After returning from Asia, I had a couple of weeks rest before setting off for Las Vegas, arguably the thematic capitol of America, if not the world. Nothing could be more stimulating...
Don't care for Italy (The Venetian)?
Try France (Paris).
Tired of Ancient Egypt (The Luxor)?
Stroll down to Ancient Rome (Caesars Palace).
Lake Como bore you (Bellagio)?
The French Riviera is mere steps away (Monte Carlo).
The hustle and bustle of Manhattan (New York, New York) not to your liking?
Then the legends of Arthurian England (Excalibur) is just across the street. If it sounds tiring, it is. After a few days—no, hours—in this fantastical unreality, everything blurs together. It's dizzying.
I stayed my week in Las Vegas at The Tropicana, which is one of the oldest remaining casino hotels on the strip (1957) and as such is probably in the greatest danger of being the city's next big implosion (though they are the first to deny it). Granted, I picked the place not for its style but because it was the cheapest room in town.
The most remarkable feature of the desert, from a development standpoint, is not the lack of water, nor the scorching heat, nor the difficulty in raising crops and animals. It’s the emptiness. Deserts are the stuff of dreams (or more often, mirages) because they represent a blank slate. For those that wish to build proverbial castles in the sand (and Excalibur is a perfect example), there is an awful lot to work with.
Owing to their diversity and their proximity, the thematic offerings of Las Vegas are not unlike the city's famous buffets. Where one might end up with some pieces of chicken, a bunch of lettuce, a sampling of random pasta bits and a small pile of sunflower seeds (buffets always seem to be so random a practice)—here in Las Vegas your thematic plate might consist of an evening spent on a lake in the Italian Alps, the streets of Greenwich Village, a pirate's cove in the tropics, King Tut's Tomb, and the Canals of Venice. And that's just one night.
The contemporary strip of Las Vegas is an interesting amalgam of the oldest and the newest, although the old is quickly fading away.
Of all the major casino hotels, only six actual major structures predate the 1990s building boom: The Flamingo (1946), The Sahara (1952), The Tropicana (1957), Caesars Palace (1966), Harrah’s (1973, as The Holiday Casino) and Bally’s (1973, as the first MGM Grand). Of those, only three retain their original themes and names.
The strip thrives on re-inventing itself, and rather than spread out and develop more land (which would disrupt pedestrian cross-traffic between casinos), the mantra is to tear down and rebuild, or graft more layers onto existing structures.