End of the Line: Las Vegas

The final day of my trip was undoubtedly the wildest. It began in peaceful, sleepy Zion National Park and ended in the bright-lights-big-city that never sleeps (or is that NYC?), Las Vegas. Just one whirlwind adventure day, with a show, buffet, taxi ride (my first ever), and 800-foot thrill jump, that exhausted me more than the previous eight days combined. (A Vegas tour director and motorcoach would have been welcome.)

My escorted tour ended with a buffet breakfast at Zion, followed by the final stop, Las Vegas's McCarran Airport. Like most of my tourmates, I opted to see more of Vegas than just the quick drive down the strip that the tour allotted, having advance booked a one-night stay at Harrah's, right in the center of the strip, and purchased a pricey ticket to see Le Reve, which many online reviewers had deemed the must-see Vegas show. 

After checking in for the next day's early-morning flight, I grabbed lunch, purchased a round-trip shuttle ticket at an outdoor booth, and was off to Harrah's, where I stored my suitcase, and, on the wise counsel of my tour director, purchased a full-day ticket for the Deuce, Vegas's on-the-strip public transit bus.

My first stop: the Stratosphere Tower, where three thrill rides (the appropriately named Insanity, Big Shot, and X-Scream) and, potentially, the SkyJump awaited...on top of the tower. I figured I'd use the first three rides to test my courage, so I bought a ticket for those and decided to wait until after (after I survived, puked, freaked out, had cardiac arrest, etc.) before committing myself to the $120 SkyJump. 

Skytower view

Though terrifying (have I mentioned I'm acrophobic?!), especially the Big Shot, which almost literally sent my heart into my throat with its massive sky-to-ground plummet, once my legs stopped wobbling, I started seriously considering the SkyJump, in which I would hurl myself 800 feet off the tower's edge. After all, I wanted the full Vegas experience, and who knew (probably not even the Sedona psychic..) if I'd ever find myself at the Stratosphere in Vegas ever again. So I bought a ticket, signed my life away (really), and got suited up, while continuously reminding myself that I'd skydived and lived to tell of it (including here) (Taking the Plunge).

Unfortunately, unlike my skydiving experience, when I was the first one up, I had to wait until two other people from my group made their jumps, so I stood there watching them, overanalyzing the risk involved, and totally psyching myself out. There are times in life when even the most cautious, analytical introvert has to act without thinking. This would be one of those times. 

As a result, by the time I was strapped in and standing on the platform, looking down 800 long feet to the ground, I lost any nerve I'd had. As the jump coach counted me down, I freaked. "I can't do it," I told her. After repeating this scene - counted down but refusing to jump - she turned me around (much better that way!) and gave a much-needed push. As expected, I screamed all the way down and was so very thankful to once again (gently) touch Vegas pavement after landing (feet first) on the targeted spot. I was so glad I'd done it, despite my terror, but equally glad it was over, with a bragging-rights certificate of completion for my efforts.

Perhaps I can blame SkyJump-induced disorientation, or perhaps just my general lack of direction, for what happened next, but I left the Stratosphere from a different exit than I'd entered, so my bus stop wasn't where I expected to find it. After wandering around for several minutes, I eventually found a bus stop and climbed on the next arriving bus. A few stops later, though, I began growing increasingly uneasy as the bus traveled farther from the strip (and my hotel), going west rather than south. I asked the driver if I was on the wrong bus, but his lack of English-speaking skills frustrated both of us, leaving me unable to understand his directions for finding the correct bus stop. 

So I got off the bus and walked down the street, eventually, on the verge of a panic attack, not to mention a car-pedestrian accident from multiple four-lane street crossings, stopping outside a tavern. I pulled out my life-saving borrowed copy of Fodor's Las Vegas (thanking God for it) and called a taxi company listed in the back. A long $30 taxi ride (though I would have paid nearly anything at that point) took me back to Harrah's and into my room for the first time, where I quickly changed my sweaty clothes, redid my hair and makeup, and strolled down the strip toward the Wynn for dinner and my show. Although I'd researched Vegas's best buffets for months, I opted for the Wynn, though also considered excellent, out of convenience since I'd be there for Le Reve. 

The Wynn

By the time I arrived, I realized there wasn't nearly enough time to eat (to say the lines were long would be an understatement) before the show, so I wandered around the resort for awhile, quickly threw away a few dollars in the slot machines (also one of my must-do Vegas activities, though I'd hoped for some payout), and seated myself for what was a truly magnificent spectacle of watery dancing, high dives, acrobatics, and special effects. In short, amazing!

Le Reve's watery stage

After the show, I waited in the buffet's interminable line to be seated for dinner. The funny part was, once I was seated and made my round of each food station (at least once), I couldn't find my table when I returned, which should give you an idea of how huge the dining room is (typical Vegas excess), in addition to my aforementioned poor sense of direction. Eventually, with the assistance of the hostess and a server, I found my table and enjoyed several plates of pasta, sushi rolls (which I discovered I liked), vegetables, and desserts. 

I waddled back to my hotel, seeing the Vegas strip's nightlife in all its gaudy glory, and caught a performance of the Mirage's volcano fire show along the way. Though I was exhausted, I debated going to bed versus staying up, knowing that I needed to catch a 3:30 a.m. shuttle for my 6 a.m. flight home. In the end, I napped for an hour before getting up, finishing my packing, checking out, catching my shuttle, and gratefully leaving for my regular, everyday, non-Vegas life. (I wasn't ready to go home when I'd left Zion National Park. After one day in Vegas, I couldn't wait!)

I've heard other people who are spiritually sensitive, empathic, perhaps, say that they can feel the energy of a place and its inhabitants while traveling. Perhaps there's some truth to that. When in New York City last year (No Place Like Home), I felt anxious. In Sedona, I felt good vibrations. At the Grand Canyon, I felt lethargic. In Utah, I felt relaxed and peaceful. And in Vegas, I was afraid, and not only during the thrill-ride portion of my visit. I didn't feel safe at any point during my stay. 

Perhaps that speaks more to my big-city aversion than Vegas's crime rate, but despite the brevity of my visit, I have no desire to return, though I enjoyed most of my experiences (minus the bus snafu). Let's put things in perspective, though: In less than 24 hours, I played a slot machine, rode in a taxi, jumped off a tower, saw a show, dined at a buffet, and walked the strip. How could I possibly top that?!

Best of the Rest: Arizona and Utah

So I left the Grand Canyon with my tour group and embarked on a long, scenic ride to Lake Powell through the beautiful Painted Desert, stopping in scenic Monument Valley, just over the Arizona border into Utah, which is best known as the location where several TV and film westerns were shot, as well as scenes from Back to the Future Part III and National Lampoon's Vacation. 

The Painted Desert

Not surprisingly, the town plays up its John Wayne connection (She Wore a Yellow Ribbon was filmed here, among other Wayne classics) for tourist trade, with a small building billed as John Wayne's Cabin, as well as every imaginable gift-shop item, from mugs to calendars to ties.The highlight of the visit was a Jeep tour given by a Navajo guide of the one-of-a-kind monoliths for which this area is famous. Unfortunately the cold temperatures continued, although the rain held off long enough for our tour to begin and end, and the wind picked up, which left me freezing, windblown, and breathless (and not in a good way). The red sand that coats everything there was embedded in my pores and covered my clothes and shoes by the end of the tour, leaving me longing for a long, hot shower during the long drive to Lake Powell.

Monument Valley

We finally arrived in Page, AZ, around 5:45 p.m., giving me my first opportunity to explore Lake Powell Resort. Although I had an exquisite view of the lake, the weather was less than cooperative. Sixty-degree temperatures and rain prevented me from enjoying anything more than the 90-minute cruise through narrow Antelope Canyon. Beyond that, the other highlight of this part of the tour was, believe it or not, a stop at (gasp) Walmart. I've never in my life been so happy to see a Walmart, and I've never seen anyone else so grateful for a Walmart shopping spree, but after several days of paying gift-shop and restaurant prices, not to mention having to wear shorts, tank tops, and capris in wet 60-degree weather (I'm not the only one who didn't pack for it), you can only imagine the number of bags of food, (warmer) clothing, and supplies that emerged from the store. For me, personally, I made a beeline to ladies' clothing, where I purchased a pair of leggings (besides one pair of jeans, I had no other pants), followed by a visit to cosmetics, where I stocked up on Burt's Bees lip balm (the dry air, much like a western NY winter, chapped my lips and skin terribly).

Cloudy Lake Powell

The low point of the trip was getting stuck at the campgrounds, approximately two miles from my hotel room, where I'd gone to do my laundry. I had no problem getting a shuttle ride out there. But when I called for a ride back, I could get only voicemail or an unanswered phone line. Finally, after three calls to the hotel's front desk and a near panic attack, a shuttle came to my rescue, whisking my disgruntled self safely and dryly (it was, of course, raining) back to my room.

Shuttle issues plagued me again at Bryce Canyon National Park, site of the awe-inspiring hoodoos. I caught a shuttle to the visitor center, quickly stamped my passport book, and walked back outside to wait for the next shuttle back. Did I mention that this was Memorial Day weekend and the park was packed? Well, it bears noting because the holiday crowd slowed down the shuttle system. Finally, after waiting 30 minutes (alongside some tourists who had been waiting even longer), with the time until my tour's departure dwindling away, I hustled my way through the crowd and wedged myself onto a packed shuttle (perhaps the last of its kind) bound for my waiting motorcoach. Somehow I made it, with minutes to spare.

Bryce Canyon National Park

And then we were off to what is tied with Sedona for my favorite part of the trip: Zion National Park. Ironically, I thought at the start of this trip that anything after the Grand Canyon would seem like a letdown. That wasn't at all the case. Zion was about as different from GCNP as it could be. Even though I was there on Memorial Day, the park didn't feel crowded or zoolike, unlike the Grand Canyon. It felt peaceful, serene, just as its name implies. And, at last, the weather warmed up and cleared up in time to enjoy Zion's amazing assortment of hiking trails (at least one for every hiker, ranging from easy to strenuous). In fact, I picked up a little sunburn on the backs of my legs while on a long hike in the afternoon sun. 

Hiking in Zion National Park

Zion was, simply put, bliss, the perfect end to my group tour and the ideal reprieve before the final leg of my journey: Las Vegas!