After leaving Yosemite, en route to the national parks of the Southwest, we drove down through the heart of the Californian desert to Bakersfield, which is apparently the fastest-growing city in the States, for reasons that are not immediately obvious - the only tourist pamphlets available at our motel were advertising attractions hundreds of miles away in LA and San Francisco, which ought to give you an insight into what sort of a place it is. To be fair, we didn't exactly see very much of it, as we arrived quite late and left quite early. But it did have a Denny's (who'd have believed it?), so it wasn't all bad.
The following day we took the opportunity to observe the compelling decadence of Las Vegas, the sight of which, rising like some sort of neon jewel from the desert, is pretty remarkable after driving through hundreds of miles of arid,
sparsely-populated terrain. We elected to stay for only one night, fearing we might otherwise find it just a little too decadent, but, thanks to our dear brother Benj, spent it in style at the enormous, Egyptian-themed Luxor Hotel.
As we checked in, the receptionist gave us directions to our room that went like this: 'take a left at the Starbucks over there, walk all the way down to the other Starbucks, then take a right' - that was our first indication of the kind of hotel we were dealing with. Alright, maybe our very first indication was the fact that it was shaped like a pyramid, with a colossal sphinx guarding the entrance, but you get the picture. This impression was swiftly reinforced by the presence of a number of vending machines dispensing ipods and iphones. Who needs an iphone that immediately? Imagine if you tried to buy one and it got stuck, and you had to buy a second one to push it out, you'd be gutted.
The hotel was extremely cool though; very Luxorious (do you get it?). We did our best not to get swept up in the gambling, resisting the occasional pulse-quickening thought of, 'well, I've got five dollars, I could turn that into ten dollars, and I could turn that into a million dollars!'. We managed to restrict our involvement to only a quick go on the bewildering fruit machines, which yielded, unsurprisingly, no return. Only put in a dollar though, so the joke's on them. I noted with interest that there are no clocks and no windows in any of the casinos. The House always wins.
Nevada's unique existence as a haven of vice in a notoriously puritanical nation is the reasonably predictable outcome of its history as a frontier society; anxious that death was just around the corner, it's small wonder that people opted to indulge in a few games of chance, and other shady pursuits. Take that Wild West morality and leave it to bake in the scorching desert sun for a few hundred years, and you end up with Las Vegas. Moreover, I think people go a little bit stir-crazy when they're this far from the ocean all the time; perhaps that might also explain the frightening conservatism of parts of Middle America.
The ubiquitous neon reminded me slighly of Tokyo, but aside from that the city was completely unlike anywhere else I've ever been. It's bizarre that people are there every single night. Maybe a little bit sad too.
After another exceedingly long drive, over the Hoover Dam as it happens, we arrived in Flagstaff. It was so hot in Las Vegas (it's like driving through a sauna) that we were consequently very surprised, and not
inconsiderably miffed, to find it cold and wet in Arizona. That was most definitely not in the brochure. It's probably because we have, without particularly realising it, ascended to almost 7500 feet above sea level, which puts us much higher even than Yosemite. The altitude only became truly noticeable when we tried to walk around 200 yards and I found myself disarmingly short of breath.
It's funny how absolutely anywhere can look like England when it rains. The name 'Arizona' is synonymous with the Old West, yet in the grey drizzle, with the dramatic mountains that surround Flagstaff obscured by fog, we could easily be in the midlands. It's still damp and murky today, so we've had to postpone our planned excursion to the Grand Canyon until the weather improves, since otherwise we won't be able to see anything. Instead, scratching around for things to do indoors, we passed a diverting morning at the Lowell Observatory, the place where, in 1930, an American astronomer discovered Pluto. Here's something I never realised: apparently the task of christening the ninth planet with a name was opened up to the global public; suggestions included 'Aero Nautus' and, rather more mundanely, 'Jean'. The winning idea of naming it after the Roman god of the underworld was proposed by an 11 year-old English girl in a telegram that read, 'new planet name. please consider pluto. suggested by small girl. for dark and gloomy world'.
According to our tour guide, Saturn is currently in a very favourable location for observation, so keep your telescopes handy. From all of us here, I'm Leonard Nimoy, good night, and keep watching the skis. Er, skies.
- Adam
No comments:
Post a Comment