Decent into the Canyons

Las Vegas had been the unofficial half-way point in our 30 day trip. After about two weeks of mostly camping, we spent the weekend in exponentially increasing extravagance, culminating in our amazing stay at the Bellagio. After a reluctant checkout in the marble lobby, we were back on the road. As we drove, the signs of civilization steadily faded, and before long we were back in a desert broken only by an occasional rest stop. Our destination for the day was Zion National Park, home to beautiful canyons and cliffs. Cruising on Rt. 15, we crossed through the northwest tip of Arizona and into Utah.

(A giant truck we passed)

Excuse my digression as we explore some thoughts on Utah. First, compare these two screenshots taken on the same scale. Note the green area in Utah; it represents land dedicated to National Parks, Forests and Recreation areas. I don't have actual figures, but I'd say this area in Utah is at least equal to the total surface area of NJ. We just barely skimmed the bottom of this massively reserved state, and based on the beauty we saw there I can only imagine what the rest holds in store. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Before long, we were snaking along the edge of a mountainside as we descended into the lowered elevations surrounding Zion Canyon. From what we had read, this park was somewhat different from the others in the sense that free shuttles provided all transportation in the canyon. There was even an external shuttle that ran from the adjacent town into the park where the intrepid traveler would switch onto one of the internal shuttles. The book suggested to take this external shuttle in as parking was limited to the visitor's center just inside the park boundary. We decided to gamble, and luckily found a parking spot. After perusing the visitor's center for a bit, we filled up on water and wandered out into the somewhat oppressive heat. We were equipped with sun hats and our versatile water-proof sandal type shoes (like Tevas with an enclosed toe) since we expected to be wading through some streams. We hopped on the bus, occupied by two guys our age, one of which sported a ridiculously huge beard. The ride was narrated, and explained that the vertical red sandstone cliffs in the narrow valley were a rare phenomenon, and had been cut out by the Virgin River, which wound its way through the increasingly narrow and intricate valley system ahead of us.

Allow a brief geological detour to explain just how amazing this particular canyon network is. Zion canyon was formed like all others, a river slowly started to erode the soft sedimentary rock over thousands of years. Geologic uplift increased the elevation of the surrounding area by 10,000ft which caused the streams to run faster and therefore erode faster. At the same time, the uplift caused cracks in the plateau, which gave rise to narrow tributary fissures that emptied into the Virgin River canyon. The rate of erosion of the main canyon was faster than the tributaries, so as the main riverbed sunk, all of its tributaries turned into waterfalls that still decorate the sides of the canyon. The result of all this rapid erosion was an immensely beautiful red sandstone corridor, as narrow as 20ft across, as high as 2,000ft tall, with walls that are nearly vertical, surrounded by a maze of narrow offshoots, and extensively ornamented with waterfalls. On top of all that, the main canyon is mostly navigable by foot. Some parts have actual banks and almost all of the rest is shallow enough to walk or wade through. I love streams, and this is possibly the king of all streams.

We continued driving through the wide part of the canyon towards a rock formation called the Temple of Sinawava, which was a holy place to the Paiute Native Americans. The temple is where the canyon really starts to get narrow, and thus the last stop on the bus loop. We exited the bus along with the two somewhat sketchy looking younger guys, and started our hike along the riverwalk trail. We casually walked in the soft, silty red clay sand next to the Virgin River, which was only 20ft wide this far up into the canyon. Also along the way we saw a gigantic, lazy ground squirrel just hanging out.

Somewhere along the trail was another interesting phenomenon we had only first seen in this part of the country. I don't know the name for it, but in some of these porous sandstone cliffs, water-columns can actually seep down into the heart of the cliffs from the plateaus above, descending until they hit a vein of a harder rock. Once this happens, the water accumulates and starts flowing laterally until it eventually finds the side of the cliff from inside the formation. The water then slowly seeps out of the bare cliff face. We stood on the trail marveling at the result of this uncommon water feature, which gives rise to ferns and mosses all clinging to the sheer rock in a sort of vertical garden, a waterfall of plant life. Unfortunately, I didn't get a good photo of the first one, but these hanging gardens are a beautiful sight found throughout the trail, and we saw several more as we wound deeper and deeper into the canyon. Keep your eyes peeled in the other photos.

It slowly became apparent that the high canyon walls were getting closer and closer to each other. Though several hours from sunset, they eclipsed the sun much earlier than level ground, much the same as we had experienced in Yosemite. Before long we were at the end of the riverside walk trail, the terminus of which is the beginning of the Zion Narrows.

The Narrows is the most famous part of Zion National Park. A whole 1/3rd of the 11 mile hike is completely submerged under the Virgin River (more during high water) which hikers have to wade, and sometimes even swim. This hike was the reason I wanted to go to Zion National Park, it's basically hiking + streams which always = awesomeness. There were a decent number of people milling around, most returning to the start of the trail rather than just embarking. After a few moments of standing on the bank and looking down the river, which forked dramatically out of sight only a few hundred yards away, Pri and I slowly started out into the water. It was only a foot deep but with a swift current and rocky footing. It took a few moments to acclimate to the icy icy cold water, a signature of pretty much all rivers out west. Oh, and by acclimate I really mean our feet steadily became too numb to feel the pain. We quickly zig-zagged across to another bank, and after a short walk on dry land, we delved back into the freezing water.

The walk progressed that way for the next twenty minutes or so, until eventually we came to a spot with two very small patches of dry land. The canyon narrowed in the next hundred feet to about 30ft across and the floor was completely submerged. We paused here for two reasons:

1) about 200ft ahead, the canyon walls were seeping water, which reflected the golden-red light of its surroundings and set up the immensely convincing illusion of gilded rock.

oh and...

2) as the people in front of us walked further down the canyon towards the narrow spot, they suddenly sunk down past their waists into the frigid water.

We stood marveling at the sight of the glimmering walls as the water trickled down. I knew that Pri was not all that excited about plunging waist deep into the water, but this part of the hike was the whole reason I had come to Zion. I traded cameras with Pri (since hers is waterproof), made sure she had a nice dry spot to hang out, then dashed off promising I wouldn't be long. Every step I took forward dropped me down another few inches vertically. I braced and passed through the deepest part of the submersion, half my body tingling with cold and the current slowing me more than ever. After a few seconds the ground started to rise again and I fought up the hill and back to a more sane depth.

I turned and waved to Pri and hurried off around the bend down the canyon. Most of the other hikers had chosen the deep spot as an ideal turn around point, so there were far less people here. After a few minutes, I turned a corner to see a beautiful cascade tumbling down the cliff face. I wanted to yell back at Pri and urge her to think twice about braving the water, but the twisting nature of the path had put her out of sight and earshot. I hoped pictures would do, and pressed on.

There were some stretches where I was completely alone, nothing but the swift river underneath me, the sheer vertical walls on either side, and a sliver of blue sky above. Several places along the canyon, it was apparent that sudden rushes of water had dug deep rounded divets into the walls, giving evidence to how dangerous this trail is in high water. I kept going, probably faster than I should have been, but the canyon was so mystical that I couldn't resist the desire to see what lay beyond the next turn. After a while I passed a group of hikers who appeared to have spent the night at the end of the trail. They were all huddled around one guy as they slowly progressed towards the trailhead. As I got closer I realized he had hurt his arm pretty badly, since it was splinted and bandaged to his body. Among their company was a ranger who had no doubt been dispatched to assist in his return. After assuring myself that they had enough help, I kept going. After a few minutes I realized that being injured in the canyon all alone would be both an easy thing to do, and a difficult thing to get out of. I turned one last bend, gazed down the magical canyon I had imagined while reading Dinotopia as a little kid, solemnly vowed I would return and hike the whole thing, then turned back.

I overtook the injured guy and some other people I had passed on the way in. I eventually reached the waterfall and knew I was close to where I had parted from Pri. Rushing through the dip in the river, re-drenching all that had managed to dry during my adventure, I reached the new spot Pri had found to wait. She was sitting on a rock with a telling look. I wagered I had been gone a tad bit longer than anticipated, which she confirmed as we got up and headed back towards the Zion Narrows trailhead.

Here we sat collecting some rocks to document the beautiful colors of the Zion Narrows. A ranger who had led a guided hike to the Riverside Trail's terminus saw my aquatic appearance and recruited me to grab a shoe from a nearby rock in the river. He said he usually tried to clean up some of the junk that people left around. As the sun sank lower and lower, we were not only being deprived of light but also heat. In my dampened state, I pried Pri away from her self-assigned task of trying to find clear quartz crystal pebbles, and we started walking back towards the bus stop. We had left just in time, because the valley was really starting to get dark by the time the bus arrived. We hopped on, and started back towards the visitor's center.

Somewhere along the way, we realized that we were starving. A day of traipsing around canyons works up quite a hunger. When the bus driver announced the Zion Lodge stop (about half-way back to the visitor's center), our stomachs got the better of us and we ambled out of the bus in the hopes that this lodge would, like many of the other national park's lodges, have some kind of eatery. In the last twinges of daylight, we entered. The gift shop cashier confirmed our assumption and soon we were walking up a staircase to the dining room. The national park restaurants are so confused. They try to be high class, but always possess the same atmosphere as a college food court (imagine the 1855 room). The host(ess? we weren't sure) greeted us, and we asked if we could get a table for two. It slowly consulted a paper on the podium, looked up at the nearly barren dining room, and in an oddly arrogant voice said "I can try to squeeze you in." It disappeared for a minute or two, then returned and offered to lead us to our table. A short walk later, through the virtually empty dining room, we were at our table. We were bid adieu by the host(my vote was for -ess) and were shortly greeted by a very nervous looking waitress. We ordered two pasta dishes and dug into the bread. While waiting for the pasta, I decided I could withstand my now chattering teeth induced by damp clothes no longer. I ran down to the gift store and bought a brown sweatshirt that was too big for me. A minute later I reappeared upstairs so much warmer, and we ate our surprisingly decent dinner.

(what the restaurant looked like as we entered)

We exited the lodge into the darkness of night in the middle of nowhere, which is drastically different from night in New Jersey. Millions of stars be-speckled the sky and we tried to find our way to the dim light post denoting the bust stop. On our way, we encountered a group of people staring off into a field and whispering. After a short inquiry, we learned they were staring at the shadowy forms of about ten deer grazing in the field. We enjoyed this sight, then continued on to the bus stop. Totally exhausted, we welcomed the arrival of the bus, happily slumped into the seats and finished the ride to the visitor's center. We found the car and I finally acquired some dry pants. After changing in the nearby bathroom, we set up the GPS for the next stop, Bryce Canyon National Park. You see, we had not secured a campsite in Zion... to be honest we had never planned on staying in Zion as late as we did. So now we had to drive two hours to the next park with an ETA of about 1 AM.

We hit the road, winding through the narrow canyon passes lit only by our headlights and the freakishly bright full moon. At some point I had to trade off with Pri who woke me up as we reached Bryce. Together, we navigated to the campsite ,and through a combination of our utter exhaustion and unwillingness to wake up the entire campground, we decided to skip setting up the tent and just sleep in the car. After shoving the stuff in the back seat around for a little, we were able to tilt our chairs slightly. Falling asleep proved unsuccessful however, because the freaking moon was so bright that we actually had to put the sun shield up in order to block it out. In one day, we had gone from sleeping in a $500/night suite at the Bellagio to sleeping vertically in a 1998 Honda Civic.

[adam]

High Hats and Arrowed Collars

After our experience at the Stratosphere, we were nervous. Our stay at the Bellagio was one of the biggest nights we had planned for the trip in terms of expenses, and we were hoping that it wouldn't feel like a waste afterwards. When we pulled up to the hotel, the atmosphere seemed immediately incomparable to that around the Stratosphere. Whereas last night we were secluded at the end of the road surrounded by empty parking lots and unmarked buildings, here we were at the heart of the famous strip surrounded by lush architecture and greenery. We opted out of valet parking and led ourselves into the parking deck. Since it was still relatively early in the day, we found a good spot right near the entrance and hastily pulled out our belongings.


Walking through the casino towards the hotel lobby, we were overwhelmed by the extravagant ambiance. This was nothing like the Stratosphere, full of desperate, depressing drunks. The Bellagio was glowing; the walls, the floors, even the people seemed bright and bathed in light (helped in no small part by a glass ceiling). Even though we were inside, we felt outside. Before reaching the lobby we reached the indoor gardens, a fantastical, botanical playground with leaping jets of water, hand-painted hot air balloons and a Ferris wheel. It felt like Willy Wonka and Simon Doonan had skipped through a field of flowers together, then fallen asleep and dreamed up decorations for the Bellagio courtyard. Intoxicated with color and innovation, we finally reached the lobby and looked up. Here we stood beneath Chihuly's stars, candy-colored glass blooms frothing from the canopy like a symphony of bubbles all popping in unison.

We walked up to the expansive marble counter to check-in, feebly attempting to act as if our surroundings were completely normal and that we belonged here. The person serving us brought up our reservation on the computer and then had to call "headquarters" for our room assignment (which is apparently not the job of the front desk). Instead of the already ritzy room we had booked online, the assignment office had cleared an upgrade for us, and we were handed the key to a room normally reserved for $500 a night! Thrilled, we listen to him explain the hotel's amenities and warn us that the refreshment center was weight-sensitive and would automatically charge our account for any items moved or removed during our stay.

Thanking the attendant, we found the gorgeous set of hallways where the expanse of elevators were located. Instead of every elevator serving all floors, there were sets of elevators assigned to each grouping of 5 floors. Our room was located on the 19th floor, so we hopped in an elevator earmarked for the 16th-20th floors and tried to hit the button. As the doors closed, our button still refused to light up and Adam suggested that maybe we should try scanning our keycard. Having never experienced a system like that before, I was sure that couldn't be the case; the only visible slot didn't seem large enough. After a trip up and down holding our belongings and looking sufficiently inexperienced, someone finally mentioned to us that we did in fact have to scan our key for the button to "unlock", and only then would we be able to get where we needed to go.

After dismounting on the 19th floor and finding our room in a hallway dark and plush with the elegance of low lighting and intricate wallpaper, I slid the keycard into the lock and opened the door to the room. For a moment, we weren't sure this could be correct. Before us was a living room larger than the one in my house and drastically sharper in taste and style. As we put our things down and started exploring the small suite, we took inventory. Bathrooms? THREE. Three bathrooms. My 4-bedroom house has three bathrooms! All three bathrooms were fully equipped too, toilets and sinks. One had a hot tub/jacuzzi, one had a marble shower/sauna, and the third was the "guest bathroom" in the living room. The curtains in both main rooms were dual-layered with heavy sheets of sheer and opaque silks, both of which were remote controlled and hid full, wall-size windows. Our view, in true Ocean's Eleven style, overlooked the famous Bellagio fountains and Las Vegas Boulevard. All the woods were dark and the upholstery was leather; the room was a harmonious dissertation in mahogany and glass with exotic botanical conclusions. We were in heaven.




Like any mature pair of adults, we soon ferreted through every drawer and closet in the suite, marveling over the soft, heavy bathrobes and subtle fragrances of the signature bath luxuries stocked plentifully in each room. Not content to leave any utility untouched, we settled on an agreed sequence of events. Before long Adam was running the jets of the jacuzzi while I unpacked. As he next hopped in the shower, I settled into the jacuzzi to relax until he was done. Then it was my turn and I took my time washing my hair after a sweltering day at the Hoover Dam. For a while, we relaxed in the room until my hair dried and finally decided we should start getting dressed up for our evening of excitement. This time, we were sure, we would not regret putting on the Ritz. In a dapper Theory number that Barney would approve of, Adam suited up and I put on a French Connection dress that paid homage to the "Cirque" theme of the hotel.

With about an hour to kill before our dinner reservation at the Bellagio's most prestigious French restaurant, we explored the swanky promenade of shops set apart from the casino. In contrast to the rundown mall at the Stratosphere, here we strolled passed Chanel, Dior, Hermes and Tiffany's, able to ogle but not to touch. Our only purchases were the usual souvenir magnets and postcards; we wanted to buy more logo-laden merchandise but they simply did not stock or make it. As we lingered in Tiffany's, having fun pretending that we might actually buy a $1,600 ring with an overly enthusiastic saleswoman, Adam realized that it was 7:23PM and our dinner reservation was in 7 minutes. Apologizing to the woman, we quickly exited and found Le Cirque where we were seated promptly in the opulent jewelbox known as their main dining room.


Lavishly decorated, the ceiling of Le Cirque hung heavy with swaths of silk in deep tones of ruby, olive, butternut squash and eggplant. We sat down, and the maitre d' quickly hurried over to us. "I notice," he said, "that you are wearing dark colors tonight. Shall I bring napkins more suitable to your outfits?" We looked down to the white napkins in our laps, looked up at each other, and (secretly flabbergasted), calmly concurred that darker napkins would be more agreeable. He scurried off and we grinned, excited to see how else this evening would tutor us in the distinctions between dining, and fine dining. He returned with our new, beautiful charcoal gray napkins and asked us what kind of water we would like this evening. Knowing that we would be perfectly content with tap water, we listened to him list 4 bottled waters, none of which I like. I gently mentioned that we did not really prefer any of those waters and he looked heartstricken, quickly racking his brains for a solution. "Would you prefer Aqua Panna?" This was one of few bottled waters that I could tolerate, and I cheerily told him so. "Perfect!" he said. "We don't actually stock it in this restaurant, but I will have a boy run next door and have it for you momentarily madam, thank you." He then politely excused himself to allow us to attend to our menus.


Giddy with the celebrity treatment, we scanned the menus and decided we were both up for the three course prix-fixe before the water boy appeared at our table with a bottle of Evian and started pouring it into my glass. At the exact moment that I began to open my mouth in protest, the maitre d' caught sight of the situation and with a look of horror, pulled the water boy aside. Like a true professional, he quietly but sternly explained the boy's mistake and asked him to correct it immediately. No longer than 12 seconds later, the boy returned with the correct water and apologizing, poured glasses for us. I was beginning to understand why the people I assisted at work had such jaded expectations of how they should be treated; if this was the service that money could buy it was no wonder they were spoiled rotten.

After ordering our drinks (iced tea and fruit juice to the waiters disappointment), the maitre d' brought out a tiny amuse-bouche in small shot glasses. He explained that it was a chilled cucumber soup, and it tasted like someone has distilled the essences of summer into a mint green nectar from the gods. To say the least, it was delicious and subtle, a beautiful introduction to the meal ahead. Finally we ordered, getting to pick three dishes a piece. For an appetizer, I chose hamachi delicately seasoned with Japanese citrus oil, and it was a soft, glorious burst of flavor that actually served its purpose in making me hungrier for my meal. Adam chose truffle-marinated shrimp over mashed potatoes. We unfortunately dove into our appetizers so quickly there was no opportunity to capture them for posterity. Having calmed ourselves for our main meals, we were both patient enough to wait for pictures before tucking in. For my entree, I chose a triple presentation of rabbit in a porcini mushroom foam; it was beautifully cooked and tasted almost like turkey but 30 times moister and more tasty. Adam selected a snow crab ravioli served on top of lobster with a coconut curry sauce that he was first hesitant about trying, but ended up loving.

The maitre d' teased that I would get a prize for finishing the rabbit; the serving appeared deceptively small but was a fight to finish. Even after my stomach was more than full, I continued eating it until the very last bite on the merits of taste alone. As a result, I opted for a lighter dessert in the Midori Melon Soup, a bowl of liquid honeydew with sliced and balled watermelon topped in a cantaloupe sorbet. The textures, colors, and flavor of this dessert lifted the entire weight of the meal from my stomach and left me feeling like I had somehow ingested a cool breeze. Adam's dessert was heavier, a perfect chocolate sphere filled with chocolate mousse and topped with 24K gold. Unfortunately I did not get to capture it before the waiter poured molten chocolate on its surface, instantly melting the entire sphere into a pool of deep brown liquid.


After we were finally done and full, the maitre d' held true to his promise and brought out my prize, a miniature, gilded set of drawers imprinted with the restaurants name in metallic red letters. Inside were two carefully dusted truffles that looked sinfully delicious. Along with this he brought a small plate of petite-fours, which we sampled while filling out the check. Thanking our servers for an incredible meal, we finally exited in the contented daze of a thoughtful, top-class meal. Deciding that I could no longer walk in the shoes that I decided to wear because the thick patent leather was carving slices into my feet, we went upstairs to get rid of our bags and let me change shoes. In the process of doing so we lost awareness of the time, and as we got ready to exit the room realized that the fountain show we were hoping to catch had begun outside our window. Foolishly, I suggested that we run down and try to see it in person instead of watching it from our window, but of course when we reached the first floor we were too late.

This created a dilemma; the next fountain show was not until 10PM and would last about 10 minutes. We had tickets to see the 10:30PM performance of Cirque du Soleil's "O" and were told to be seated at least 20 minutes in advance of showtime. If we were to see the fountain show, we might be late for the performance, since the theater was located inside the hotel about halfway through the casino. As we debated, we realized that even if we were late for seating, as long as we were ahead of the 10:30 showtime they would have to seat us. On top of that, we were in Las Vegas without a clue as to when we would return, so might as well do everything we can! Outside in the warm night air, we settled into a cozy corner of the wall that surrounds the fountains and waited until the show began. To save ourselves from trying breathlessly to convey its grandeur unsuccessfully, and also just to preserve it precisely, we recorded the entire performance for everyone to see.




The Famous Fountains


As soon as the last of the mist hit us in the face, we bolted past the crowds just beginning to peel themselves off the fountain wall and dashed inside to find the theater. Walking swiftly past all of the luxury retailers, we were at the theater doors before long in plenty of good time to find our (third row!) seats. To keep the audience entertained until showtime, two stylized clowns amused the audience with the style of physical humor that is unique to the Cirque ideology. Before long it was showtime, and the massive red silk that covered the stage billowed down in cascading waves of crimson before flying off stage at the insistance of a singular strand of rope. Now, for anyone who has not yet had the mindblowing honor of seeing a Cirque show (and even for those who have), I have absolutely no idea how to even approach beginning to explain the visual indulgence of Cirque's aesthetic.

As Cirque shows go, each one focuses on a different set of acrobatic skills all set in the lavish framework of dramatic storytelling paired with operatic vocal accompaniment. This particular performance, "O", focused on water. As a result, the entire stage shifted in and out of various depths of a large pool in which all performers of different acrobatic proficiences somehow managed to dive and swim through with no apparent necessity for a single breath (which the audience dutifully provided them by holding theirs). The show was impossible to absorb; at any given moment there were three or more equally paralyzing feats of acrobatic finesse and costume art worthy of a museum. Characters flew through the air in diligent denial of any gravitational forces whatsoever, each as glittering and fluid as the body of water beneath them. To explain the show any further will serve no educational purpose; in simplest terms the show was beautiful, incredible, and highly recommended to anyone whose interest would be piqued by the idea of watching a magician playing a grand piano while sinking into a still pool.

Since we were lucky enough to have chosen seats close to stage but on the one side that did not get hit by water during the course of the show, we were up for walking around the still-alive casino. Passing through the shops again, we came upon the Jean-Phillippe Patisserie. Here I hungrily peered into the glass facade vowing to return in the morning when it was open; the shelves were stocked with rich chocolates and decadent desserts. No less appetizing was the massive chocolate fountain in which thick streams of sweet liquid poured from leaves of glass floating in a suspended waterfall above the entrance. On the wall adjacent was a plaque commorating its status as the world's largest chocolate fountain, Guiness certified!



With a renewed hunger, we continued on to the courtyard. Where the glass ceiling had made this a magical field of flowers in the daytime, the hundreds of strategically placed lights turned the courtyard into a lavish carnival at night. We enjoyed walking under archways made by crystalline jets of water, seeing the sleeping birds in the indoor aviary, and absorbing the delicate intricacies of the glass sculptures now made apparent by the burning bulbs beneath them.



Completing our rounds, we finally agreed that we only had one remaining mission in Vegas: to gamble. Neither of us had ever done so before, and what better location to lose our first dollar? Adam was generally unenthused by the idea of gambling himself, so we settled on an acceptable loss limit of $22 and I set off to find a machine I could operate. Since I was not playing for big money, I decided the penny slots would be my best bet. Little did I know that these machines would be metal representations of all that is wrong in advertising. Words and pictures literally plagued the machines, their intent and information was all but indecipherable. Content to put in bills and hit buttons until something beeped and the numbers changed, I finally understood the mechanics of these mystery boxes when I was about $5 in. Suffice it to say, they were addictive!

Operating in a complete absense of necessary skill on my part, each machine I tried excitedly spun its way through hundreds of mindless button presses. I was a giddy rat in a Skinner box, hoping for a treat. Eventually I did bring home some bacon, to the hefty tune of $20 and 20 cents. True to the spirit of Vegas however, I again lost it all. Adam eventually did give in and bet $5, which he quickly lost in a couple minutes worth of play (compared to my two hours). All in all, I thought losing $1.80 for 2 hours worth of entertainment was a couple bucks well spent, and was lightyears away from the damage typically done in the city of sin. Tired yet exhuberantly positive about our indulgent night in the Bellagio, we returned to our room to pass out in the plush king-size bed.


The next morning, we packed up and stayed true to our commitment to return to the Jean Phillippe Patisserie. While Adam foolishly ordered a healthy breakfast sandwich, I ordered a rich slice of Nutella Napoleon (which is as exactly confoundingly delicious as it sounds) and loaded up my arms with a bottle of liquid chocolate, truffles, and chocolate bars. Literally as elated as a child in a candy store, I tucked into my sinfully sweet breakfast as we departed the Bellagio parking lot and told ourselves that we would definitely return to a city whose only true sin is perpetuating the idea that everything that happens here, should stay here.

{pri}