Trip to the USA
I’m aware it’s a strange time to be traveling to a country that is involved in multiple wars and recently kickstarted a global fuel-scarcity meltdown. But I’ve been offered free flights and accomodation with the love of my life and his family x4 to the land of the free and the birthplace of Capitalism, and by god will I make the most of it. I’ve already been to the USA once and survived, let’s run it again!
Day One | Day Two | Day Three | Day Four
Day One
Ōtautahi -> Tāmaki Makaurau -> Los Angeles -> Vegas
On the plane I churned through a copy of ‘Project Hail Mary’ and watched Jordan Peele’s ‘Nope’. I thought it was funny that I’d gravitated to two stories of alien encounters, on my way to what could possibly be the most alien culture to my own. AirNZ seriously brings their A-game when it comes to dinner options - the beef hotpot and butter chicken both slapped. Little did I know it would be all downhill from there.
We landed in LA and my puku said it was lunchtime - despite it not being close to midday in either timezone. I was fiending a cup of tea and something soup-ish - what Jamie calls my ‘wet food’ cravings. Each airline has it’s own section of the LA airport, and once you’re through security, you’re stuck in a loop of a handful of gates and shops.
I spied drip coffee and some pre-made kai, but took a jetlagged couple of seconds to clock the prices. They all looked like they were in New Zealand dollars?? 2.15x for the exchange rate and tax (which isn’t included in American prices), and then +20-25% for a tip...a sad-looking sandwich was going to cost me 50 of my hard-earned New Zealand Dollars. I know airport food is always expensive but fuck me, this was setting the scene for a budget blowout. I resigned myself to a cup of tea with ‘whole milk’ and my flight rations (Pringles and dried mango).
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Harry Reid Airport greeted us with a stunning view of mountains on all sides in a hazy late evening glow. The light does look warmer here, we thought, maybe because it had less UV in it than Aotearoa? Our Uber careens towards our home for the next five days - three white towers with golden reflective windows. Pretty much all glass in Vegas is tinted up the waz, so everywhere, any time of day, you get these winks of reflected light. Signs everywhere disavowed firearms and weed - which is legal here, but you can’t smoke it in public. Not that anyone lets a pesky thing like the law stop them. It is Sin City after all!
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We walk the peach Kubrick hallway to our dual apartment. It’s privately owned, so not serviced by the hotel, and you can tell. I’m not exactly a neat freak, but when it comes to travelling I get a bit icky about seeing mold in the shower. But man, the location and views make up for it - times a million. We’re on the 20th floor, with views East to the airport and a driving range. South-West, you can spy the hotel pool below, and some of the major casinos. One is shaped like a pyramid, and sends a beam of light into the air. Another has Disneyland-esque towers. My first glimpse of VEGAS BABYYY!!!!
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Though I’m still not sure what timezone I should be operating on (4pm Christchurch, 8pm Vegas, 10pm Nashville, or 11pm New York?), we haven’t had dinner, and so hit the strip to seek out a taste of Nevada’s finest. Whataburger tempts me for a Hatch Green Chile Bacon Burger as big as my face. The menu has calorie estimates for each item, and reminds you at the bottom of the screen that 2,000 calories a day is the average recommendation. It feels like a bit of an empty gesture when the menu is solely dealing humungous burgers and 32-ounce-minimum sodas. For reference, 32-oz is a whole-ass Nalgene bottle.
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The burger itself is fine. A bit flavourless, and the patty is thin. I chuck a couple packets of keptchup (which is awesome and vinegary) under the hood, and demolish half the burger before letting Jamie finish the rest. I do love my hoover boyfriend.
Back at the hotel, the water pressure is barely more than a dribble and the polyester sheets smell like mildew, but I’m clean, fed, and in bed - and that’s all that matters.
On the plane I churned through a copy of ‘Project Hail Mary’ and watched Jordan Peele’s ‘Nope’. I thought it was funny that I’d gravitated to two stories of alien encounters, on my way to what could possibly be the most alien culture to my own. AirNZ seriously brings their A-game when it comes to dinner options - the beef hotpot and butter chicken both slapped. Little did I know it would be all downhill from there.
We landed in LA and my puku said it was lunchtime - despite it not being close to midday in either timezone. I was fiending a cup of tea and something soup-ish - what Jamie calls my ‘wet food’ cravings. Each airline has it’s own section of the LA airport, and once you’re through security, you’re stuck in a loop of a handful of gates and shops.
I spied drip coffee and some pre-made kai, but took a jetlagged couple of seconds to clock the prices. They all looked like they were in New Zealand dollars?? 2.15x for the exchange rate and tax (which isn’t included in American prices), and then +20-25% for a tip...a sad-looking sandwich was going to cost me 50 of my hard-earned New Zealand Dollars. I know airport food is always expensive but fuck me, this was setting the scene for a budget blowout. I resigned myself to a cup of tea with ‘whole milk’ and my flight rations (Pringles and dried mango).
Harry Reid Airport greeted us with a stunning view of mountains on all sides in a hazy late evening glow. The light does look warmer here, we thought, maybe because it had less UV in it than Aotearoa? Our Uber careens towards our home for the next five days - three white towers with golden reflective windows. Pretty much all glass in Vegas is tinted up the waz, so everywhere, any time of day, you get these winks of reflected light. Signs everywhere disavowed firearms and weed - which is legal here, but you can’t smoke it in public. Not that anyone lets a pesky thing like the law stop them. It is Sin City after all!
We walk the peach Kubrick hallway to our dual apartment. It’s privately owned, so not serviced by the hotel, and you can tell. I’m not exactly a neat freak, but when it comes to travelling I get a bit icky about seeing mold in the shower. But man, the location and views make up for it - times a million. We’re on the 20th floor, with views East to the airport and a driving range. South-West, you can spy the hotel pool below, and some of the major casinos. One is shaped like a pyramid, and sends a beam of light into the air. Another has Disneyland-esque towers. My first glimpse of VEGAS BABYYY!!!!
Though I’m still not sure what timezone I should be operating on (4pm Christchurch, 8pm Vegas, 10pm Nashville, or 11pm New York?), we haven’t had dinner, and so hit the strip to seek out a taste of Nevada’s finest. Whataburger tempts me for a Hatch Green Chile Bacon Burger as big as my face. The menu has calorie estimates for each item, and reminds you at the bottom of the screen that 2,000 calories a day is the average recommendation. It feels like a bit of an empty gesture when the menu is solely dealing humungous burgers and 32-ounce-minimum sodas. For reference, 32-oz is a whole-ass Nalgene bottle.
The burger itself is fine. A bit flavourless, and the patty is thin. I chuck a couple packets of keptchup (which is awesome and vinegary) under the hood, and demolish half the burger before letting Jamie finish the rest. I do love my hoover boyfriend.
Back at the hotel, the water pressure is barely more than a dribble and the polyester sheets smell like mildew, but I’m clean, fed, and in bed - and that’s all that matters.
Day Two
Vegas
It’s 10am, and life in the City is very much humming. I, along with the rest of our party, had a terrible sleep - thanks in part to a nearby screen/billboard that periodically beams into our room at 1 million lumens. Jamie’s stepbrother Dan and his partner Eliza are off on a mission to find a USA-specific centre console for their car. They brought a suitcase specifically for this, which is iconic. The rest of us pick through our breakfast supplies (why does all the bread have at least 5% sugar??), and brace ourselves to hit the strip.
What look like individual buildings are actually casino-hotel complexes. Some malls are scattered in between, just in case you still had money left and needed somewhere to spend it. Many of the casinos link up, so you can walk through a decent chunk of the city without ever going outdoors. I can understand why, as at midday it hits 36 degrees celsius. It’s a dry heat that means you don’t really sweat, but I’m getting some minor nosebleeds. The lord giveth and the lord taketh away.
My first ever casino experience is spent wandering Planet Hollywood. Women in lingerie deal tables filled with people from all walks of life - which surprises me. I expected the patrons on a Thursday morning to be seedy and sad looking. Gambling addiction comes for us all, I guess.
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Flamingo is very 80s, and has a courtyard with real flamingos and an array of full-length mirrors. Turns out they’re not vain about their fabulous PINKness - they get stressed in captivity if they don’t feel like there’s a big flock. The viewing deck is mostly roped off, thanks to some psycho that got blitzed and took a flamingo up to his room earlier this month. I hate zoos and the like, so this definitely feeds my confirmation bias. Free them!!
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The Venetian is a monolith of beautifully detailed brickwork and statues. The architecture is a real bastardisation smoothie of multiple hot-climate cultures, but I bet it helps keep the building cool. On the flat escalator up, we pass a fountain and wax museum. Ru Paul screams at us as we pass - “I got waxed!”. Inside, punters glide up and down real-ass canals and sing opera to their patrons.
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Treasure Island is pirate themed, and we seek out a famed restaurant that has live performers acting out a ship takeover. It’s closed for maintenance. At this point I’m tired, hungry, and sad. It’s been a big day of looking overconsumption dead in the eye. We link up with Dan and Eliza for a beverage outside an empty bowling bar in a dead-end hallway with a ceiling that drips onto a ‘WET FLOOR’ sign. I’m sick of spending $30 for a beer, so sit finishing the water in my bottle and a protein bar.
Our final stop is a mall called ‘Fashion Show’, with everything from Cotton On to Louis Vuitton. The boys are hunting for a particular style of Carhartt Jacket, but cede defeat. We end up in the Lego store making minifigures of each other, and Dan and Eliza are given theirs for free by the shopkeeper.
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Jamie (with a basket of ice-cream) and me
Despite being akin to my own personal hell, the people in Vegas are seriously, seriously nice.
It’s 10am, and life in the City is very much humming. I, along with the rest of our party, had a terrible sleep - thanks in part to a nearby screen/billboard that periodically beams into our room at 1 million lumens. Jamie’s stepbrother Dan and his partner Eliza are off on a mission to find a USA-specific centre console for their car. They brought a suitcase specifically for this, which is iconic. The rest of us pick through our breakfast supplies (why does all the bread have at least 5% sugar??), and brace ourselves to hit the strip.
What look like individual buildings are actually casino-hotel complexes. Some malls are scattered in between, just in case you still had money left and needed somewhere to spend it. Many of the casinos link up, so you can walk through a decent chunk of the city without ever going outdoors. I can understand why, as at midday it hits 36 degrees celsius. It’s a dry heat that means you don’t really sweat, but I’m getting some minor nosebleeds. The lord giveth and the lord taketh away.
My first ever casino experience is spent wandering Planet Hollywood. Women in lingerie deal tables filled with people from all walks of life - which surprises me. I expected the patrons on a Thursday morning to be seedy and sad looking. Gambling addiction comes for us all, I guess.
Flamingo is very 80s, and has a courtyard with real flamingos and an array of full-length mirrors. Turns out they’re not vain about their fabulous PINKness - they get stressed in captivity if they don’t feel like there’s a big flock. The viewing deck is mostly roped off, thanks to some psycho that got blitzed and took a flamingo up to his room earlier this month. I hate zoos and the like, so this definitely feeds my confirmation bias. Free them!!
The Venetian is a monolith of beautifully detailed brickwork and statues. The architecture is a real bastardisation smoothie of multiple hot-climate cultures, but I bet it helps keep the building cool. On the flat escalator up, we pass a fountain and wax museum. Ru Paul screams at us as we pass - “I got waxed!”. Inside, punters glide up and down real-ass canals and sing opera to their patrons.
Treasure Island is pirate themed, and we seek out a famed restaurant that has live performers acting out a ship takeover. It’s closed for maintenance. At this point I’m tired, hungry, and sad. It’s been a big day of looking overconsumption dead in the eye. We link up with Dan and Eliza for a beverage outside an empty bowling bar in a dead-end hallway with a ceiling that drips onto a ‘WET FLOOR’ sign. I’m sick of spending $30 for a beer, so sit finishing the water in my bottle and a protein bar.
Our final stop is a mall called ‘Fashion Show’, with everything from Cotton On to Louis Vuitton. The boys are hunting for a particular style of Carhartt Jacket, but cede defeat. We end up in the Lego store making minifigures of each other, and Dan and Eliza are given theirs for free by the shopkeeper.
Jamie (with a basket of ice-cream) and me
Despite being akin to my own personal hell, the people in Vegas are seriously, seriously nice.
Day Three
Vegas
We packed light, and so with chillier destinations ahead, today holds a spot of shopping! The agenda: an outlet mall, a Goodwill, and an indoor market. I was hoping to manifest some Vegas sequins, but unfortunately it was brain-melting hot and poor pickings. The market ended up mainly containing stalls and stalls of cheap imported tat - aside from one memorable spot that sold real guns hanging from the ceiling. Yeehaw.
After a long day of shopping, we were all looking forward to THE big event of our trip - seeing the Eagles live in the Sphere. The venue had been filling our horizon like a planet or a big moon since we arrived. Tonight’s band included three original members, a couple friends, and the son of one of the members that had passed away - which made me cryyy. Imagine losing your dad, and all his mates are like ‘hang with us in our super famous band’!
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I know they’ve been doing this for over 50 years, but they were legendary. So, so tight! The videos on the wraparound screen were a bit weird at times (very young women, homoerotic jumping, badly rendered graphics) - Jamie described it best as feeling like a ‘nepotistic creepy uncle’ job. But it was a great spectacle.
Us younguns opt to walk home, stopping for a BOMB frozen daiquiri before checking out The Bellagio. The world’s biggest fountain outside puts on a show once every 15 minutes, and we hang about watch a rendition of Cher’s Life After Love and the Pink Panther theme song.
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Inside the Bellagio foyer, a huge spring installation is on. The room is filled with tulips and hyacinths. I take every opportunity to get my face right up in the flowers - so many of my favourites (like sweet pea, honeysuckle, lily) are called ‘mute flowers’ because the compounds that create the smell are too unstable to be extracted and used in perfumes. So you can really only enjoy them fresh!
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We’ve been talking about churros for the last 30 minutes, and stop at a local nacho pub for dessert. Jamie and I get through like 20% of our sundae thanks to America’s portion sizes. Hell yeah.
We packed light, and so with chillier destinations ahead, today holds a spot of shopping! The agenda: an outlet mall, a Goodwill, and an indoor market. I was hoping to manifest some Vegas sequins, but unfortunately it was brain-melting hot and poor pickings. The market ended up mainly containing stalls and stalls of cheap imported tat - aside from one memorable spot that sold real guns hanging from the ceiling. Yeehaw.
After a long day of shopping, we were all looking forward to THE big event of our trip - seeing the Eagles live in the Sphere. The venue had been filling our horizon like a planet or a big moon since we arrived. Tonight’s band included three original members, a couple friends, and the son of one of the members that had passed away - which made me cryyy. Imagine losing your dad, and all his mates are like ‘hang with us in our super famous band’!
I know they’ve been doing this for over 50 years, but they were legendary. So, so tight! The videos on the wraparound screen were a bit weird at times (very young women, homoerotic jumping, badly rendered graphics) - Jamie described it best as feeling like a ‘nepotistic creepy uncle’ job. But it was a great spectacle.
Us younguns opt to walk home, stopping for a BOMB frozen daiquiri before checking out The Bellagio. The world’s biggest fountain outside puts on a show once every 15 minutes, and we hang about watch a rendition of Cher’s Life After Love and the Pink Panther theme song.
Inside the Bellagio foyer, a huge spring installation is on. The room is filled with tulips and hyacinths. I take every opportunity to get my face right up in the flowers - so many of my favourites (like sweet pea, honeysuckle, lily) are called ‘mute flowers’ because the compounds that create the smell are too unstable to be extracted and used in perfumes. So you can really only enjoy them fresh!
We’ve been talking about churros for the last 30 minutes, and stop at a local nacho pub for dessert. Jamie and I get through like 20% of our sundae thanks to America’s portion sizes. Hell yeah.
Day Four
Vegas
Brent and Karen have planned a surprise for us...they’re renewing their vows at the same chapel, and with the same Elvis impersonator that married them 17 years ago! This also happens to be where Lily Allen and David Harbour got hitched...yeesh. The King is such a professional - moving us at pace in our 15-minute slot. I’m enthralled watching him switch between personalities at speed: “If you have any immigrants, don’t send them here. We won’t let them in. I’m actually going to the No Kings protest later today. Now - finger guns at the camera!”. Brent and Karen are adorable, and I can’t help but cry as they exchange vows. I love love!!!!!
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Eliza, Dan, Karen, Jamie, Me and Elvis.
Lunch at Paris was next. It’s probably my favourite of the casinos - French-themed, with lots of art nouveau ironwork and stained glass. We share some fabulous kai on the terrace of the strip, which is perfect for peoplewatching and catching the hourly fountain shows. My highlight was fresh baguette with butter and carrot pickle. Ugh!!
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Our evening event is exploring Fremont Street, which is ye olde strip before all the casinos needed new plots for their monster estates. It’s a lot more retro, and reminds me of pre-quake food courts back home. Street performers are relegated to 1m painted circles throughout the street, which is partly covered by a roof with animations playing on big screens.
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I do not have the vocabulary to express how loud it was. Women in lingerie cracked whips and blew whistles so hard my ears rang. Rappers had their speakers thumping the ground. It was packed, and real neon lights blinked everywhere you looked. Basically, it was overstimulation station, and I was pulling up FAST. Choo choo! Plus, I was thirsty. My throat was dry like the Nevada desert. Damn, I would kill for another of those frozen daquiris!
Lucky me, we spy a bar that is selling frozen drinks. There were no prices on the board, so we knew they would be expensive...but how much can some ice and syrup be?? Boy did we regret not checking the cost as the lady turned the eftpos machine around...displaying $75 USD. For two drinks. $150 NZD. No, she hadn’t made a mistake. Faaaaark. Adding insult to injury, they were bad. Painfully sweet. We each got about halfway through before the liquid gold was ceremoniously tipped into a bin.
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You can really see the pain in my eyes in this one.
We headed back to the hotel to watch The Hangover and lick our wounds. It felt good watching someone having objectively worse self-inflicted problems than we did.
Brent and Karen have planned a surprise for us...they’re renewing their vows at the same chapel, and with the same Elvis impersonator that married them 17 years ago! This also happens to be where Lily Allen and David Harbour got hitched...yeesh. The King is such a professional - moving us at pace in our 15-minute slot. I’m enthralled watching him switch between personalities at speed: “If you have any immigrants, don’t send them here. We won’t let them in. I’m actually going to the No Kings protest later today. Now - finger guns at the camera!”. Brent and Karen are adorable, and I can’t help but cry as they exchange vows. I love love!!!!!
Eliza, Dan, Karen, Jamie, Me and Elvis.
Lunch at Paris was next. It’s probably my favourite of the casinos - French-themed, with lots of art nouveau ironwork and stained glass. We share some fabulous kai on the terrace of the strip, which is perfect for peoplewatching and catching the hourly fountain shows. My highlight was fresh baguette with butter and carrot pickle. Ugh!!
Our evening event is exploring Fremont Street, which is ye olde strip before all the casinos needed new plots for their monster estates. It’s a lot more retro, and reminds me of pre-quake food courts back home. Street performers are relegated to 1m painted circles throughout the street, which is partly covered by a roof with animations playing on big screens.
I do not have the vocabulary to express how loud it was. Women in lingerie cracked whips and blew whistles so hard my ears rang. Rappers had their speakers thumping the ground. It was packed, and real neon lights blinked everywhere you looked. Basically, it was overstimulation station, and I was pulling up FAST. Choo choo! Plus, I was thirsty. My throat was dry like the Nevada desert. Damn, I would kill for another of those frozen daquiris!
Lucky me, we spy a bar that is selling frozen drinks. There were no prices on the board, so we knew they would be expensive...but how much can some ice and syrup be?? Boy did we regret not checking the cost as the lady turned the eftpos machine around...displaying $75 USD. For two drinks. $150 NZD. No, she hadn’t made a mistake. Faaaaark. Adding insult to injury, they were bad. Painfully sweet. We each got about halfway through before the liquid gold was ceremoniously tipped into a bin.
You can really see the pain in my eyes in this one.
We headed back to the hotel to watch The Hangover and lick our wounds. It felt good watching someone having objectively worse self-inflicted problems than we did.