Viva, Part II: Las Vegas

Everyone knows Las Vegas in Nevada, but we're convinced it really is in a foreign country. They should require passports to get in and out. Marrakesh is wild, but Vegas is flat-out crazy. I haven't seen so many people - including people entirely too old to be doing this stuff - drinking before noon this side of a OU-Texas tailgate party.

That said, we had a great time there, where we stayed at the MGM Grand, even though the first 12 hours or so were complete culture shock. After that first night, though, we were mentally prepared for the rest of the trip and had been upgraded to a nice suite with a good view. Having a quiet place to retreat from the chaos and smoke was, for us, key.

The view from our room on the 26th floor.

Walk a little ways down the street from our hotel and, boom, you're in Paris. See? Foreign. Didn't even have to deal with the TSA.

Here Amy enjoys the late-afternoon glow of the sunset in Venice. Or maybe it was the painted ceiling of the Venetian.

Stroll out the doors of the MGM and just like that you've arrived in New York, New York.

Caught a couple of great shows: Spamalot (funny) at the Wynn and Cirque du Soleil's Zumanity (funny and sexy and, ultimately, sweet and romantic) at New York, New York.

While we were at the Wynn, we hung out in the sports book before the show started and caught the end of the Packers-Giants NFC championship game. Cracked me up to hear the Voice of God of Gambling come over the intercom with seconds left in regulation to say overtime betting would be available if the game went that far. And then, no more than 45 seconds after the winning field goal in OT, the Voice of God of Gambling returned to tell us all the initial Super Bowl spread and say that bets were now being taken.

Of course, at that point a Giants fan's celebration had gotten so out of hand that a Packers' fan was on the verge of kicking some ass. This was about five feet from where we sat.

Which brings me to what our friend Terry describes as the Ugly American syndrome of Vegas. They're everywhere - not just at Toby Keith's bar at Harrah's, though I'm sure they're overwhelming that place, too. Basically, it's cheap to get to this big-time party town (not so cheap once you're there, though) so it draws a broad cross-section of Americana. High-class, middle-class, low-class, no-class, they're all there. And most of them are drunk out of their minds, smoking like chimneys and throwing cash around like they just won Powerball. Our favorites, though, were the ones who brought their kids -- from those in strollers to those actually old enough to walk.

And kids were everywhere. Hannah Montana was playing the MGM Grand the weekend we arrived - apparently John Mayer was backstage, selling out what sliver of a soul he might have had left. We didn't see Miley Cyrus' dad, Billy Ray, but we did see plenty - PLENTY - of mullets.

So the people watching was plentiful. As were the eating options, but I'll boil those down to two can't-miss stops. On the Strip, check out L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon inside the MGM. Spendy, but fun, especially with the inside-the-kitchen view you get while sitting at the counter and talking to the servers. Off the Strip, as confirmed by our server at L'Atelier, the must-visit place is Rosemary's Restaurant, about 10 miles to the northwest. It's in a strip mall, but America's Vancouver is proof fine dining can co-exist with strip malls (Roots, 360, etc.) Rosemary's has exemplary service, a great beer selection (all the nicer after all the swill they serve on the Strip) and terrific food. Best money we spent in Vegas, I'd say.

Great trip, good timing (avoided the fire yesterday at the Monte Carlo) and lots of fun. That said, it's very nice to be home.