Alkalizing Las Vegas

Two weekends ago, John and I went to Las Vegas for a screening of Rock Prophecies at the Mirage, and this past weekend, we camped at Catalina Island, attempting to cleanse Las Vegas from our frightened souls…

Have you ever spent much time in Vegas? I hadn’t. Only 2 day trips in the past, in and out, for specific reasons. This time, we crossed the throngs of foggy people to the check-in desk on Thursday afternoon and didn’t haul tail out of there till Sunday morning. A short drive out of Vegas lies many of nature’s wonders, but while heading out for a walk Friday morning, I asked the concierge which direction I could walk to experience a bit of nature. His reply, after searching for it on the ceiling, was no. Just no. Here’s me below… staring out the smokey window of our suite… plotting my exit strategy. Fruitlessly. Check out the slouched shoulders… hahah… poor girl.

We did see the Bellagio fountains on that walk, which are spectacular! Seriously, take your breathe away, live up the expectations – cool. Maybe not a reason to head to Vegas, but definitely a to-do while you’re there. And another diamond was a Cirque de Soleil show called Beatles LOVE. A show that I would send you to Vegas to see. And you bet your tail it couldn’t be less than earth-shatteringly amazing for me to subject you to being trapped like a rat in a smokey maize of slot machines desperately searching for the rubber cheese known as the lobby of your stinking hotel. (Maybe it was just my hotel, but I truly felt like a science experiment.) As for the show, it was absolutely 2 hours of pure joy. The music, the colors, the talent… wow. I loved LOVE. And I want to see it again. I haven’t figured out that conundrum yet.

So… just like I hope to do for you in the second half of this blog, John and I took the very next weekend to cleanse our spirits with a little camping. Catalina was the choice… an interesting and ultimately very like-able place. Funny enough, it sorta feels like Vegas rolled like a dog on top of a magical, tropical island. There’s a little of that. But overall, nature wins. The first night, John and I hiked to “that” point. The ridge we had chosen from our campground below. Excited to find it, we chose a rock next to the rugged cliff’s edge to make a delicious cup of caffeinated tea. A treat for me (too much caffeine oddly makes me grind my teeth), I enjoyed every sip and every bit of my chatty tea buzz with my favorite friend. And as John promised, I was so relaxed that I didn’t even roll over that night, let alone grind my teeth.

Unfortunately, mid-day two, John came down with a little something. Not too harsh, but he was just really tired. And luckily, we had all the time in the world for him to sleep it off. I took the quiet time to build a fire. The prior day, we had biked directly uphill the six miles to our campsite, so my body and mind tucked in to a good book by a warm fire with a loving husband snoozing nearby. His bed was a tent that opened to a view of the ocean, soundtrack included.

While John napped, I also discovered a new favorite camping “dessert”. We had brought along a jar of peanut butter and some currants to add to our morning oatmeal. Here’s my creation… not exactly fancy, but when you’ve been eating “just add water” camping food, it tastes like a bon-bon.

On Sunday, we hitched a ride with the kayak rental guy, Chip, a third generation Catalinian, back to the harbor where our ferry was departing. Harbor within eyesight, Chip abruptly stopped his pick-up on the dusty road, while telling a story about his grandfather selling “buffalo chips,” no relation to the potato. Kayak Chip had something to show us. See, buffalo roam the island since a Hollywood film crew left a few there many decades ago (see what I mean about the Vegas thing?) The huge animals have actually become a bit of a tourist draw. Well little did we know, we had hitched a ride with the grandson of the man who thought to dip the poo from those buffalo into a bit a resin and sell it. With a little gold paint, Grandpa Bo made himself a couple thousand dollars. As Chip (not to be confused with buffalo chip) ran around the grassy cliff searching for a sample, he explained that, “not any old buffalo shit will do. It’s got to have character.”

John and I nearly peed ourselves watching ‘ole Chip in all his buffalo poop glory. His story-telling was spot on. And with that… the final memory of 8am slot machines and the tart smell of alcohol vomit, faded like a buffalo chip in the Catalina summer sun.

xo – Organic Spark