Vegas day 1, and some of this morning

As I sit here eating breakfast, ‘All you can eat breakfast’, in The Exclaibur Hotel, Las Vegas I finally find a few moments and some space to recount yesterdays events. I did struggle to sleep through to sunrise this morning, eventually giving up around 5AM, rising, showering then descending to the casino floor once more to gamble yesterdays winnings until the breakfast buffet opened at 7AM.

The flight was, well what can you say about long haul flights? The flight was, long, although the entertainment offered on the Virgin Atlantic flight kept me occupied for some of the time and the two elderly ladies from the midlands regaled me with their tales of previous visits to Vegas. I watched a coupe of movies, The Hunter with Willem Defoe and Prometheus. Both were nothing to write home about or indeed mention in any detail, except that the latter was a bag of bollocks, nuff said.

The countryside passing beneath, when visible was spectacular; rugged, untamed and vast there was little sign of human intervention. Indeed, when settlements were visible they appeared to nestle in convenient nooks and crannies surrounded by the harsh wilderness, brooding mountains and majestic rivers. Roads existed where they could, following the course of rivers or dry valleys in the mountainous regions and scarring the expansive plains with a arrow straight line.

Flying over the Hoover Dam Vegas hoved into view; an oasis in the desert, a sprawling manufactured habitation. Palm trees were everywhere, almost as though the original architects of this shiny illusion were seeking to recreate a Floridian paradise. The plane touched down, taxied towards the brand new terminal 3 at McCarran international airport and the engines stopped. Immediately the mayhem that always precedes disembarkation commenced. I helped my new traveling chums with their cabin baggage and dragged my laptop bag down from the overhead locker. In the cramped space available I foolishly attempted to don my jacket, I heard a sharp exhalation as I felt my elbow hit something behind me The stewardess I had just elbowed in the face staggered back into the awaiting crowd but was caught by a scowling passenger. I apologised profusely and was assured that it was OK and it was only a superficial fracture (joking, I think).  Then we were at the mercy of the US Border Control and baggage reclamation.

Nearly an hour after the plane had touched down I was in a taxi chatting with the driver about the new terminal and the recent increase of British tourists to the city. He asked me in his Western African accent about some turns of phrase in English as Monsieur Obama had used some he hadn’t understood in a recent Presidential debate. I couldn’t really help him but in my most helpful manner offered and explained the phrase ‘talking bollocks’ which he quite liked and promised to use as much as possible in the future.

He dropped me at the Excalibur entrance then, stilling muttering, ‘You’re talking bollocks mate,’ in a fair approximation of a Nigerian Michael Caine he drove off. The check staff were friendly and the process practiced and swift. Afterwards I was left standing on the casino floor with absolutely no idea where the hotel section could be, let alone my room. Shamefully I asked directions and within minutes was in my room on the 19th floor overlooking the unrealistic Disney-esque towers that formed the frontage of this gaudy hotel and casino.

It was still only just after 5PM Vegas time, I had to ensure that I stayed awake for a reasonable amount of time in an attempt to phase myself into Vegas time. A plan occurred to me, I would drink and gamble my way out of jet-lag.

Two hours later after a meal of beef enchiladas, three bottles of beer and a rum and coke I staggered through the slot machines feeling every bit as much brain dead as the middle-aged gamblers sitting with vacant expressions pressing buttons at their slot machines like automatons bereft of all emotion except a glimmer of hope which surfaced whenever a minor win materialised. It was after 2AM in Gosport and way past my bed time. I cashed in my winnings at the blackjack machine and submitted to tiredness.

It was around 8PM when I hit the soft pillows of my, all too empty, king-size bed. Nearly four hours later I awoke feeling very refreshed and ready to go, well I would it was time to get up in good old Gozzy. I forced myself back to sleep, dozing fitfully for a couple of hours at a time until I eventually could stand no more and dragged my carcass out of bed at 5AM.

Which brings me back to breakfast. An amazing affair, for around a tenner, everything you could feasibly imagine, and a few new ones; country steak and gravy (the gravy is a beschamel with additives), biscuits and plenty of tater tots.

I have one day, today, to explore Vegas before the spectacle of The World Food Championships so I am off to explore and leave my hotel for the first time (not strictly true as I ate at The Luxor last night).

More later, with photos hopefully.

Oh and for Emma, as I sit writing and drinking coffee I am at %90.

It's not even 8PM Vegas time and I'm wiped out

I have tried to keep myself going, a few drinks have only added to the tiredness problem, as did a fantastic beef enchilada. I think I've bored myself with the slot ties and my mental capacity is certainly not up to pitting my wits against a croupier (I am unarmed at the moment for such a contest).

I will post in detail on the trip, a few incidents and surprises but nothing that cannot wait until the morning; MY morning that is.

Hurricane Sandy

I realised that it has been twenty years since I was last in the USA, this was during the 1992 West Indies Guardship (WIGS) deployment on HMS Cumberland which saw me visit many Caribbean Islands as well as Key West and Tampa. After such a lengthy absence I am somewhat ambivalent towards my upcoming trip to Vegas. I am excited about judging at The World Food Championships and the associated interviews and receptions but at the same time I am somewhat nervous about interviewing for the book, I have a media pass and I will be at all of the VIP events which will give me access to the celebrities attending the event.

The current major topic of conversation on the travel forums is the disruption currently caused by the Class 1 storm harrying the Eastern seaboard of the States (not going to give the definite article a capital letter out of principle). All of the flights to and from New York, Boston and Washington have been effected but as yet no others. I am due to leave early tomorrow so I hope that the situate remains the same.

Packing done, gadget charging done, already missing my family, especially Beth who is with her cousins in London.

Stuff to do.

Looking back, one trip left

It's nearly been a year since I embarked on my sausagey (remember I DID establish this as a bona fide word earlier in my posts) sojourn, so much has happened and my perceptions on a great many things have altered. As I sit here, cider in front of me, considering the next, and final trip, I begin to realise what the past year has meant to me.

Until today I still sought a reason, a justification, for my decision to follow 'The Sausage Trail' I still could not find words to describe what I was doing, or indeed why I was doing it. Until today. I began reading reading Adam Richman's book, 'America The Edible' which is a decent account of his life as an aspiring actor and his food journal that allowed his breakthrough to the presenter of Man vs Food. There is, however, a single statement that mirrors and epitomises my approach so perfectly that I feel that I need to reproduce the words here:

'I realized that it was the firsthand experiences more than the histories and the statistics that really brought the "food story" of a place to life'

Apart from the over use of the wrong letter 'Z' this is a fantastic quote.

Last November I set off to find sausages, I set off to meet those that find this subject important, I set off to appease my ridiculous obsession. A logical set of journeys transpired:

Trumpet player at Up Helly Aa, Shetland
Sausage expert, national red tops & TV, Turija, Serbia
Offer of 'Curry Queen' sausage franchise for the UK from Hamburg, Germany
Certified sausage maker, River Cottage, UK
Rubbish sausage festival, Windsor, UK
Farmers market, Segur-le-chateau
Bekescsaba sausage festival, Hungary
World Food Championships, Las Vegas

When I say logical, I do of course mean logical only to me. There is a connecting story to link those destinations and events which will be explored and detailed in the book.

With Vegas looming close, and the end of the sausage trail, I am finalising my writing ready to submit.

With two days until I leave for Vegas I need to consider my approach and subsequent writing style for the book.

World Food Championships, I have my judging assignments

On Tuesday I will be leaving my comfort zone in sunny Gosport for the madness of Las Vegas. The same Las Vegas where burgers can achieve fame and strippers can become president. Today I finally received notification of my judging assignments. After a couple of weeks of frantic emails and texts, the organisers answered my questions, it appears that the first World Food Championships have been so involved that the judges have yet to be contacted. This being said, my emails were answered and my assignments confirmed.

If anyone remembers my fear was that the chilli competition would demand my complete attention and that my inability to deal with spicy foods would probably lead to a situation where chilli type judging would prevail. This did in fact happen, I initially was given two days judging the chilli competition but my lovely contacts swapped one day for burger judging...yay!!

There are a few elements that I need to cover in my book when I visit Vegas including the general culture, gambling, and food apart from the competition. It will be ace.

Skyfall and how to avoid house fires

Another Bond movie is in the offing, not as bad as it sounds as the goal posts have been shifted since the Pierce Brosnan years. I lost interest during this period as product placement and pathetic stories held sway with glib comments far beyond the sexist/racist allowances of the Connery era. Casino Royale was a breath of fresh air, Bond as a public schoolboy thug. More realistic and entertaining but one which, predictably would lead to a rather shabby sequel. Quantum of Solace was a one dimensional approach to fill the gap between two good ideas, I found it disappointing and a reverse gear compared to the tempo and continued action of the first film.

That's enough of Bond, I can only take so much of franchised movie nonsense. With only a few days to go until I leave for Vegas I have started to plan my approach and consider the most interesting elements for the book. Gambling, Elvis and food are the three I will concentrate upon. Gambling; I aim to set aside $50 each for the main gambling activities, Roulette, Slots, Blackjack etc etc. Elvis, I will find as many Elvises as possible for photo opportunities and for the book. Food, nothing required to say.

How to avoid house fires...don't set fire to your house.

Un-Wellness, well emotionally anyway

I managed to get up to date with photos and blogs by just after five this afternoon and as such had a little bit of time before dinner started at six, also I am loathe to dive in when they load out the buffet as the gannets descend and the feathers fly. In as much as I have paid for half-board (I had no intention of doing this as you feel obliged to eat at the hotel) I had also paid for full access to the health spa or in this case 'Wellness Centre', so I decided that I may as well get some use of it. I had noticed a number of guests swanning toward the moist area of the hotel clad in pristine white bath-robes and twee flip-flops, I had neither. That's not strictly true as the hotel did leave a couple of robes in the room, both were a little on the tight side, besides I had no flip-flops.

In true 'Brit abroad' style I donned my Bear Grylls trousers, rolled up the trouser legs, pulled on my hiking boots, rolled my swimming 'cozzy' up in a towel and set off for the pool. I did stand out a tad, a shiny semicircular bar, which to my surprise, sold massively over-fruited cocktails to robe wearing foreigners. I nodded politely, ignoring the stares I hastily shuffled into the empty changing room where I tucked myself behind the lockers to dress as swiftly as any Mister Benn episode.

Thankfully my Asda shorts weren't out of place in the pool which turned out exactly as I had dreaded. Half an hour later I remembered why I loathed health spas, nothing had changed in the many years since I had patronised such a facility. There was a couple having full sex in the whirlpool (well probably not but I didn't want to get close enough to ascertain whether or not a pregnancy test would be needed), old couples unselfconsciously disrobed in the sauna (embarrassingly the 'old' couples were now the same age as me), fat kids screamed and shouted as they threw balls around the 'pool of serenity' and everywhere were the white robed acolytes flip-flopping their way around the slippery floor all judging my flabby, middle aged un-flip-floppedness. I doubt if I will ever find a justification for visiting a spa in the near future, I'd rather go nude paint-balling.

Rant over, beer and food time. AND, I should really start writing in earnest as I have Vegas in just over a week.