We took a family vacation to the American southwest back when I was about 11 years old. I have a lot of fond memories of that trip, but on some level I'd always worried that my fondness for the region was coloured by nostalgia. Was I old enough to truly appreciate the beauty of the desert? Would it hold up if I ever came back?
I've been in Las Vegas visiting a friend since last Wednesday night, and the answer is a resounding "yes". I love it here. I love the mountains, the heat, the landscape. I love the rock, the desert, and the feeling that by making a turn and driving far enough, I can feel like I'm in the middle of nowhere.
(It snowed back home while I've been away, incidentally. In freaking May.)
I love that this city is a man-made spectacle in the least likely of places that succeeded in spite of seeming so improbable on the surface. I love the juxtaposition of such a young, new urban center (in relative terms) being deposited in a geological area that is inconceivably old. I love that this is a community with a short history that enthusiastically embraces its past, warts and all.
I love that I can watch baseball games taking place on the east coast and that they'll be finished by dinnertime. I love that everyone who lives here is seemingly from somewhere else. I love that everything in this place seems possible because there is evidence of overcoming the impossible in the fiber of the very community.
And I love that in spite of my total disinterest in gambling, I am not looking forward to leaving tomorrow.
