee
Or go back to the preface and the front page.
