Inspired by seeing the sunrise yesterday, I have adopted similar tactics for staying in Las Vegas these next few days. Out running the Strip as the sun appeared above the horizon was a good judgment call.
I was surprised to see so many people up and about at the gaming tables and propping up the bars until I realised these were the ones who had never made it to bed. The early risers comprised a surprisingly large number of joggers (clearly also desperate to avoid spending 24 hours under one large roof); loads of middle-aged couples walking hand-in-hand (rekindling romance in the soft early morning light of the Strip?); and maintenance and construction guys (who for all I know begin work during the night to avoid working in the heat of the day). I couldn’t determine whether the hookers were still up or early risers.
I really like the insane über-reality of Vegas. It appeals to the fantasy side of me which makes me spend hours in cafés in Leeds where I can hear Italian being spoken. I enjoy pretending I’m on the banks of Lake Garda. Or in Venice. Or Paris.
Where it gets silly is experiencing those bits of Vegas where I can enjoy imagining I’m in Disneyland (another place I really rather love) where I like the feeling of being somewhere else. Life imitating an imitation of reality.
How surreal is that?