I'm jumping on the "travel" bandwagon!  I'm afraid this isn't in the same league as Jean's wonderful 'Turkey' series, or Witzl's captivating Japanese accounts, it's just a collection of observations from a recent break, borne of my need to keep writing as much as possible.

Last year my husband Jon and I decided that we were going to spend Christmas doing something other than stuffing ourselves with chocolate and watching repeats of ‘Only Fools and Horses’ on the telly.  We don’t have any children, so it’s almost our duty to make holidays lively and exciting.  We just didn’t know exactly what we wanted to do.

I’d just been on one of those girlie spa break weekends somewhere rural a week earlier and showed Jon the hotel’s website, where it was advertising a fully inclusive Christmas package.

“Hmmm…I’m not sure I could really be away from the family at Christmas…it’d be too weird…” Jon muses, until an advertisement pops up on the screen, boldly announcing Jerry Seinfeld performing at Caesars Palace, Las Vegas, on Boxing Day.  He perks up, all thoughts of family forgotten.  “How do you fancy Christmas in Las Vegas?”  

Now, you may think I’d be mad not to jump excitedly at the chance of such an offer.  That is until I reveal three facts about myself (all of which I’m aware make me sound as much fun to be with as Cliff Richard at an all-night rave). I’m a vegetarian, I’m petrified of flying, and I’m not into gambling or Celine Dion.  Las Vegas, with its vacuous glitz and seedy glamour, is not on my list of top ten places to visit.   But Jon’s eyes are sparkling and he’s looking at me with the same expression as a five-year-old being offered a brand new bike, and I’m compelled to say yes.  And actually, once I’m used to the idea I’m excited about the prospect of being away for Christmas and from all the usual ‘Groundhog Day’ style traditions I’ve endured for the past 29 years.

I’m apprehensive as we reach Gatwick; this will be the longest flight I’ve ever been on.  But luckily, we’re assigned the nice roomy seats near the emergency exit and the flight is turbulence free.  And then suddenly (if you call eleven hours “suddenly”), Las Vegas appears in view from the plane window like a glittery childrens’ drawing in the middle of a crumpled sheet of brown paper.  It’s a truly amazing sight.

After dumping our bags at the hotel, we go for a wander along the Strip.  On first impressions Las Vegas seems, to me, a mass of contradictions – on the one side there is beautiful unspoilt desert scenery, with palm trees and glorious dusty, rocky roads – the type you see on Hollywood movies –  inviting you to go screeching down them at 120mph.  And on the other side…it’s as though I’ve been slapped round the face with a wet, multi-coloured rag.  Larger than life doesn’t go anywhere near describing the sheer magnitude of the buildings and the oversized billboards surrounded by flashing lights, advertising big name stars such as Britney Spears, Elton John, Prince…the list is endless, and I’m suitably impressed, being more used to the Chuckle Brothers or Chas ‘n’ Dave at Southend Cliffs Pavilion. 

I catch sight of a huge poster advertising a show starring “the wonderful Gordie Brown”.  I’m reassured that it isn’t our beloved Chancellor taking time out from his hectic schedule to entertain the good people of Las Vegas by the reviews directly underneath that the show is “side-splittingly funny” and “a must-see”.

Walking through the hotels on the Strip is a surreal experience; each hotel has its own theme.  The Venetian is – funnily enough – made up to look exactly like the watery streets of Venice, complete with gondolas, ice-cream and beautiful designer shops, all under a makeshift sunny blue sky.  And of course there is its cultural centrepiece, a Madame Tussauds where you can have a photo taken of yourself getting married to ‘George Clooney’.  At the Paris Hotel there is a huge replica of the Eiffel Tower, at which I overhear one girl saying to her boyfriend “So do they have a fake one of these in France, then?” 
 
I can’t fully convey how surreal it feels to be walking down the road whilst on your right is the Eiffel Tower, and on your left is a huge Sphinx and an enormous MGM lion…all accompanied by flashing lights and loud music.  I feel as though I must have eaten too much cheese on the plane and am now in a dream. 

Each hotel has the obligatory casino; everywhere we go I can hear the cheery tunes coming from the slot machines and the occasional excited thud of coins announcing a win.  I’m not much of a gambler, so I sit myself down halfheartedly at one of the slot machines while Jon tackles the roulette wheel (too serious for me).  Two hours later Jon is waiting patiently as I scream at the machine in desperation, trying in goggly-eyed vain to win back the $50 I’ve just put into it.  Hmmm…maybe gambling is just a little bit more addictive than I’d thought.

One thing that surprises me slightly about Las Vegas is the people.  They’re just so normal.  Thinking about it, I suppose it was a bit unreasonable of me to expect people to be high-kicking their way down the Strip dressed in full sequinned showgirl/showguy regalia, but I’m a bit disappointed with the fact that the people here are just average Joes, wearing jeans and scruffy trainers, sitting at the slot machines and casinos, queuing for shows and basically doing all the things normal people do when they’re on holiday.  I don’t know why I’m so surprised by this, but I am.  I suppose when the scenery is so glitzy and larger than life, in a way I unfairly expected the people to be too.

The seedier side of Vegas is clearly visible everywhere we go, including people standing brazenly out on the streets handing flyers to everyone who goes past (including children), detailing their “services”, and vans going past with sky-high posters of a scarily “dressed” woman offering to visit you in your hotel room.  I’m betting that the company running this operation don’t send this model on the poster to people’s hotel rooms, probably banking on their clients' over-indulgence of gambing and alcohol before dispatching her decidedly shorter, chubbier sister.   Just a guess.

Jon, for his part, doesn’t have my over-critical eye or analyse things to death so is just enjoying things for what they are – something I wish I was better at.  He’s enjoying the sun and the casinos and the cocktails and the opulence and this is without a doubt the best holiday he’s ever been on.  Simple as that.

The bars are wonderful – full of laid-back, relaxed people who will talk to anyone.  We spend a fantastic evening in a bar just off the Strip, where we learn how to line dance with real cowboys and drink flaming Sambucas.  One man has had so much to drink that he’s ferried out of the bar in a wheelchair by his friend, and I’m amazed at how calm and collected the whole process is.  Considering all the alcohol flowing so freely, not once during the trip do we witness any drunken brawls, abusive language, vandalism, or indeed any of the other aspects that make for an interesting night out back in any major English town.

Actually, the differences between Vegas and home highlight to me just how boring and English I really am.  I catch myself moaning to Jon about how no-one knows how to make a decent cup of tea over here (I did get a nice one once, in a New York themed restaurant, and it was the equivalent of a warm hug) and I found myself strangely longing for the brusque, often downright rude service I get from waiters and shop assistants at home, instead of the gushing insincerity that pours forth everywhere you go around Las Vegas – at least I think it’s insincerity – I don’t have a great deal of experience dealing with assistants who are actually polite and interested.  It's a completely alien experience.

I realise that I’m disappointed we’re not here long enough to see everything; it hadn’t occurred to me that I might enjoy it here and be sad to leave, but I am, in a way.  This is the most wonderfully unique place I’ve ever visited, and like so many others I’m tempted to come back and make my fortune here…maybe by opening up a traditional British hotel, complete with cream teas, crabby service and fish ‘n’ chip suppers.  I’m sure it would catch on eventually…