Las Vegas & The Grand Canyon by helicopter - Photos

Now, I’d be to Vegas before, but Vanessa never had, neither had Gianluca. A hop skip and a jump for me, I took advantage of the latter at the chance to go live it up with them in Las Vegas in 2010, only about an hour and a half flight from Vancouver, when Gianluca found himself coming over from Italy on a business trip and Vanessa very excited at the prospect of finally getting to the city of Sin, which had always intrigued her. In fact, she said that she’d always felt, her entire life, that she’d end up getting married there. They’d just been in New York, and their flight was getting in about five hours after mine. Great; I really looked forward to it, Vanessa had all sorts of things planned, fine dining, shows, the ice bar, tons of stuff. She's great organising that kind of stuff.

I met them in the MGM bar, and while she was trying to put on a brave face, it turned out Vanessa had the flu; something she swears she always gets when she goes on holiday, the universe out to make sure she can’t enjoy nuttin'. I rather suspect though that it's nuttin' that a bit of Polysporin up her nostrils on the flight over wouldn’t prevent, but then, what do I know? Still, it was good to see them and we enjoyed a few g&ts, but decided to stay within the hotel, that time of the evening and as she wasn't feeling well, one casino bar like any other an' all, nothing better to do unless you’ve got a ticket booked for some fabulous show, and anyway we needed to catch up. That of course saw the roulette table and many one arm bandits taking us by surprise before we knew it, jumping out at us like a gay highway man in all his glittering finery. And after winning a total of $23.00 and pleased with it too, knowing when to stop, Vanessa really needed to go to bed to try and feel rested for the next day, while Gianluca and I continued on.

Now, I’ve been bitten before, in the Seychelles in the Indian Ocean, winning on roulette the first night, losing miserably on the second and third, making me wonder if there was some kind of foul also in play, and then a huge, and I mean huge credit card bill coming through the letterbox of that place I call home that never really exists when I’m in a foreign country, and so I sat and watched Gianluca run back and forth to the bank machine, determined to win as he was, win back all his loss at least, while I sat and smirked with a nice g&t with my legs crossed on the bar stool. All I was missing with a long sequinned cocktail dress and stiletto heels, but then, that was my outfit for the following evening. But hardly a good luck charm for him, was I; pretty much every number on that board covered in his chips, even as a good Catholic Italian, making the sign of the cross on it, and still the ball didn’t come to rest on any of his numbers.

“I canta believe a that a youa weel notta playa,” he said.

“No way.” I said, “And watching you, I’m really glad I’m not; how many hundreds of euros have you drawn from the very conveniently placed ATM in the last hour?”

But never a man of my word, or at least by the persuasion of the eloquence of my free g&ts, I decided I could afford to lose a couple of hundred bucks. After all, my real existence was fading fast, nah, I thought, I don't really have a home, a reality to get back to, bills to pay, lets get carried away with the momentum of the place I was in instead, but still, something nagging at me that if I lost a couple of hundred, then that would be that. Must be getting old.

But I didn’t, and as Gianluca continued to lose (and perhaps his patience with me too as I jibed him, every time winning while he lost) he tried to keep a smile on his smarmy Italian face, but I could tell; I’ve known him for ten years, he was getting totally pissed off. He’d completely ignored Vanessa’s warning not to go the machine anymore that whatever he’d drawn before she went to bed, that should be it. But he was a good boy, didn’t give a toss about what she said and continued throwing his money away anyway, actually taking the time to drink his Jim Beam, although I rather think that might have been perhaps to settle his nerves. Funny, when I was a couple of hundred up and decided to quit while I was ahead, he thought I was nuts. But the croupier, who told me I was a very wise man, didn’t seem to share his opinion.

“Yes, yes, I am,” I said, all sanctimoniously like, and sat back, jacket off now, feeling good about the world, but then, that was probably just my twentieth g&t.

The next morning Vanessa was feeling slightly better, Gianluca had to go to work and so we set about the business of walking up and down the strip looking in all the ostentatious hotels which are so tackily wonderful they're great, and as per usual we cracked each other up with ridiculousness. Reinvented, as I alluded to earlier, when we’re away, the flavour of the trip ‘dare’ this time (a game of dares we always seem to end up playing wherever we go) was to do with the tough looking guys handing out flyers of naked ladies and advertising erotic shows, shoving nude photos in everybody’s faces every few steps, as they did. The next time I was stopped, I was to stand in front of these tough looking guys and very politely say this: ‘Thank you very much, but no thanks, I’m very, very, very, very, VERY gay. And sure enough, it only took a few seconds before it happened too; those guys are everywhere. They didn’t care that I was with a lady, although one very well dressed man coming down some stairs did; saying to one of them, 'why would he want to go to a show like that, look at the woman he’s with', which was very gallant of him, but methinks an attempt himself to pick Vanessa up and who expressed surprise at looking as rough as she did with the flu (her words, not mine) and still men trying it on with her. And she wasn’t even dressed like a slut or anything, although she might've overcompensated for her illness with the make-up. Anyway, I digress, impressed that I’d actually done it, and how could I not, we’ve had twenty years of daring each other, Vanessa quickly pips in: “And I’m a ravin’ lesbo’, with a face like an old fish wife as she jabbed at her chest, and which, if she’d thought about it, wouldn’t have helped her case any, given the flyers were all about girls, girls, girls.

In true fashion, we don’t know when to give it up, we always go overboard with the theme of our holidays; everything from thereon in that we were asked for the remainder of the holiday by anybody, anybody at all, such as 'Would you like another g&t sir?', was answered by, ‘No thanks, I’m very, very, very, VERY gay', which of course, led to some very, very, very, VERY strange looks and the odd person saying 'That's okay, many gay people drink g&t’s', not quite getting the joke. Of course as the evening went on, the word 'very', got more and more emphasised, but it was funny indeed to hear Gianluca say it: “No a thank you a, I’m afraida I am a virry virry gaya.”

Not one for fine dining myself, I told Vanessa she could plan whatever what she wanted to do and I'll go along with it, my only insistence that we take a helicopter ride into the Grand Canyon. And of course both were totally up for that. I’d really regretted not doing that on my last trip and had vowed the next time I went I would and so, as a man of my word when I'm not drinking, we booked a trip, a very expensive trip, but nonetheless worth it to see one of the wonders of the natural world. And as you can see it was spectacular indeed.

It’d been years since I’d been in a helicopter, the last time over Germany and France when I’d been in the army, and that one had been a lot bigger. I’d been put in the front of this little one, and I have to admit that when it tilted forward with just that plain piece of glass in front of me as we rose quickly high up past the tallest buildings, it was a little disconcerting. A look that perhaps only I and Gianluca would know showing how nervous Vanessa was, but I was impressed for as much as she was really scared, she’d said, “oh well, I’ll just have to get on with it, won’t I?” Said like a true blue ravin’ lesbo, I thought.

Before we knew it, we were flying over the Hoover dam, as you can see the sights were spectacular indeed. When we got to our destination, with a rather disjointed account of all that we were seeing and being told by no means could we pee or smoke in a national park by a very, very, very, VERY patriotic pilot guy, we had a champagne breakfast in the basin of the Grand Canyon itself, and then a little walk about, looking at all the strange little animals that live in the canyon, before flying back through old Vegas and back to the airstrip.

But now what; it was still only 8am, early because we’d had to take the first flight out as Gianluca had to go to work by nine. Weird; I shouldn’t even been getting up at that time let alone have flown to and had a champagne breakfast in the Grand Canyon, and then back again, stopping at a very strange helicopter gas station somewhere in the valley.

We did get to some fine dining restaurant though, in the Palms Hotel I think, after taking a limo ride up and down the strip with a quick stop off at a liquor store as Vanessa refused to drink the cheap ‘Champagne’ they offered as part of the service; used to the real stuff, and where she had her fortune told. The same old crap. Now, she has always, always wanted me to have this done, and I’ve always, always refused, but after a few g&ts, Gianluca and me finally conceded, and said we’d do it too. She loves that kind of thing, and it would make her happy and indeed she was very excited about it, after all the times in any country we’ve ever been to where I’ve adamantly refused, at last she was going to find out what they would have to say about such a strange fellow as I. But alas, it really wasn’t meant to be; shut, Gypsy Rose Lee gone home for the night, either that, or to her second job at the girls girls girls place for she was far too young to be able to read body language and psychoanalyse people the way an old Croatian lady might be able to. Too bad Pushka, I foresee better luck next time though.

A highlight for me was the production of Ka in the MGM, a stunning show where the stage revolves and all sorts, special effects abound; portraying the story of a group of travellers in search of a new world (I think) through thick and thin, oceans and snowy cliff faces and jungles and the like. I’d seen an acrobatic production of Cirque de Solei before, but I loved this one much more. Thank God, the Beatles productions were closed, and Elvis hadn’t yet started, for I haven’t heard great things and that’s really what Vanessa, an erstwhile rock chick who once snubbed Steven Tyler much to her disgrace today, had wanted to see. She couldn’t believe it afterwards as I engaged total strangers; talking about how good it was, for I’m known for never talking to anybody, I’m too shy, or too uninterested, she normally the one nosing into everybody’s business around the pool, finding out their life stories, asking how much they paid for their holiday and such like – although I don’t know why she cared; ours were usually free or dirt cheap; working in the industry as we had been.

Anyway on our last night, we thought we had a full day to go until Vanessa checked her ticket in the bar, and realised their flight to Rome was 7am and not pm, bringing the planned festivities to an abrupt end. Now, because I’m efficient, I'd booked my flight for 7.30 pm in what I was told would be in accordance with theirs, but I really had no desire, after being there a few days already, to spend the day alone, and so decided I would leave shortly after them, see if I could change my flight, which I managed to for a $50 fee. But when I checked out, the hotel staff were all smiles as they told me there had been something left for me, and when they brought it out, I saw why, a huge street sign, framed in glass, that said, GAY STREET. God knows where she found the time, but how very, very, very VERY gay.

Lastly, despite always thinking that she might get married in Vegas, no amount of persuasion would see them into a little white church and a judge with a bad wig on, trust me, I tried, but then, who wants to get married when they've got the flu?

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