It wouldn’t be unfair to say that we tied one on the night before. It would be a fact hard to argue against. Both Jo-Roxy and I awoke in our Fremont Casio room, popcorn all over the floor, empty beer bottles seemingly on every flat surface and clothes everywhere, looked like someone had been partying. It was us, I admit it.
We were forced to waste the majority of the day in our hotel room, due to the crippling nausea and mortal fear of the casino floor ten levels below. Our cable TV didn’t have the full plethora of channels but we made-do with live Wimbledon.
Evening approached and we began to feel a little better, we thought we should actually see the Las Vegas Strip. We showered, dressed and walked through the casino. We got on a bus and made off toward the strip.
Between downtown, where our hotel was, and the strip was a kind-of no-man’s-land where old Vegas and new Vegas hadn’t quite met, it is also the area where the numerous casino employees of Vegas eat food at a reasonable price. We decided on a Cuban restaurant, Rincon Criollo. I ate waaayyyyy too much stewed pork, rice and black beans. It was so delicious I had no option.
Jo-Roxy dragged me around the strip, I had to stop every little while to fight off another bout of nausea from looking at the lights and the people and all the weird stuff that makes Vegas an amazing place.
The highlight of the night was the dancing lake at the Bellagio- eight acres of lake animated in sync to ‘Singing in the Rain’ by water cannons that even a seasoned fire-fighter would be afraid to handle. Shit had some pop.
We finally got home to bed, a full day in Vegas and not a drop of alcohol passed my lips. A weak effort perhaps but at least this way I live to fight another day.