March 21, 2006

















  • Revolution in Venezuela




    Noah Friedman-Rudovsky for The New York Times

    American tourists walk past a mural in Caracas, Venezuela.


    March 21, 2006


    Visitors Seek a Taste of Revolution in Venezuela




    CARACAS, Venezuela — The actor Danny Glover has come. Harry Belafonte has also been here. So has the antiwar activist Cindy Sheehan, the prominent African-American writer Cornel West and Bolivia’s new president, Evo Morales.


    But most visitors are like Cameron Durnsford, a 24-year-old student from Australia who decided to study at a new government-financed university in Caracas. Mr. Durnsford was, admittedly, put off some by the cult of celebrity around President Hugo Chávez, which he says “seems a little bit Maoist.” But Venezuela’s revolution, he quickly added, was not to be missed.


    “You’ve got a nation and a leader trying to prove an alternative to neo-liberalism and the policies that have ravaged Latin America for 20 years,” he said. “That’s why people are coming here. There’s a sense that it’s a moment in history.”


    Mr. Chávez is decidedly unpopular with the Bush administration, which he has branded a terrorist regime out to get him. That antagonism, coupled with Mr. Chávez’s huge oil-generated outlays for social spending, is drawing a following from all over and turning Caracas into the new leftist mecca.


    Evoking other cities transformed by revolutionary leaders, like Managua, Nicaragua, in 1979, or Havana 20 years before that, Caracas is attracting students and celebrities, academics and activists, grandmothers and 1970′s-era hippies — a new generation of Sandalistas, as some call them.


    Some, including many Americans, have come to stay. But others come for a new brand of revolutionary tourism organized by the government or by private groups.


    Venezuela welcomes them all, but rolls out the red carpet for high-profile visitors like Mr. Belafonte, the 79-year-old singer and activist.


    In January, he led an American delegation that included Mr. Glover, Mr. West and Dolores Huerta, the farm workers’ advocate. They met with Mr. Chávez, toured a neighborhood and visited government-run programs promoted as a way to shift the country’s oil wealth to the poor.


    “We respect you, admire you, and we are expressing our full solidarity with the Venezuelan people and your revolution,” Mr. Belafonte told Mr. Chávez during the president’s weekly television program. He called President Bush, a constant target of Mr. Chávez’s barbs, “the greatest terrorist in the world.” Then he shouted, “Viva la revolución!”


    Other recent visitors have included the Rev. Jesse Jackson; Ollanta Humala, a leading candidate in the election for president in Peru on April 9; the Uruguayan writer Eduardo Galeano, and the Argentine Nobel laureate Adolfo Pérez Esquivel.


    For less well-known Americans, the new vacation trail no longer goes through the famed beaches of Margarita Island. Rather, groups like Global Exchange, based in San Francisco, take visitors who pay $1,300 on a two-week jaunt through the tumbledown barrios where support for Mr. Chávez is strongest.


    The tours include visits to literacy classes, cooperatives and government-financed media outlets. Visitors chat with government ministers, see “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised,” a documentary favorable to Mr. Chávez, and meet with state oil company officials, who explain how petrodollars are funneled to social programs.


    Among the speakers who have met with visitors is Eva Golinger, a New York lawyer who is dedicated to unearthing what she claims is evidence of Washington’s support for Venezuelan opposition groups, something the Bush administration has denied.


    Americans like Pat Morris, 62, from Chestnut Hill, Mass., who never had a good impression of the Bush administration, are usually left speechless. “I thought that our current government was lying and greedy, but I had no idea of the long-term investment in destabilizing the country,” she said, tears in her eyes after hearing Ms. Golinger speak.


    Reva Batterman, 27, a graduate student, said she had wanted to come to Venezuela to show its people that “we’re not all just Bush supporters or imperialists.”


    “I wish the people in the U.S. would try to understand Hugo Chávez,” she said.


    Not everyone is as enamored. Julio Borges, an opposition politician, said that while Mr. Chávez certainly had showered aid on the poor, he was also a strongman out to crush dissent.


    Instead of lionizing him, Mr. Borges said, visitors should be aware of government ineptitude and growing abuses, like attacks on the press, charges the government denies.


    “We always tell people who come with this romantic idea of Venezuela that despite the changes here, the people who carry out the transformation are the armed forces, that Venezuelan democracy is basically a militarized one,” he said. “You have to have a profound concern about that. We want to take off the democratic veil the government uses.”


    Referring to American visitors, an American diplomat in Caracas, who could not speak on the record because of embassy rules, echoed the concerns, saying, “Come down here and get your consciousness raised, absolutely.” He added, “My only request of them is that they try to get the other side of the story.”


    Emily Kurland, a 26-year-old social worker originally from Chicago, said that was exactly what she and the others here were getting.


    “They’re frustrated with Bush, frustrated with not being listened to, frustrated with Iraq,” said Ms. Kurland, speaking in the Caracas house she shares with several foreigners. “They don’t trust Fox News. They don’t trust the mainstream news. They want to see with their own eyes what’s happening here.”


    She came to Venezuela thinking she would stay just long enough to get a taste for Mr. Chávez’s grandly titled “Bolivarian revolution.” A year later, she said, she has no plans to leave anytime soon.


    She has taught English in government-financed classes for the poor and talks about volunteering at a state-run microcredit bank for women. She spends most of her time, though, leading tours for Americans who flock here for a look at how Mr. Chávez is changing his country.


    There is a precedent, of course: Fidel Castro’s revolution, which in its early years placed emphasis on “people to people” contacts that enhanced support among vocal members of the American body politic, while neutralizing opponents.


    Activists, intellectuals and leftists have gravitated to other governments, from Allende’s Socialist Chile in the early 1970′s to Sandinista-run Nicaragua in the 1980′s, which also declared ambitions to overturn the old order in their countries.


    “Cuba, Venezuela, Nicaragua and Chile at one point became the mecca for many leftists around the world,” said Fernando Coronil, a University of Michigan professor and the author of “The Magical State,” a book about Venezuela. “That has been capitalized upon by the governments of these places, in eliciting foreign support but also as a way of focusing on certain elements of foreign policy that have wide appeal, and not focusing on internal problems.”


    Some of the people who have visited Venezuela or have moved here acknowledge having some doubts. Chesa Boudin, 25, a New Yorker who has worked as a volunteer here, notes that some on the left glorify Mr. Chávez simply because he has positioned himself as the anti-Bush leader in Latin America.


    But Mr. Boudin, one of the authors of a book favorable to Venezuela’s government, said many people who had been dismayed by the advance of globalization saw the possibility of a better world in Venezuela.


    “The fact that we have a country that’s trying to create an alternative model is bold and ambitious and unique, and that’s why people are wondering, ‘Is this possible?’ ” said Mr. Boudin, whose parents, Katherine Boudin and David Gilbert, were members of the 1970′s radical group the Weathermen. “The intellectual in me is curious.”


    Perhaps nothing so illustrates the intertwining of Mr. Chávez’s rhetoric about serving the poor and the government’s policies as the three-year-old Bolivarian University, which offers free tuition to its mostly poor student body.


    Jerome Le Guinio, 23, from France, came a year ago and works in the university’s administration. He lives in Catia, a poor neighborhood where support for Mr. Chávez is solid. “The idea is to find an alternative,” he said, “and if you don’t find it in Venezuela, you won’t find it anywhere else.”


    Jens Gould contributed reporting for this article.







     







    Mint at The Palms




    The Mint at the Palms


    02142006.7.jpgHey, if both Robin Leach and Jenny McCarthy attend your lounge debut, you know you’re all kinds of hot. Last week, the Palms opened the new high-roller gaming lounge dubbed the Mint Hi-Limit Lounge. Part of the recent $600 million addition to the hotel/casino, the Mint aims to lure the whales into a more relaxed setting instead of the exclusive rooms or busy casino annexes that most places have set up. The Mint is 5,000 square feet of wood-paneled walls and marble mosaic floors, featuring high-limit baccarat, blackjack, and roulette, plus the obvious VIP poker table. It’s located just off the main casino floor, and those staying at the Palms’ new Fantasy Tower will have direct access. The Mint will also provide players with a premium buffet and full bar. The top of the lounge will include an even more exclusive area to game, complete with views below and a private bar. According to Palms CEO and President George Maloof, “The Mint will offer a truly unique gaming experience. That’s a main objective as we continue to expand … providing a new and unique experience for our guests every time they visit the Palms.” More to come on the Fantasy Tower, not to mention the Playboy Club.


    The Mint Hi-Limit Lounge [Palms]
    Fantasy Tower Update: Maloof Hearts Fatone [HotelChatter]


    [Casey Miller]


    Previously: Rampart Casino & JW Marriott Vegas, Green Valley Ranch, Bellagio’s Mega-Fountain Exposed, Viva Hooters Las Vegas!, Tryst & Jet



     







    Foundation Room Las Vegas




    Las Vegas




    The Foundation Room


    03212006.8.jpgThis weekend I had the privilege of going to the Foundation Room, one of the most exclusive venues out here in Vegas. It’s all about that “Members Only” stuff you get all the time in NYC and LA, but the experience is well worth it. I had heard and read about the exclusivity, but being that I’m a recent transplant from NYC, I didn’t really buy it. I was definitely wrong. I went with a “member,” and on Saturday nights, it is absolutely the place to be. The Foundation Room is up at the top of Mandalay Bay, and you get there by going into a private elevator 43 floors up. The view of the Strip is breathtaking, and it’s similar to that from Mix, which sits atop one of the other “spokes” of the Mandalay Bay’s tower. The dark lighting scheme provides a certain ambience that I couldn’t really put my finger on, though I might not go as far as the “mysterious” and “exotic” lines often used to describe the place. I’m also not huge on the Indian/Tibetan decor, but if you like that sort of thing, this is the place for you. (Draw your own conclusions as to what possible connection any of this could have to the House of Blues, of which the place is ostensibly a part.) The Foundation Room has plenty of space and DJs designed suit whatever type of music you like to boogie to. As in many of Vegas’s upscale rooms these days, “fashionable attire” is required — basically no sneakers, and your denim better be designer if you wear jeans at all. The Foundation Room opens up to the “regular people” for their Monday-night Godspeed party, which means you can party like a member. Just remember to make sure you have a couple of credit cards and plenty of cash on hand, as this one of, if not the most expensive place I’ve been to in Vegas.


    Foundation Room [Official site]


    [Casey Miller



     







    Las Vegas on $200.00 / Day




    Peter DaSilva for The New York Times

    Glitter is abundant but not too expensive at the Liberace Museum.


    March 19, 2006


    High & Low

    Low: Vegas on $250 a Day




    PLANS for the afternoon were set. We would fire machine guns at a shooting range and then watch the N.F.L. playoffs in the sports book at Caesars Palace, with its crazed bettors screaming at banks of televisions as a fluke play lost them thousands of dollars.


    That’s one of the beautiful things about Las Vegas. What would be illegal or underground in most other American cities is ho-hum here, and most likely available at any hotel or mall. You don’t need to see a show to see the show. The forests of neon, pirate battles and dancing fountains on the boulevards are free — to lure tourists through the doors where the house always has the edge. You can get a lot for your entertainment dollar just by going there and not gambling.


    At least that’s what I told myself. I didn’t have many entertainment dollars, having drawn low card in the editorial deck: a budget of $250 for 24 hours. My wife turned up her nose at the trip, so I enlisted the help of my buddy Chris.


    I knew that I could rely on him to be as resourceful with money as I am. Almost 20 years ago, when we shared a summer house and needed a car to go to the beach, we pooled our meager incomes and paid $1,500 for a 1972 orange Cutlass convertible. He still wheels it around the Hamptons.


    I warned him that after the $142 for a room at the Flamingo and $34 for the rental car, there wouldn’t be much left. Undeterred, he pointed out that neither of us would feel deprived if we couldn’t afford a ticket for Cirque de Soleil or Celine Dion.


    It didn’t take long, though, to find out where we stood in the eyes of the city. The many levels of status in Las Vegas, based on spending power, are made visible for everyone. Landing at the airport early Friday afternoon, I counted more limo drivers than people waiting for luggage. The road into the city took us by dozens of private jets.


    As I drove our Dodge Neon past the valet at the Flamingo to a distant parking garage, I sensed my friend’s impatience with my cut-rate mentality. I reminded him that “parking is free at the casinos, and anything free on this trip is good.”


    Our room was nothing special. Decorated in beige, brown and gold, with two queen beds and a cramped bathroom, it had a view of the Flamingo gardens, where, even at 8 in the morning, the hotel blasted rock ‘n’ roll over loudspeakers in the trees. Management had done little to ameliorate our stay. As I reached for a bottle of Aquafina on the desk, Chris noted that it cost $3.50, adding sourly that to open it might “break the budget.”


    OUR spirits began to lift after lunch in the Victorian Room at the Barbary Coast casino next door. The food was no better than mediocre (an overdone French dip sandwich for $11.95), but in a rack at the cashier Chris found an advertising card for the Gun Store. Its folksy slogan — “Stop By and Shoot a Real Machine Gun on Our Air-Conditioned Indoor Ranges” — was irresistible.


    The Liberace Museum wasn’t on the itinerary, but when we passed it on East Tropicana Avenue, Chris said that a discerning friend had called it a must-see. I pulled into Liberace Plaza and with less than an hour until the 5 p.m. closing, was able to cut my admission to $7 from the usual $12.50.


    The showpieces are 8 of his cars (including a Rolls-Royce covered in mirrors), 17 pianos and cases of florid stage costumes. Signed photographs on the walls from friends and admirers, everyone from the Air Force Thunderbird pilots to Pope John Paul II, signified his crossover appeal. Elton John and his red piano, now enshrined at Caesars Palace, seem no more than a knockoff of Liberace and his rhinestone-encrusted Baldwin grand.


    The Gun Store had its own array of impressive hardware. Hanging on the wall of the crowded shop were revolvers, automatic pistols, an M-16 and an AK-47, and machine guns, including some vintage World War II weaponry. I wanted to try the Uzi; Chris preferred to be a Chicago gangster and asked for the Thompson M1A1.


    Ammunition was the expensive factor. The price for 100 rounds ($75) would bust me, so I settled for 50 ($45). Among the paper targets we could shoot at — a rogue’s gallery of Osama, Saddam and an anonymous man and woman with drawn guns our instructor called “my ex-wife and her attorney” — both of us opted for the more abstract and classic diagram of the body.


    After donning safety glasses and ear protectors, we entered the range. Guns were loaded and handed over — they were much heavier than I expected — and after some elementary pointers, we blasted away. Even though I was warned to press lightly on the trigger, to fire in short bursts and adjust the aim, I quickly ran out of ammo. When the instructor reeled in my target for inspection, I saw that only a few of the bullets had made their way inside the body’s outlines.


    The rush was short-lived. I was effectively out of money with 18 hours and three of my accustomed meals to go. Back at Caesars Palace, it was standing room only at the sports book, killing that idea.


    I called the art critic Dave Hickey, who teaches at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, and whose number a friend had given me, figuring he might know of gallery openings with free wine and snacks. He directed us downtown to a place that was featuring work by one of his former students, advising us to have a drink beforehand at the Peppermill Fireside Lounge.


    This was a great call. This 24-hour coffee shop and bar, across from the Stardust, is a Space Age retreat from the visual hype of the Strip. Soothing pink and blue neon runs along the walls. You feel as if you’re wearing sunglasses even if you’re not. A bourbon ($7) quieted my stomach’s dinner alarm.


    Downtown Las Vegas, a largely rundown section of the city, is slowly emerging as a center for contemporary art galleries. When we met Mr. Hickey he stood smoking a cigarette outside one, Godt-Cleary Projects, whose owners, he said, had chosen the art at THEhotel at Mandalay Bay. “It’s the future of casino hotel design in Vegas,” he predicted.


    After half an hour of art gossip but with no food in sight, we left to check out his recommendation. With a tastefully subdued lobby — floors of creamy marble, calla lilies on tables, an Arturo Herrera painting and Richard Serra and Jasper Johns prints on the walls — THEhotel is Las Vegas aspiring to be Miami. Chris and I debated whether that was a good or a bad thing.


    By 9 o’clock (11 back home in New York), we could no longer stave off hunger and headed for the $10.99 all-you-can-eat buffet at Circus Circus. The cavernous room was surprisingly cheerful — lots of booths packed with families who kept going back to fill their plates, as we did, with roast beef, fried shrimp, fish, lasagna and salads. We were too stuffed to try the pies and cakes.


    I was counting on this meal to last me through the next morning. But waking up early, I found that it hadn’t. We refueled at Denny’s ($9).


    (Not until Sunday morning did I discover Hash House a Go Go at 6800 West Sahara Boulevard. Known for its scrambled eggs and hashes with various ingredients, but in copious amounts, for $9 to $13, it’s on my list of places to return to in Las Vegas.)


    Mr. Hickey’s wife, the curator Libby Lumpkin, had suggested that Chris and I drive into the desert to see Michael Heizer’s earth art piece from 1969-70, “Double Negative” (doublenegative.tarasen.net). A work I was curious to see, it was famously hard to find. She had us meet her at the Las Vegas Art Museum, where she is the consulting executive director, to get directions.


    For three years in the late 90′s, Dr. Lumpkin oversaw Steve Wynn’s art collection when he owned the Bellagio. Mr. Wynn sold the hotel, but it still has a gallery, currently showing Impressionist landscapes. But the $15 admission was beyond my means on this trip.


    She warned us to take plenty of water. People had died, she claimed, after losing their way on Mormon Mesa, where “Double Negative” is carved. The Internet directions she’d handed us turned out to be more precise on paper than in the featureless landscape. After driving an hour and a half northeast to Overton, we followed a dirt road up the side of the mesa.


    Rocks on top threatened to puncture the oil pan on the Neon, so I parked. We stumbled around, visoring our hands against the sun. Nothing in sight looked like art.


    We flagged down two cars but no one had ever heard of the work. Discouraged and clueless, we were heading back to the city when we saw an S.U.V. The driver, an elderly man from Overton, had been to “Double Negative.” He pronounced it a “tax dodge,” but agreed to lead us there anyway.


    One of Mr. Heizer’s earliest earth works, it is art made by subtraction. Both modest and monumental, it consists of nothing more than two cuts, 30 feet wide and 50 feet deep, on opposite sides of a canyon, the two notches (“negative spaces”) stretching across emptiness for 1,500 feet. About 240,000 tons of dirt and stone were removed to create the form.


    Our guide hung around to hear our “analysis” of earth art, but we soon found ourselves digging a deeper hole as we outlined the history of art that existed in nature itself, outside of museums. Our defense of the piece was undermined a bit: owned by the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles, it is in need of repairs. The walls of one side are crumbling, and a smashed television lies at the bottom of one trench.


    But we felt triumphant for having found it; and the only cost was gas.


    Getting out of town without spending too much money was one of my goals for the trip, and would have been even without my financial strictures. Scientific number crunching drives the casino business, which tries to maximize dollar amounts from each guest. Morality and contrariness dictated that I try to beat the odds by being parsimonious.


    As I waited for Chris to come down before we headed to breakfast and the airport — he was moving slowly after staying out until 3 in the morning at the blackjack tables — I played a dollar slot machine. In five minutes of idle levering, I won $10.


    Seeing this as a good omen, I quit and headed to Java Coast for a large cup of coffee. It cost $2.25, steeper than at Starbuck’s.


    But feeling flush now, and no longer obliged to be a skinflint, I tucked $5 in the plastic tip cup and hoped that someone was watching.


    Total spent: $267.50.


    If You Go


    WHERE TO STAY


    Mandalay Bay Hotel, 3950 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 702-632-7777;


    www.mandalaybay.com. Double rooms run $100 to $599.


    Flamingo Las Vegas, 3555 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 888-308-8899;


    www.flamingolv.com. Rooms can vary widely, $55 to $500.


    WHERE TO EAT AND DRINK


    Circus Circus, 2880 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 702-734-0410; www.circuscircus.com.


    Hash House a Go Go, 6800 West Sahara Avenue; 702-804-4646.


    Peppermill Fireside Lounge, 2985 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 702-735-4177.


    THEhotel at Mandalay Bay, 3950 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 877-632-7000; www.thehotelatmandalaybay.com.


    WHAT TO DO


    The Auto Collections, Imperial Palace Hotel and Casino, 3535 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 702-794-3174; www.imperialpalace.com. Tickets are $6.95, but you can print a free pass at


    www.autocollections.com.


    Barry Manilow’s “Music and Passion” is at the Las Vegas Hilton, 3000 Paradise Road; 800-222-5361; www.lvhilton.com. Tickets $95 to $225 (plus tax and service charge). Showtimes: Wednesday, Thursday and Friday at 9 p.m., Saturday, at 7:30 and 10:30 p.m.


    The Gun Store, 2900 East Tropicana Avenue, 702-454-1110;


    www.thegunstorelasvegas.com.


    Las Vegas Gun Range and Firearms Center, 4610 Blue Diamond Road, 702-386-4867; www.lasvegasgunrange.net.


    Godt-Cleary Projects, 1217 South Main Street, 702-452-2200;


    www.godtcleary.com. Closed Sunday and Monday.


    The Liberace Museum, 1775 East Tropicana Avenue; 702-798-5595; www.liberace.org. Admisson $12.50.


    Shark Reef at the Mandalay Bay Hotel, 702-632-4555. Open daily from 10 a.m. until 11 p.m. Admission is $15.95, ages 4 to 12 and younger $9.95.


    “Zumanity,” New York-New York Hotel and Casino, 3790 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 866-606-7111;


    www.zumanity.com. Tickets $65 to $125. This adult-themed 90-minute production is performed Friday through Tuesday at 7:30 and 10:30 p.m.


    RICHARD B. WOODWARD writes the Armchair Traveler for the Travel section.







     







    Las Vegas on $1000.00 / Day




    Peter DaSilva for The New York Times

    We have a winner at the craps table of the Bellagio


     


    March 19, 2006


    High & Low

    High: Vegas on $1,000 a Day




    THERE he was, Mr. Barry Manilow, looking retro-glam and kinda-fab, splashed across a billboard on my way from the Las Vegas airport to the Mandalay Bay Hotel. Red satin jacket, plenty of hair, dreamy smile. He was playing the Hilton, and I had $1,000 to spend. But on Barry Manilow? I didn’t think so.


    I’m not cool, but cool people tell me the Mandalay Bay is the place to be in Vegas these days. When I arrived, the gleaming marble lobby was already filling with fancy people in for the weekend. Like the other big Vegas hotels, the Mandalay Bay is a destination in itself, a complete entertainment zone, and the briefest perusal told me just getting out of the place might be a challenge — it has 23 restaurants, 8 lounges, endless shops and an aquarium with 15 kinds of sharks.


    My room, on the 20th floor and $283.35 with tax, was comfortable but not luxurious, most notable not for the shark-cam on the TV but for the view up the Strip: I could see the Luxor, the Excalibur, New York-New York, the Monte Carlo, the Tropicana, the MGM Grand, the Bellagio and, far in the distance, Caesars Palace. Each was a palace of branded entertainment in itself — as was the view: not only was I in Las Vegas, but I also got to see that I was in Las Vegas, über-casino of the world.


    Indeed, there was betting to do. After breakfast in my room ($25.90), I wanted to check out the hotel’s sports book, one of the largest betting parlors in town. Its huge wall of 31 screens reminded me of Mission Control. You could bet on anything: horses, N.B.A. and college basketball, pro hockey, whether the Kansas City Royals would win the 2006 World Series (odds: 200 to 1) and, of course, the N.F.L.


    It was a playoff weekend, and though still morning, lines were forming behind the ticket counters. I hadn’t followed the N.F.L. season closely and so had consulted my teen-age son, who had prepared a cheat sheet for me. “Pick Seattle to win but Washington to beat the 9.5-point spread,” he explained.


    The clerk at the counter seemed disgusted by my bets, perhaps because of the minuscule amount of money I’d wagered. Fifty bucks? I slunk away and soothed myself at a $1 blackjack machine.


    But other entertainments soon beckoned — as they do everywhere in Vegas, where the limits of self-indulgence are officially measured by one’s wallet. You can, for example, legally fire a machine gun in Las Vegas. What? This was a masculine thrill not to be missed!


    Soon I was standing in the Las Vegas Gun Range and Firearms Center, where the display of firepower for rent included a Mac-10, an old “grease gun,” and a semiautomatic AK-47. After signing a piece of paper that presumably certified that I was not mentally ill, I picked out an Uzi, forked over $53.88 for two clips, and followed the attendant into the range.


    The gun was surprisingly light and had no kick. Total elapsed entertainment: 30 seconds, about how long it took to fire two clips. With tax, cabs to and fro, this little fantasy jaunt set me back about $100.


    A QUICK lunch in the Mandalay Bay’s buffet ($21.31), and it was time to pay my respects to the old downtown, the classic Vegas of Fremont Street, where it all began some 60 years ago. The famous winking neon cowboy atop the Pioneer, the one in all the old black-and-white clips of Vegas — was it still there?


    I cabbed downtown, only to discover Fremont Street had become the Fremont Street Experience, a five-block roofed mall. The winking neon cowboy was there, as an exercise in nostalgia, or irony, or both. “Yep, they ruined it,” agreed a silver-haired gentleman in the Golden Nugget when I asked him about the change.


    Nearby winked the inducements of the Girls of Glitter Gulch, a strip club, and inside, over two rather expensive beers, one of the entertainers agreed that the downtown wasn’t what it used to be. Then again, neither was she. But hey, neither am I.


    With cabs, beer and a little slot-machine action at El Cortez, I had frittered away another $60. The money was going fast.


    It was at the sunny corner of Fremont and Las Vegas Boulevard that I saw him again, flashing hugely by on the side of a municipal bus, retro-glam and kinda-fab. Barry, I muttered to myself, I know your new album is about to come out, that you’re hot-hot-hot now, but give it a rest, O.K.?


    I explored the Strip in all of its glory. At the Imperial Palace, I wandered past shiny antique cars and watched blackjack dealers impersonate Elvis and Dolly Parton. I felt so good that I blew another $50 playing Big 6 and blackjack.


    The crowds along the Strip were dipping happily into one giant casino after another. The distances between them were deceivingly great. Man small; casinos big.


    I paused outside the grandly enormous Bellagio. A sense of happy unreality pervaded. Vast sums were being bet and lost, yet all was good. Perhaps it was the warmth of the sun. Perhaps it was the Beatles’ tune coming out of the Bellagio’s lampposts.


    Speaking of vast sums, how were my N.F.L. bets doing? I returned to the sports book at the Mandalay, where the room was packed, mostly with men. Seattle went ahead 20-10 with about two minutes to go, clinching the game and covering the spread. Packs of beery guys high-fived each other; others of us stared miserably at our tickets.


    Evening approached; time to pick out a show. I consulted an entertainment guide. Here Celine Dion and Jay Leno, there Joan Rivers and something with Aussie male strippers called “Thunder Down Under.” And then, in yet another ad, smiled Barry.


    Who was he kidding? I’d never go see Barry Manilow, right? I could hear my wife howling with derision: “You what?”


    And yet. He was everywhere — taunting me, teasing me, betting me I’d be entertained. Maybe I could win for once. And why not pay homage to the very idea of the Vegas nightclub act, a sacred line that stretched back to Elvis and Sinatra? How could I understand Vegas if I didn’t go?


    I succumbed. The ticket was $132.50, and with the long cab ride to the Las Vegas Hilton and a drink, I was out $169.50.


    Clutching drink and free glow stick, I settled into a seat designed for plus-size Americans and attempted polite conversation with a 70-ish woman to my right, but she looked at me in sullen silence. Oh, I told myself, I guess she’s kind of deaf.


    Only later — after Barry had jacked the crowd into a frenzy — did I understand that I had witnessed her disbelief that a stranger might rob her of precious seconds within the Church of Barry. This same somewhat arthritic-looking woman became a fist-thrusting, torso-gyrating soul-groupie so transported by ecstasy that she nearly whacked the drink out of my hand.


    Let me say this about Barry. The guy has pipes. He hit all the notes. He mixed his nostalgic, self-deprecating banter with the old hits perfectly. The “Copacabana” finale featured a snazzy runway dropping from above that allowed him to frolic right out over the audience, and as the gray-haired patrons went nuts, I realized not only had he completely atomized my skepticism, but also that the guy was going to do this again, tonight. There was a 10 o’clock show! The guy was pushing 60!


    You win, Barry. You write the songs and make the whole world sing.


    Next up, a faux sexual adventure. Sex is for sale seemingly everywhere in Las Vegas; there are the strip clubs, massage parlors and flyers for call girls. Taxi drivers sensing even the most modest predilection in their passengers will suggest this pleasantry or that. But for those who want their Sin City experience at a safe distance, the city offers its many fleshpot revues.


    I chose “Zumanity,” a Cirque du Soleil extravaganza whose M.C. was a vampy Mistress of Seduction who raunched through the show’s visual feast of contortionists, near-naked dancers, two Asian girls swimming inside a glass pool and some pretty spectacular gymnastics acts. In a show that featured mountains of grade-A male flesh, the most macho moment was when a dwarf gymnast allowed himself to be flung around at frightening speeds high above the audience. With the cab to New York-New York, the show’s home, plus a drink, “Zumanity” set me back $135.


    Setting aside a bit of cash for tomorrow’s breakfast, I was down to my last $75. What to do? The cool people had told me to hit the Mix Lounge, an open-air bar at the top of THEhotel, the Mandalay Bay’s super-upscale facility that thrusts to the sky like a giant gold cigarette lighter. The sum of $25 and a fast elevator take you to the top, where indeed very coolish people were mixing with great intensity.


    I wandered about inauthentically with a drink, enjoying the air, which in the still desert night had a kind of crystalline, binocular clarity. You’d need to be in an airplane to have a better view.


    I’d like to report that my remaining pocket change held me under my $1,000 limit, but my nascent weakness for blackjack caught up with me the next morning in the airport, where, while waiting for my flight, I blew my last $20 on the slots.


    Total cost: $1,000 and, somewhere, a smiling Barry Manilow.


    If You Go


    WHERE TO STAY


    Mandalay Bay Hotel, 3950 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 702-632-7777;


    www.mandalaybay.com. Double rooms run $100 to $599.


    Flamingo Las Vegas, 3555 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 888-308-8899;


    www.flamingolv.com. Rooms can vary widely, $55 to $500.


    WHERE TO EAT AND DRINK


    Circus Circus, 2880 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 702-734-0410; www.circuscircus.com.


    Hash House a Go Go, 6800 West Sahara Avenue; 702-804-4646.


    Peppermill Fireside Lounge, 2985 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 702-735-4177.


    THEhotel at Mandalay Bay, 3950 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 877-632-7000; www.thehotelatmandalaybay.com.


    WHAT TO DO


    The Auto Collections, Imperial Palace Hotel and Casino, 3535 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 702-794-3174; www.imperialpalace.com. Tickets are $6.95, but you can print a free pass at


    www.autocollections.com.


    Barry Manilow’s “Music and Passion” is at the Las Vegas Hilton, 3000 Paradise Road; 800-222-5361; www.lvhilton.com. Tickets $95 to $225 (plus tax and service charge). Showtimes: Wednesday, Thursday and Friday at 9 p.m., Saturday, at 7:30 and 10:30 p.m.


    The Gun Store, 2900 East Tropicana Avenue, 702-454-1110;


    www.thegunstorelasvegas.com.


    Las Vegas Gun Range and Firearms Center, 4610 Blue Diamond Road, 702-386-4867; www.lasvegasgunrange.net.


    Godt-Cleary Projects, 1217 South Main Street, 702-452-2200;


    www.godtcleary.com. Closed Sunday and Monday.


    The Liberace Museum, 1775 East Tropicana Avenue; 702-798-5595; www.liberace.org. Admisson $12.50.


    Shark Reef at the Mandalay Bay Hotel, 702-632-4555. Open daily from 10 a.m. until 11 p.m. Admission is $15.95, ages 4 to 12 and younger $9.95.


    “Zumanity,” New York-New York Hotel and Casino, 3790 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 866-606-7111;


    www.zumanity.com. Tickets $65 to $125. This adult-themed 90-minute production is performed Friday through Tuesday at 7:30 and 10:30 p.m.


    COLIN HARRISON is an editor at Scribner. His latest novel is “The Havana Room.”





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