I stepped out into the muted, pale pink morning of the Las Vegas Strip in an effort to earn my steps for the day, a steaming paper cup of cappuccino warming my hand, the occasional glug of it burning deep into my throat and chest.
A sporadic runner hurried past along the glittering sidewalk, panting, too focused to make eye contact.
I gazed around at the innumerable casinos on either side of the street, places like the Venetian, Treasure Island, Paris, and Caesars. I remember some of these opening decades ago and the celebrations they provoked. They felt magical at the time, but the entire place seems smaller and less engaging now.
Maybe it’s the time of day. The Strip is a humbler place in the morning, when the pervasive buzz of neon is silenced.
I have been in Vegas for 3 days for a conference, and I’m not seeing the magic I once saw. I think I’ve decided it’s a bit of a sad place.
It is a town that deals from a deck of impossible dreams, truly a Lucy van Pelt of a place.
People come here hoping for a windfall, and once here many of them burrow into smoky gaming floors where they sit idly at machines, feed the insatiable metal beasts their precious dollars, tapping away at the buttons with bored, hopeless looks on their faces.
The casinos sell hope, but it mostly feels like they are sapping it away.
This town has tried to grow beyond gambling and to be more. It has tried to fashion itself as a foodie destination, but from casino to casino the restaurants seem the same. Gordon Ramsay, Bobby Flay, Giada, and Guy Fieri. There is little to draw the average visitor from one casino to its neighbor.
Most of the restaurants at the Venetian, where gondolas float in a shallow chlorine-blue pool, aren’t even Italian.
I, too, was once impressed by Vegas, but now I can’t help but see beyond the fraying curtain. The casinos pretend toward greatness, mimicking extraordinary sights from around the globe, but it all feels like brittle plastic. One could say the beauty is skin deep, but I don’t think they’ve really built beauty here, and what they have seems to be the thinnest of veneers, no thicker than the caked-on makeup of performers long past their prime.
It’s been over 20 years since I’ve been here, and since then I have explored absolutely extraordinary places on 6 different continents. I’ve been fortunate to see many of the original inspirations: authentic places with their own people, history, and food.
Las Vegas is none of these, really. Over these few days I’ve decided it’s not a place for me anymore, even if I’ll hold fondly to my memories from a former time when I visited with Mom and Dad. Now my eyes see it differently than they once did: diminished, with buildings aspiring to the greatness of other places, but never quite getting there.
Looking at Caesar’s faux Coliseum is like looking through scratched glasses into a funhouse mirror.
I pause on the street thinking about my own biases and I try to flip the narrative. Perhaps the attempt at greatness has its own value, even if unsuccessful.
Perhaps in another era this place truly was more exciting. Or maybe it hasn’t changed at all, and instead I’m the one who has changed, now seeing the illusion rather than the magic. I know I enjoyed my time here much more in the years before I started traveling. Back then, I, too, could sit at machines and yearn for the spinning wheels to grant me a few coins.
But my view has evolved, and that is a time that has long since passed.
And yet, my thoughts on Vegas are a confused jumble, and maybe I’m being unfair. Maybe I’m the one missing something and being too harsh. There is more than just gambling here, and I’m ignoring the shows and entertainment. While those don’t attract me, they may entice others. And I hear there is an atomic museum that would be worth seeing, if only I had more time.
Maybe I’m the one who isn’t looking deep enough to find the real Vegas that exists where the strip and the facade both end. Could I still find her magic there?
And there’s another point of view, too, that’s worth considering. Many visitors here today are much like many of the performers – they come for a shot at redemption, and maybe some few get it.
In a sense, they seek out Vegas in search of hope, even if they have to pay for it – and maybe that’s all they really want. Hope has value and meaning, and maybe that’s enough. They yearn for those few moments of sparkling joy when the cheerful bell on a machine sounds the happy clang of coins. Maybe that’s the joy they seek.
But mostly they will go home with lighter wallets, where they will sit at kitchen tables and regale friends with exaggerated tales of victory and greatness (because nobody brags about losing money) that are more exciting than the truth.
And their friends will grin, and they will all enjoy an unbridled moment of happiness along with their coffee and cake.
And for those who are willing to find it, maybe that’s where the true magic of Vegas endures.
butterblogger 