Cowboys
No visit to America would be complete without a trip to Las Vegas. And no visit to America would be complete without cowboys. I decided to combine the two.
Las Vegas was a surreal experience. I was staying at the diminutive Bill’s gamblin’ Hall and Saloon (contraction not the author’s own) which was opposite the towering Bellagio and its amazing fountain show. I had a room the size of a football pitch for around $25 (midweek prices were astonishingly cheap) and my room overlooked the strip. In itself this would have been mind-bending enough, but I was fresh from the deserts of Moab where I’d had a single bed next to the communal bathroom, and the only lights were the vast starry skies. I spent much of my two days in Vegas walking round murmuring ‘too. many. people. senses. overloaded.’
Never one to play the slots I’d come to Vegas to treat myself to a helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon. This was a fantastic idea and included flying over the Hoover Dam (my favourite of all the New Deal projects) and stopping at a ranch for lunch (my favourite of all the meals). Naturally the helicopter ride was incredible. It was my first time in a helicopter but it was definitely a good way to begin. Lunch is also worthy of remark: I had booked the trip over the phone and had requested a vegetarian meal. “OK” said the cheery American lady, with a classic Southern drawl, “so how about Chicken?” “No, I’m vegetarian” I persisted. “OK, so we’ll just make y’all some ham?” I tried again, also turning down fish. In the end I was forced to explain “Look, nothing that had a face. Thank you.” Thankfully she stayed cheery for the rest of the call. So I waited for my lunch with some trepidation at the ranch. After bringing out the other guests a half a cow each, in its various form, I was given an enormous plate of beans. And sweetcorn. And potatoes! I just remember thinking, I hope the helicopter ride home is smooth as I am so full right now.
Those who weren’t allergic to horses went for a pony trek, but I got to stick around at the ranch. I had the cowboys almost all to myself and they showed me how to lasso, sang me songs, and called me ‘Smiler’. Of course it was all extremely touristy and about as authentic a representation of cowboy life as Harry Potter is of an English boarding school, but it was great fun. And to prove that cowboys really do still exist, the first photo is a candid street portrait of a man and his dog in Nashville.
