Finding home in Las Vegas
And hope? That surprised me, too.
Hi Everyone!
I’ve missed being here with you!
It’s been a blessed six weeks with family and friends, celebrating two joyful weddings, and seeing some of the most amazing scenery on our earth. Not to mention basking in six weeks of dry air which makes me almost purr. I’ll give you a few glimpses of this time away in the coming weeks since I spent a fair amount of time thinking about home and places and how those two intersect.
Welcome new subscribers! I’m SO happy you are here and hope you feel comfortable joining in the comments. I really do enjoy hearing everyone’s stories and perspectives.
And so, to begin, here’s a description of our short time in Las Vegas.
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Toward the last couple weeks of our West Coast trip in August, we drove to Las Vegas from Ventura, California. (Is it just me, or does anyone else have trouble saying, ‘Las Vegas’ without adding “baby!” at the end of it? Las Vegas, baby!!!) We spent two nights and one very long hot day in the city. But oh boy, what a place! We are so late to the Las Vegas party, I know. But, a tiny bit surprisingly, in our own way, we had a very fun time.
The last time I went to Las Vegas was many decades ago when the strip was a few miles away from the current main attractions. At that time, I arrived with a guy I had met a few days before to share expenses and time driving cross country, on our way home to California from college on the East Coast. I had answered his ad and we were now on our way to Los Angeles, where the classic Mercedes he was driving needed to be delivered. The car was cream coloured, with leather seats, a sun roof, and was exquisitely roomy. It was also a joy to drive.
He wasn’t a chatty guy, but we had managed a few conversations over the day and a half it took to drive across the dark night skies of Pennsylvania and Ohio, greeting the day in Indiana, watching the sun move across the Illinois and Missouri skies, eventually dodging thunderstorms just inside Kansas to spend the night in a motel somewhere.
The next day took us across the flat corn fields of Kansas and across eastern Colorado and eventually up, up, up westerly into the Rocky mountains where it was too dark to see much except dark mountaintops and stars. Tired, we threw our sleeping bags next to the car by the side of the road. We lay there for awhile in awe of the stars - thousands of them, thrown everywhere around, even below us, it seemed, we were up so high.
Too soon, I heard my companion rustling around and woke up to a glowing rosy light in the east, the sunrise framing impossibly high mountain peaks all around us. I smelt the pine and thin air and couldn’t help but smile. THIS landscape I knew: this was the West with fresh dry air and conifer trees that stand tall, and where one can stretch fully and breathe and feel alive. No longer were we surrounded by flatness and tall grasses as far as one can see, with human intervention everywhere: square fields outlining parallel rows of grains and corn, straight charcoal grey interstate highways bracketed by long wavy utility lines: everything in the midwest seemed flat, straight with one long horizon, so very far away.
THIS day we kept the sun roof open and took turns standing up in the car to gawk at tall trees and mountain peaks, and as we dropped into Utah, the land of massive red rocks and canyons and shifting shadows and silhouettes. We didn’t need to talk now: we were in awe of the power and overwhelming presence of our earth around us, holding us and clearly in control of the shape of the landscape.
Eventually we rolled into the old strip of Las Vegas at dusk. Our world changed from glowing red rock sandstone to neon flashing lights and garish loud noises, artificial plants, buildings, people, and the cacophony of it all, pulsing at us. We were mesmerised and repulsed; attracted and disgusted. We couldn’t turn our eyes away and we couldn’t wait to leave. We left, relieved to be back on the dark quiet highway through the desert to LA.
Now, many decades later, Pete and I approached Las Vegas from the opposite direction, headed towards Utah. At least with Las Vegas, we had a sense of what we were in for. We had a hotel off the strip with several pools and relative quiet, so we could retreat when needed from the mayhem of the strip.
Saturday morning we met ‘Chad Feldheimer’, a character from Burn After Reading1, only for real. OK, not really for real, but this chap was our concierge, and he was the spitting image of Chad, down to the gestures and way he spoke. We LOVED him. He has another name but we knew he was really Chad.
Chad greeted us with a welcoming smile and a salesman’s ready chatter. He quickly determined that we were NOT interested in a 2-hour timeshare presentation in exchange for discounted tickets to a show we didn’t want to see or free entry to a club we didn’t want to go to. Even if he could get us a free Uber over to the presentation at 10:30 this morning, and one that would take us wherever we wanted to go afterwards?! No thanks, we said, not interested. No worries, he chirped! What do we want to do, and how can he help? Turns out, he can’t help with what we want to do, as he checks a website that says the show we want to see is sold out. But no matter! He is so cheerful and chatty, and since there is no one else waiting for his help, we chat away.
Where are we from, he asks. We pause; this is ALWAYS a hard question for us to answer. We tell him a bit: we are from England and California, live in England now, currently here to see family and friends and for weddings and work. We are just stopping in Las Vegas to look around and maybe see a show.
Where is HE from, I ask. Maine, he says tentatively, like we might not have heard of it. We smile and nod, we’ve been to Maine, love Maine. Well, his whole family has moved to Las Vegas, except his mom. His Dad loves the slots. He hated growing up in Maine, although now he’s starting to see why other people might like it. You know, when you live some place you take it FOR GRANTED. Right? You know what I mean? He points to someplace in the air. We nod.
We tell him we are heading over to the strip to look around the fancy hotels and casinos. He says conspiratorially: don’t ever play the slots, you’re just throwing money away. We nod in agreement (and are thinking: does he know this because of his dad?). A little later, while waiting for our hotel shuttle to take us over to the strip, he comes out to greet two Uber drivers who are there to take a couple of his more willing clients to their time-share presentations. We’re happy to enjoy those extra two hours on our own.
During our day on The Strip, we bought tickets to see the evening Cirque du Soleil Beatles show, ‘Love’ (the one Chad said was sold out). As we were chatting to the lady selling us the tickets, her name tag said she was from Salinas, a town in the centre of a major agricultural area of California, and also near where we had been staying. We mentioned that to her, and she told us her story.
She told us about her childhood working in the fields along with so many other Mexican-Americans, picking the food that we eat. She passionately described, in case we did not know, the broader role of the Latino population in bringing food to Americans and we reassured her we absolutely did know and value the back-breaking work it takes to get fresh food on our plates. She described her first office job, working for Cesar Chavez2, a labor leader and civil rights activist in America. She said her first pay-check was signed by Cesar Chavez himself.
Finally she told us how when her son was in school he had to do a report on an important person, and she suggested he read about Cesar Chavez. To her delight, he did and discovered his own personal link between his family and a very important part of California and worker’s rights history. It was quite emotional for all of us as she told us her story, standing in a loud, florescent-lit ticket office in a Las Vegas casino.
The next morning as we were grabbing coffee at the next door Starbucks on our way out of town, Chad came in behind us, caffeinating for the day. He greeted us like old friends, complaining he had just lost his first commission of the day due to a mix up. He’s so bummed. He pointed into the air again. We felt bad for him and tried to cheer him with platitudes: ‘It is probably the worst thing that will happen today’ and ‘Now it can only get better!” We honestly did feel bad for him; I mean, he recognised us and came over to tell us something that was bothering him. In a town like this, where is the line between polite friendliness and gestures of caring?
That’s the funny thing about Vegas. It is a surreal place where all kinds of people come though behaving all kinds of ways. People are coming and going, and no one, it seems, started out there. The idea of finding your luck in Vegas permeates; it is the premise of Vegas. Yet, it doesn’t feel like a particularly lucky place.
It does, however, feel like a hopeful place, where people are hoping and even determined to have fun. It’s a place where people come for many reasons. Some of them stay as well, because they have hope. Hope for a better life, hope for a new way to live, hope for more fun. And I get that.
One of the reasons we chose our place to live is that it is also a place people come to have fun: in our case, they want to relax, play in the sand, swim in the sea, breathe clean air and walk along the coastal cliffs. As we walk around, we can feel the relaxed vibe of people enjoying themselves and smiling at the sea.
Like the ticket seller and the concierge, we have found our corner in a place people come for fun. We too reflect the smiles of visitors and share in the laughter and the joy. We like it too! We are lucky to call it home.
As always, thanks SO much for reading! Let me know your thoughts by commenting below.
For instance:
Have you ever been to Las Vegas? What did you think about it??
If you live in a tourist place, what’s that like for you?
Have you ever thought about moving to a place others love to visit? If you haven’t, what stopped you?
See you next week!
xo Sabrina
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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burn_After_Reading
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cesar_Chavez
Oh Sabrina. I suspect Las Vegas is so not for me.
I feel choked in any big city, claustrophobic. I hate flashing lights and loud noise.
For me, its wide skies, sea and country, trees, natural sound and if I get some solitude along the way, then it's a bonus.
But the people make a place, don't they? And I bet the memories of Chad and the ticket seller stay in your mind forever.
Thank you for the trip through Vegas and PS: how brave were you to cadge a ride those years ago, with someone you barely knew! But what a journey it was!
Well, you sold me. I've never wanted to go Los Vegas but we've recently been toying with the idea of using it as a base to visit the national parks in Utah. There would be lots of outdoor activity, including hiking, and for those family members not so interested in that part, they could come for the LV, baby part. Still have to think about this idea but if you can find worth and goodness in it, I can too.
I loved the part about the woman who's first paycheck was signed by Cesar Chavez. That's one of those very human discoveries one can make in a place like Los Vegas that bring it down to earth and make it more meaningful.
You described the pull of the scenery and nature on your beings with the first trip through LV so well. That's exactly how it is. Thanks for reminding me of that and the glorious West.
Can't wait for next week.