Viva Las Vegas
Las Vegas: Somewhere Between Love and Hate
Depending on who you ask, Las Vegas is either the greatest place on earth or a neon-lit mistake in the desert. We land squarely in the middle.
We like Vegas. Always have. We usually have a good time. But let’s be honest—once you get outside the polished tourist zones, large parts of the city are a shithole. That doesn’t stop us from going. It also doesn’t keep us boxed into the Strip and Fremont.
Over the years, we’ve walked the Strip, wandered Fremont, driven all over town, and spent time poking around the desert edges. Somehow, we still haven’t made it to Valley of Fire. That one’s on us—and it’s on the list next time. Last trip, Lake Havasu stole more time than planned and the schedule collapsed. That happens.
In 20+ years of going to Vegas, I don’t think we’ve stayed in the same hotel twice. Not because we hated any of them—Vegas just keeps reinventing itself. Too many options. Too many changes. Staying somewhere new is part of the experience.
People ask all the time:
“Strip or Fremont?”
The answer is both.
The Strip is unmatched for shows, high-end food, and full-throttle chaos. If you want spectacle and stimulation, that’s where it lives. But it’s no longer the budget playground it once was. Prices have crept up, then sprinted.
Fremont is a different animal. Still loud, still chaotic—but looser. Better people-watching. Less polish. More personality. We stayed at the Four Queens once with a room facing the Fremont canopy. Zipliners flying past the window, crowds rolling underneath, free concerts echoing through the street—it was better entertainment than anything on TV. The canopy lights at night and the shade during the day make Fremont its own ecosystem.
These days, we usually base out of Fremont, play there, then bus over to the Strip for a night or two. If a stupid-good deal pops up on the Strip, we’ll take it—but we don’t chase it anymore.
If you drive to Vegas, do yourself a favor: leave the tourist corridors. Eat where locals eat. It’s cheaper, quieter, and more often than not, better food without the Instagram tax.
Our most recent stop was a pass-through on the way to Lake Havasu. One night. A little gambling. No big plan. We used to swear by the Peppermill—great vibe, solid service—but the food hasn’t hit the same lately. Two-hour wait sealed the decision to move on.
The shop I wanted to visit was closed, so we went hunting for food and accidentally found our new Vegas favorite just down the road: Lazy Dog.
Candied bacon that should be illegal.
Service that actually gave a damn.
A burger that reset my personal benchmark.
I’m writing this now and seriously considering riding back to Vegas just for that meal.
Lesson learned: Vegas rewards people who wander.
Stay curious. Get lost on purpose.
The real wins aren’t always under the brightest lights.
