This had been a long time in the making. The last time we did “Grandmas Gone Wild” in Vegas was only just post-pandemic and things were a little different back then. I’m not what you would call a gambler, per se, but I do like a show or two and definitely an epic concert when they come along, not to mention the incredible people-watching that goes on in these parts.
“Barry is playing in Vegas!” she tells me. “When are we going?” I reply. Since she is the only person I know who loves Barry Manilow as much as I do, this was a twosome event we could not miss. Trying to find a workable date for the two of us was a bit trickier, so the Bazza-Extravaganza got pushed to the end of the year, the last weekend of Barry’s residency. A December date pre my friend’s birthday and Christmas seemed like the best date of all.
The day finally arrived — armed with VIP Gold Pre-Party tickets in addition — and we flew from Santa Maria on an uneventful flight to Sin City. There we rented a car — The Cube, a very practical, if a tad ugly mobile — and raced over to a local bar to catch the 49ers lose to the Rams, a sad day for us 49er fans.
It’s an interesting culture that pervades the airs of Las Vegas — quite unlike anything most of us have ever witnessed. Bars stay open all day, all night. You can still smoke inside a building. If you play on a gambling machine, the drinks are free. If you are not a frequent flyer to these parts, you can feel as if you just landed on the moon. Oh, and there are no coffee pots in the hotel rooms, even the very best establishments. That is a travesty for us Europeans. We don’t do well without our morning cup of joe.
Staying at the new Fontainebleu was quite the delight for the senses, if you can get over the missing coffee pot. Just the enormous clusters of real red roses in the lobby blew my mind and I had to go over and check that they were real. The swimming pool at the top was pleasantly as warm as a hot tub on a 35-degree morning, though not quite large enough for the swimmer who was determined to get her laps in amidst the rest of us who were just bobbing around. Having seen pictures of the oasis of pools that are open during the rest of the year made me want to come back.
There’s something very yummy about a new property. Having worked in hotels years ago, I do like a nice new property when I see one and though the lobby configuration was a bit odd, it was a comfortable space. The check-in staff needed a little extra training — and the odd smile would not go amiss — but we didn’t care, we were checking in pre-Barry and no one was going to rain on our parade. Our gorgeous and enormous room overlooking the Strip did not disappoint either!
Prepping for our show and getting gussied up in my gold llame dress made me feel a bit babelicious (I hear my daughter’s voice telling me that nobody cares), and we anxiously traversed over to the Westgate for our Barry show. The doorman there greeted us with a big smile and laugh, “Looks like you made it!” he crooned, one of our favorite Barry songs. That was more like the customer service you should find in Vegas!
It took a while to track down the entrance for the Gold Pass VIP pre-show (signage people, signage!) and we were a small group of eight in the VIP bar, having cruised along the very same corridor that Elvis would stroll along during his 1969 residency at The International (now the Westgate). There were some great pictures to be found of his royal highness decorating the corridors of this hallowed ground.
Our VIP drinks at the Copa Bar boasted such names as “I made it through the champagne” and “Manilini” and they were most delicious, enabling our whistles to be wetted in time for the big show. Oh, my goodness, he was so good. A very personable and seemingly lovely person.
Though 81, he moved and sang well, also gave a special double performance of “Mandy” with his younger self on the big screen, then being taken over by his older live self at the piano. The crowd roared. The set was a nice mixture of Christmas music and old classics. I adored “This one’s for you.” He told us the story of how his grandpa used to walk him over the Brooklyn Bridge to Times Square every Saturday morning, where you could record your own voice on a little vinyl and how very important his grandpa was to his music and his life.
I wish I hadn’t sung my way through all the videos I took of him playing, but maybe there will be a chance to return next year for Barry 2 when I will tape up my mouth. How fortunate were we to be able to see another legend.
After the show it was time for some Keno and a few drinks, followed by a super pizza slice that you only ever consume at 11 p.m. in Vegas. We had another big day ahead — a full itinerary if you like of the Christmas lights at Bellagio (stunning with too many people!), the iced Baileys drink at the Irish pub and the Princess Diana exhibition (signage, again, signage people! There was great advertising for the show on social media, but it was very difficult to find in person!).
I found the show most interesting, since my younger life was spent in London and Diana was only two years older than me, so I did find myself following her life. I’d say this exhibit was well worth a visit and it was nicely staged and presented, showcasing much of the incredible life she led, but then the details of her death and beyond were also presented, much in the form of full-page newspaper stories from across the world. It made us newsie girls wonder how such exhibitions would be hosted in the future when nearly all our news is digital.
From Diana, it was time to reset the sore feet and get ready for dinner at The Strat. Though The Strat is an older property, I liked it. Coffee pots in the room — yes — washcloths in the bathroom — yes — and the most interesting place to have dinner with its revolving restaurant and sky-high views all around the city. Upon arrival, the waiter promptly informed us that dinner was a minimum of $55 per plate, even before we had sipped our water; so that was a little chilly, but she warmed up once she realized that my friend was a player’s club member and a frequent flyer at the Strat. Funny how that happens.
My max stay in Sin City before I evaporate is four days, and we left after three this time, which was a blessing, since we had jammed so much into our days it felt like a week. Had it been offered, I would have revisited Barry at the last night of his residency, but instead we attended a bawdry theatrical/acrobatic show called “Rouge,” which was a fun end to a very lovely long weekend.
There’s always so much to do in Las Vegas. Save your money in advance, get your rest and, if you are like me and a bit of an addict, I recommend you take your own coffee pot with you. We never did find the coffee at the Fontainebleu, which struck me as a bit sad. The early morning mimosa was nice, though unanticipated.
If you are a Bazza fan like me, I believe that amazing performer is back here in February. I may see you there.
