Les Ms. does Vegas
The family Romano hits it big with seniors, boomers and twenty-somethings on an inter-generational Spring Break
By Danielle Yuthas
“Who me? Hardly!” my great aunt mocked the flight attendant who suggested that she take a seat in the wheelchair waiting at the concourse of McCarran International Airport. Aunt Eva is the biggest gambler in the group. She keeps her Vegas edge with weekly Bingo games and frequent trips up the hill to Black Hawk, Colorado (about an hour drive from her house). Her impatience to hit the slots and spin the Big Six Wheel was palpable as our little family group landed for Spring Break vacation in fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada. In her 80s, Vegas is still Aunt Eva’s preferred vacation destination. In our family, Spring Break trips are not limited to tequila-soaked teenagers beaching in Mexico. Nope. Our multi-generational confab consisted of Aunt Eva, her daughter, granddaughter, my mom and me.
The Ms. Romanos do Vegas. To identify ourselves as one unit, and to be slightly incognito, we booked everything under the family name, Aunt Eva’s maiden name, Romano. We felt like movie stars by giving a code name and it brought us back to the family roots.
Our intention was to hit each individual’s highlights. Starting with Downtown.
Only about a $20 cab ride away, Downtown Vegas is a trip down memory lane for those who’ve been venturing to Vegas for years and years, like Aunt Eva. Get your photo taken under the signature neon cowboy on Fremont Street. Head inside any casino for lower minimums than you will find on The Strip. When Downtown, you can play a lot more Blackjack on the same dime. The 32 oz. minimum, sugary brain-freeze-in-a-bottle drinks that are a required accessory for walking around Vegas in the heat, can be found by the yard or football-full cheaper Downtown than new Vegas stops as well. Sorry, if you want the beer-filled guitar to sling over one shoulder, you’ll have to get back to the Flamingo.
The Elvis Chapel is not just for blushing brides; it is a destination stop for those looking to repent in Sin City. We got caught up in all the fun and missed Sunday mass, a rarity for Aunt Eva. So our group swung by 727 9th St. (near Freemont) to say our prayers and show reverence for the King.
Amen.
Who doesn’t like Jimmy Buffett and Cheeseburgers? Margaritaville on the strip is, well, a paradise of sorts. My mom and her cousin Marie posed for countless pictures in front of the booze in the blender, and sure enough, it rendered. For the duration of the evening, the more vocal in our group continued to yell over the cha-ching of the one-armed bandits, “Where’s the salt?!”
We had only begun to fuel up for the run. Next stop: the gambler’s oasis, the plushest palace in Vegas, by the one and only Steven Wynn, the Encore Hotel. I was raised right, taught that it wasn’t polite to stare. But there’s a lot to gawk at in this high-end venue. Celebs, posers, hangers on and more celebs. But unless you’re pockets are deep, it probably won’t be too long before you head back to the monorail. Curiously, weeks later, I find myself daydreaming…I’m on a chaise, one of hundreds in rows around the Encore’s European-style hotel. I’m being spritzed with bottled water and cabana boys shuffle drinks like decks of cards….
Reality in Vegas is oddly comparable to the cobblestone streets of the New York New York—a melding of architectural realism and future fantasies of winning big. Quaint fortune-telling machines butt up against oxygen bars. Thrill-seekers head to Coney Island to hop on the suspended roller coaster. Onto the night life-- The Bar at Times Square is what you might call “cozy.” Yet, the big-city style dueling piano bar offers sing-along fun even for tone-deaf shower singers. My advise: brush up on the lyrics to all 5-plus minutes of “Piano Man” before you go. At one point I witnessed Aunt Eva dialing down the hearing aid and I think the rest of our group was just a little envious. Consider yourself warned: reservations ARE necessary.
I would have guessed that only the twenty-somethings in our posse would be interested in a late-night dancing expedition. But it turns out my boomer mom insisted on drinking her beer from a mason jar at Toby Keith’s bar in Harrah’s. We cowboy cha-cha-ed until even the good-looking guy in the Stetson tipped his hat to us from the stage as he sang Keith covers. I could go into what happened later that night, but to protect my family, we’ll just leave it at this: what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
The moral of spring break in Vegas is to act the age you feel. In the city that never sleeps, there are endless activities to occupy the young, older and even the restless. In this one place on earth, every hour counts and so can every interest and age. Aunt Eva will be back. And betcha, betcha, we’ll be with her.
