On our final morning in Vegas, we returned back over The Strip to MGM Grand to have breakfast at the Rainforest Cafe, a gimmicky tropical rainforest themed restaurant.
And then we farewelled Vegas, and took Route 160 West back across the California/Nebraska state line to Death Valley's Furnace Creek.
And then we stopped to take some pictures... And a video.
Furnace Creek is a census-designated place (CDP) in Inyo County, California, United States. The population was 24 at the 2010 census, down from 31 at the 2000 census. The elevation of the village is 190 feet (58 m) below sea level, so we have to drive down about 3500feet from Vegas to reach the resort! Furnace Creek also holds the record for the record for second hottest temperature (After Libya) at 134 degrees or 57 C. The person who recorded that temperature said that swallows were falling from the sky dead on the ground because it was so hot, and the wet Turkish headband he wore was dry by the time he took the temperature and went back into his house. However, being winter, it was just a pleasant temperature and great rehab pit stop for us after Vegas on the way to Yosemite!!
Thursday 28 February 2013
LA on Salvador's Bus
After flying back to LAX, via the beloved Miami, I headed to the hotel the boys (Clint, Robert and Flood) were staying at. They were presently at Disneyland, which I had opted out of after my horrendous DisneyWorld experience, so I had the hotel room to myself to refresh, recoup and do a load of washing (Living large!).
When they returned we had a few drinks and discussed the next couple of weeks which Robert had been the organiser of (Working along side a travel agent). We had an early night in preparation of the exciting adventure commencing the following day.
We were up early to get a shuttle bus to take us to a bus terminus where we would spend majority of the day being driven around and fed information on LA. We boarded our bus, or rather Salvador's bus, as the little Mexican driver, Salvador, repeatedly told us. To this day I have absolutely no idea why Salvador's bus was covered in sea creatures... But he did once mention that he liked to fish... Presumably roller-coasting sting-rays were a delicacy of his home town.
First stop was a little Mexican ghost town... Which presumably had an actual name, probably wasn't Mexican, and had some relevance to Loz Hangelays... However all of these facts now escape me.
We reboarded the bus, went past a park with pink benches, the entry to China Town, and then again hopped off in the middle of Los Angeles.
Apart from a whole bunch of buildings there was a fountain and 'LA Phil', namely the Los Angeles Philharmonic, which was probably the most impressive building in the city, and reminded me of my exceptionally skilled uncle who plays in the Nottingham philharmonic.
We all-aboarded and continued onto Hollywood Boulevard before once again hopping off the bus (Who's bus? Salvador's bus) for an hour to snap a few pictures of the Hollywood sign and the stars studding the footpath.
We returned to the bus and were whisked away once more on the only bus that really matters (Salvador's bus) to ol' 90210 (The only American zip code anyone actually knows!), namely Beverley Hills.
We cruised through the 'Hills to the Farmers Market, which ol Salvador highly recommended. And he wasn't far wrong. Delicious food, a million and one different hot sauces and ginormous toffee apples. I was impressed, however couldn't help but miss the lack of fresh fruit and vegetables. Just meat, hot sauce and candy, which reminded me that I was indeed, back in 'Merica.
Post lunch we were transported to Venice Beach (Including the terrifying Muscle Beach, where steroids are embraced). The beach reminded me of a post-hurricane Gold Coast... Filled with chinsey tat shops. Not entirely unpleasant, but not somewhere I'd be rushing back to any time in the future. We mosied down the beach front until we found a bar (Ol mate Salvador had decided to leave us in this sandy waste-land for 3 whole hours!).
Which wasn't altogether bad... But then the "mist" came rolling on in from the ocean...
Eventually we were rescued by Salvador (And his bus) and returned to our hotel, where we had dinner in the hotel before crashing out. Being sensible before our giddying drive out into the Nebraska Desert the following day.
When they returned we had a few drinks and discussed the next couple of weeks which Robert had been the organiser of (Working along side a travel agent). We had an early night in preparation of the exciting adventure commencing the following day.
We were up early to get a shuttle bus to take us to a bus terminus where we would spend majority of the day being driven around and fed information on LA. We boarded our bus, or rather Salvador's bus, as the little Mexican driver, Salvador, repeatedly told us. To this day I have absolutely no idea why Salvador's bus was covered in sea creatures... But he did once mention that he liked to fish... Presumably roller-coasting sting-rays were a delicacy of his home town.
First stop was a little Mexican ghost town... Which presumably had an actual name, probably wasn't Mexican, and had some relevance to Loz Hangelays... However all of these facts now escape me.
We reboarded the bus, went past a park with pink benches, the entry to China Town, and then again hopped off in the middle of Los Angeles.
Apart from a whole bunch of buildings there was a fountain and 'LA Phil', namely the Los Angeles Philharmonic, which was probably the most impressive building in the city, and reminded me of my exceptionally skilled uncle who plays in the Nottingham philharmonic.
LA Philharmonic |
We all-aboarded and continued onto Hollywood Boulevard before once again hopping off the bus (Who's bus? Salvador's bus) for an hour to snap a few pictures of the Hollywood sign and the stars studding the footpath.
We returned to the bus and were whisked away once more on the only bus that really matters (Salvador's bus) to ol' 90210 (The only American zip code anyone actually knows!), namely Beverley Hills.
We cruised through the 'Hills to the Farmers Market, which ol Salvador highly recommended. And he wasn't far wrong. Delicious food, a million and one different hot sauces and ginormous toffee apples. I was impressed, however couldn't help but miss the lack of fresh fruit and vegetables. Just meat, hot sauce and candy, which reminded me that I was indeed, back in 'Merica.
Post lunch we were transported to Venice Beach (Including the terrifying Muscle Beach, where steroids are embraced). The beach reminded me of a post-hurricane Gold Coast... Filled with chinsey tat shops. Not entirely unpleasant, but not somewhere I'd be rushing back to any time in the future. We mosied down the beach front until we found a bar (Ol mate Salvador had decided to leave us in this sandy waste-land for 3 whole hours!).
Which wasn't altogether bad... But then the "mist" came rolling on in from the ocean...
Eventually we were rescued by Salvador (And his bus) and returned to our hotel, where we had dinner in the hotel before crashing out. Being sensible before our giddying drive out into the Nebraska Desert the following day.
Vegas 1 - Las Vegas, Baby!!
We were all excited to do the drive up The Strip we had seen so many times before in our favourite American movies and TV shows. However The Strip is more of a 6 lane highway with an almighty concrete barricade separating the flows of traffic, so we had to enter the strip halfway up, which was a slight anticlimax.
Cruising past Caesars Palace and the Eiffel Tower we suddenly realised the monstrosity of Vegas. With neon lights flashing every which-way you look, the Bellagio's water fountain spraying up 80meters into the air performing for the folks on the street and a police bike booking a young man on a motorbike in the middle of The Strip, there wasn't a shortage of things too ooh and ahh at.
We found New York, New York and pulled into what would be our home for the next 3 nights.
Checking in, we found we were walking through the "streets of New York" towards the Chrysler Elevator. New York pizza, pretzels and a particularly intimidating looking steak house lined the cobbled path upon which we ambled. I couldn't recall cobbled streets in New York, but perhaps had I have taken the time to chisel away the century old chewing-gum and gollies coating the pavement I may have.
Left at the Starbucks and right at the burger bar, and finally we were at the elevator. We dumped bags, dolled up a bit (Especially the boys - I was still sporting Sorels) and then it was out to the adult-candyland.
More or less immediately after leaving the front door of the hotel we found ourselves walking along the Brooklyn Bridge towards the statue of Liberty before coming down to the ground level of The Strip.
We soon learnt that looking around in appreciative awe was impossible as we were flocked by street hawkers flicking tickets at us and being told by a giant black man that we could 'eat a filet mignon off a naked lady'. As tempting as that was, we pressed on to Bubba Gumps, where we had one of our most average meals of the trip. An entire restaurant dedicated to Forest Gump is quite ample but having one of the staff asking people in the queue Forest Gump quiz questions is more than enough. I loved the film when I was younger and used to watch it quite frequently with my brother, but some of these people in the line knew all the answers. Which was somewhat frustrating because I knew that although they could recall what street Lieutenant Dan lived on, majority of them didn't know what language Australians commonly spoke.
The smoke from The Strip and our hotels casino was upsetting my asthma a bit, and having not brought my inhaler with me from the hotel, I thought I'd just pop into a CVS and see if I was even able to get Ventolin over the counter, although I didn't like my chances. I was accurate in my prediction, a script was indeed required. However, the pharmacist quickly informed me there were some pills for $12 I could purchase without a script which would take 30-45minutes to kick in. Deciding to leave it (I had Ventolin and preventer back at the hotel) but out of sick curiosity, I thought I'd see how much Ventolin was. So for those who don't know I'll put this in perspective; In Australia Ventolin is about $13 (Doesn't require a script), England £7 (Requires a script), and in the land of the free, merry ol' US of A, it is $52!! Had a good laugh at that, much to the pharmacists confusion.
Post pharmacy visit we resumed our Strip wanderings, slipping into Planet Hollywood. Brewskis in hand, we wandered around this casino, catching glimpses of girls dancing in next to nothing on the tables. We pressed onto Paris, aptly marked with an almighty Eiffel tower out the front, putting Park Road's somewhat to shame. The main difference between Paris and Planet Hollywood was everything in Paris had a 'Le' in front of it, eg. Le Casino, Le Cafe, Le Hotdog, Le Lavotories etc. Not overly impressed, we found a tunnel which connected to Bally's, and headed towards that so as to avoid the chilly wind of The Strip. Spotting an Oxygen Bar at the end of the tunnel, Robert and I were excited at the novelty and readily parted with our $10 for 10 minutes of "oxygen" and vibrating plastic octopuses, wire head massages and electro-muscle relaxer pads, for a full sense of harmony.
I'm not a fan of the electric pads at the best of times, but Robert told me turning it up to its highest setting was a hilarious way to induce involuntary spasms all the way down your arms. Foolishly I did as he said, despite hating the use of the TENS machine back home, and found an unpleasant lack of limb control. After 8 minutes of being "relaxed" and inhaling flower scented oxygen, I was quite ready to move on to less healthy activities, as was Robert. I removed my hospital tube and attempted to removed my electric-charged pads, only to find mini-shocks firing through my thumbs. Crying out, good ol Uncle Bobby turned off the impulses via the device, telling me I should really do that before I try to remove it. Thankful, I proceeded to remove the pads, only to have the Oxygen Bar lady come over and tell me I had to turn the pads off before I took them off, and she pressed a button, restarting the impulses, sending shocks down through my thumbs once more, making me look like a gibbering, double-thumbed, hitchhiking freak, complete with crazed head-massage hair.
We pressed on into the belly of the casino and purchased more drinks. The water show at Bellagio was due to start shortly, so we headed across The Strip to watch. Huge jets of water burst up into the air in time with the music which played. The illusion was somewhat spoiled with the heavily chlorine scented spray reaching us. We entered the Bellagio, which was as impressive as the others, but without the girls dancing on the tables, which added a pinch of class. We found a club which appeared to be quite happening inside the casino and headed on over to there. Robert got in, as did Clint and Flood... But I wasn't dressed well enough (NB: Might just add here that I had redone my hair, by this stage!)!! Apparently jeans and sensible water-proof boots aren't appropriate for a night out in Vegas! Fair enough, I suppose. After all, we had decided the first night would be a recce to see what we could and could not get away with (clothes, shoes, street drinking, indoor smoking etc). We pressed onto Caesars Palace, which had many amazing shops, including some affordable ones! I picked up a dress so as not to get caught out the following evening!
We meandered on into Cosmopolitan and had another couple of drinks then called it a night, so we could make the most of the next day, which included a helicopter flight into the Grand Canyon. Three of us were all still recovering from the dizzy heights of Rio's Carnaval and international flights, which left the exception of Clint who flew his Aussie battler flag high and proud and kicked on into the evening to make the most of his Vegas experience. We later found out that after leaving us he left the Cosmo an hopped in a limousine which he cruised up and down the Strip in for a good time! Like a boss!!
We arrived back to the hotel, with a very hungry Robert, who was further disappointed at the closure of the food outlet shops at New York, New York. Whoever said 'Vegas never sleeps' was very incorrect. It was only 1am! Robert heading back up to our room, while Flood and I went to ride the roller coaster which was on our hotels roof. We discovered the roller coaster finished at 10pm, so we had missed the final ride by a good few hours. Now equally a disgruntled as Uncle Bobby, we headed back to the room to catch an "early night" before the chopper ride.
At 5am Robert's alarm went off and in his state of semi-consciousness he phoned the helicopter tour people to book us into the flight later that day... It was a less than victorious phone call as I heard him say to the lady on the other end "Oh sorry, I've screwed all of that up, I just woke up". I later found out the lady was extremely helpful and patient with Robert after many "Ok, sir, that's ok sir, thank you sir"'s and "Sir, that's not the reference number I'm after". Eventually everything worked out, Robert hung up and fell back asleep.
And then 3 and a half hours later, Clint got home!
Cruising past Caesars Palace and the Eiffel Tower we suddenly realised the monstrosity of Vegas. With neon lights flashing every which-way you look, the Bellagio's water fountain spraying up 80meters into the air performing for the folks on the street and a police bike booking a young man on a motorbike in the middle of The Strip, there wasn't a shortage of things too ooh and ahh at.
We found New York, New York and pulled into what would be our home for the next 3 nights.
Checking in, we found we were walking through the "streets of New York" towards the Chrysler Elevator. New York pizza, pretzels and a particularly intimidating looking steak house lined the cobbled path upon which we ambled. I couldn't recall cobbled streets in New York, but perhaps had I have taken the time to chisel away the century old chewing-gum and gollies coating the pavement I may have.
Left at the Starbucks and right at the burger bar, and finally we were at the elevator. We dumped bags, dolled up a bit (Especially the boys - I was still sporting Sorels) and then it was out to the adult-candyland.
More or less immediately after leaving the front door of the hotel we found ourselves walking along the Brooklyn Bridge towards the statue of Liberty before coming down to the ground level of The Strip.
We soon learnt that looking around in appreciative awe was impossible as we were flocked by street hawkers flicking tickets at us and being told by a giant black man that we could 'eat a filet mignon off a naked lady'. As tempting as that was, we pressed on to Bubba Gumps, where we had one of our most average meals of the trip. An entire restaurant dedicated to Forest Gump is quite ample but having one of the staff asking people in the queue Forest Gump quiz questions is more than enough. I loved the film when I was younger and used to watch it quite frequently with my brother, but some of these people in the line knew all the answers. Which was somewhat frustrating because I knew that although they could recall what street Lieutenant Dan lived on, majority of them didn't know what language Australians commonly spoke.
The smoke from The Strip and our hotels casino was upsetting my asthma a bit, and having not brought my inhaler with me from the hotel, I thought I'd just pop into a CVS and see if I was even able to get Ventolin over the counter, although I didn't like my chances. I was accurate in my prediction, a script was indeed required. However, the pharmacist quickly informed me there were some pills for $12 I could purchase without a script which would take 30-45minutes to kick in. Deciding to leave it (I had Ventolin and preventer back at the hotel) but out of sick curiosity, I thought I'd see how much Ventolin was. So for those who don't know I'll put this in perspective; In Australia Ventolin is about $13 (Doesn't require a script), England £7 (Requires a script), and in the land of the free, merry ol' US of A, it is $52!! Had a good laugh at that, much to the pharmacists confusion.
Post pharmacy visit we resumed our Strip wanderings, slipping into Planet Hollywood. Brewskis in hand, we wandered around this casino, catching glimpses of girls dancing in next to nothing on the tables. We pressed onto Paris, aptly marked with an almighty Eiffel tower out the front, putting Park Road's somewhat to shame. The main difference between Paris and Planet Hollywood was everything in Paris had a 'Le' in front of it, eg. Le Casino, Le Cafe, Le Hotdog, Le Lavotories etc. Not overly impressed, we found a tunnel which connected to Bally's, and headed towards that so as to avoid the chilly wind of The Strip. Spotting an Oxygen Bar at the end of the tunnel, Robert and I were excited at the novelty and readily parted with our $10 for 10 minutes of "oxygen" and vibrating plastic octopuses, wire head massages and electro-muscle relaxer pads, for a full sense of harmony.
I'm not a fan of the electric pads at the best of times, but Robert told me turning it up to its highest setting was a hilarious way to induce involuntary spasms all the way down your arms. Foolishly I did as he said, despite hating the use of the TENS machine back home, and found an unpleasant lack of limb control. After 8 minutes of being "relaxed" and inhaling flower scented oxygen, I was quite ready to move on to less healthy activities, as was Robert. I removed my hospital tube and attempted to removed my electric-charged pads, only to find mini-shocks firing through my thumbs. Crying out, good ol Uncle Bobby turned off the impulses via the device, telling me I should really do that before I try to remove it. Thankful, I proceeded to remove the pads, only to have the Oxygen Bar lady come over and tell me I had to turn the pads off before I took them off, and she pressed a button, restarting the impulses, sending shocks down through my thumbs once more, making me look like a gibbering, double-thumbed, hitchhiking freak, complete with crazed head-massage hair.
We pressed on into the belly of the casino and purchased more drinks. The water show at Bellagio was due to start shortly, so we headed across The Strip to watch. Huge jets of water burst up into the air in time with the music which played. The illusion was somewhat spoiled with the heavily chlorine scented spray reaching us. We entered the Bellagio, which was as impressive as the others, but without the girls dancing on the tables, which added a pinch of class. We found a club which appeared to be quite happening inside the casino and headed on over to there. Robert got in, as did Clint and Flood... But I wasn't dressed well enough (NB: Might just add here that I had redone my hair, by this stage!)!! Apparently jeans and sensible water-proof boots aren't appropriate for a night out in Vegas! Fair enough, I suppose. After all, we had decided the first night would be a recce to see what we could and could not get away with (clothes, shoes, street drinking, indoor smoking etc). We pressed onto Caesars Palace, which had many amazing shops, including some affordable ones! I picked up a dress so as not to get caught out the following evening!
We meandered on into Cosmopolitan and had another couple of drinks then called it a night, so we could make the most of the next day, which included a helicopter flight into the Grand Canyon. Three of us were all still recovering from the dizzy heights of Rio's Carnaval and international flights, which left the exception of Clint who flew his Aussie battler flag high and proud and kicked on into the evening to make the most of his Vegas experience. We later found out that after leaving us he left the Cosmo an hopped in a limousine which he cruised up and down the Strip in for a good time! Like a boss!!
We arrived back to the hotel, with a very hungry Robert, who was further disappointed at the closure of the food outlet shops at New York, New York. Whoever said 'Vegas never sleeps' was very incorrect. It was only 1am! Robert heading back up to our room, while Flood and I went to ride the roller coaster which was on our hotels roof. We discovered the roller coaster finished at 10pm, so we had missed the final ride by a good few hours. Now equally a disgruntled as Uncle Bobby, we headed back to the room to catch an "early night" before the chopper ride.
At 5am Robert's alarm went off and in his state of semi-consciousness he phoned the helicopter tour people to book us into the flight later that day... It was a less than victorious phone call as I heard him say to the lady on the other end "Oh sorry, I've screwed all of that up, I just woke up". I later found out the lady was extremely helpful and patient with Robert after many "Ok, sir, that's ok sir, thank you sir"'s and "Sir, that's not the reference number I'm after". Eventually everything worked out, Robert hung up and fell back asleep.
And then 3 and a half hours later, Clint got home!
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