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Two fake camels named Jody and Elias chatted brightly just inside the main entrance of Luxor Hotel/Casino, an immense glass pyramid fronted by an excessively madeup and grossly overweight Sphinx.
At Luxor, the mysteries of Egypt meet the shifting sands of Nevada gaming in a land where camels talk almost as eloquently as money.
While Jody and Elias conversed, recorded scarabs chirped, a distant flute trilled faux North African riffs, slot machines clanged, croupiers droned, roulette wheels clattered and craps players muttered ancient curses.
Jody and Elias, meanwhile, mouthed platitudes that might have been scripted by Century 21.
Elias rattled off a list of features that distinguish the Luxor Hotel/Casino from any other. The pyramid holds 2,500 rooms, he said, and envelops 29 million cubic feet of wagering excitement, wholesome entertainment and restaurants with names like the Papyrus and Tut's Hut.
Jody flapped her hairy jaw and chimed in: 'The light on top is so bright, you can read a newspaper 10 miles out into space!'
Not a bad idea. That's how much distance you would need to put between yourself and Las Vegas before you could read a newspaper in any kind of peace.
All along the Strip, nomads run a gantlet of pirate-ship battles, volcanic eruptions, thrill rides and the jackhammers of an insane work in progress.
'This has gotta be the greatest city in the world,' a stogie-chomping cab driver insisted one shimmering, Saharalike afternoon. 'Look at all this stuff!'
The taxi crawled past a bundle of incomplete skyscrapers that shortly would become New York-New York, a bizarre caricature of Manhattan complete with roller coaster and cramped single-room-occupancy units. A few blocks later, the Circus Circus indoor amusement park threw a blemish on the skyline with a structure that resembles an alarming purple boil. Downtown, an overhead light show (screaming fighter planes, tropical flowers, dancing girls, etc.) diverted the attention of tourists packed into a pedestrian mall called the Fremont Street Experience. (It looked like Pickpocket Heaven to me.)
As every American should know by now, Las Vegas lately has been striving for a 'themed' environment. Luxor Hotel/Casino (another Circus Circus enterprise) found its niche by tapping the gilt and glamor, such as it is, of Egyptology.
Hardly more than a year before setting foot in the new Vegas-model Luxor, I had spent some time visiting the original. The same journey also took me to Karnak, the Valleys of the Kings and Queens, the Great Pyramids and a few remarkable architectural achievements along the Upper Nile.
My brow still sweats when I think about that trip--so much ancient history, 5,000 years of civilization, incredible art and engineering, gods and goddesses, pharaohs--all the heady marvels that those grade-school educational films seemed to be hinting at before I dozed off.
I remember following my learned guides last year with a feeling of reverence and profound humility. Egypt is a serious place. Its temples, tombs and monuments have tantalized generations of visitors, leaving puzzles that even the best minds in archeology have yet to solve.
Some tourists wandered among the lotus-carved columns, stately obelisks, beautiful statues and crumbling sphinxes with the zeal of pilgrims. They whispered and hugged one another, dabbed tears of rapture, trembled at the aura of it all.
Last year in Cairo, on the morning after my arrival in Egypt, I stepped onto my hotel balcony and looked south up the Nile through binoculars. I could barely make out the pyramids of Giza, my first glimpse of them. They looked gray in the polluted air but unmistakable. What can I say? It was the sort of thrilling moment a traveler never forgets.
As my plane approached Las Vegas a few weeks ago, I noticed that in the late-afternoon sunlight, the pyramid of the Luxor Hotel/Casino was exactly the same shade of gray.
As soon as I got a closer look, of course, that initial impression of authenticity disappeared in a frenzy of Vegas overreach. The smoky glass walls of Luxor-in-Vegas really are gray, the cold, prefab slick gray of commercial expedience. The tarted-up sphinx reclining across the driveway was 80 percent larger than the big one in Giza. It had a nose, eye makeup and a bellyful of valet-parking attendants.
At the side entrance, a miniature Temple of Karnak held up the canopy, its ranks of stubby pillars shading an endless parade of guests cradling plastic slot-machine cups.
The real Luxor, as I remembered it, was a boisterous town flanking one of the most serene and awesome temples on the Nile. While Luxor's streets shrieked with peddlers, beggars and religious chants, the temple there and the temple in neighboring Karnak remind us that Egypt's modern chaos is but a pothole in centuries of history, the culmination of beliefs and political systems more intricate than any Quartermania jackpot network could ever be.
The Luxor Hotel/Casino is noisome in a Las Vegas sort of way--brash and immediate, desperately showing off its gimmicks before all of the ersatz movie sets, rain forests, Italian villas, Wild West saloons and tall ships up the street lure customers away.
'Luxor is the eighth wonder of the world!' Elias the camel exulted, while tourist flashbulbs flickered and Jody flirtatiously batted her mechanized lashes.
I admit I had checked into the Luxor prepared to scoff. I had seen a genuine Seventh Wonder from my Cairo hotel balcony only a few months before. I had seen the real Luxor (nowhere near the sphinx and pyramids of Giza, by the way). It was a city that dominated a vast region from 2100 B.C. to 750 B.C. The tombs of pharaohs and queens tunnel into mountains across the river, near the west bank of the Nile--not tombs at all, really, but in the minds of ancient Egyptians points of embarkation for the great journey into the hereafter.
Luxor Las Vegas, which opened in 1993, substitutes special effects for the engines of faith that drove the people of Egypt to create their wonders. That sort of spiritual energy evidently wasn't enough for the Luxor creators of the 1990s. Those designers invented a 'pre-Egyptian' civilization buried for all these centuries beneath the Las Vegas Strip.
Production designer Bob Taylor discloses in a promotional videotape that 'Egypt is a poor facsimile of what this high-technology civilization developed. They lived in a world where gravity was no longer an issue.'
That conceit provides the hook for a series of thrill rides in which heroes and villains battle for dominance in a confusing story that involves surround-sound, wide screens, motion simulators and the latest in virtual-reality technology.
Until I visited the three theaters housing this 'Secrets of the Pyramids Trilogy,' I couldn't understand why the interior of the new pyramid had been filled with gloomy-looking cardboardy skyscrapers sprinkled with half-hearted neon signs. Well, the climax of the 'Pyramids Trilogy' takes place in a city of the future more ghastly than the smoky metropolis in 'Blade Runner,' so if you follow this convoluted logic, it all ties in.
I did discover one rather tasteful nod to authenticity. The Luxor basement houses a museum that replicates the tomb of Tutankhamen. All the treasures inside are counterfeits, naturally, but lovingly rendered and less dusty than the authentic Tut trove in Cairo's Egyptian Museum. Equally dignified, the adjoining museum shop offers presumably genuine Egyptian relics, some of them costing several thousand dollars.
After that cultural uplift, I took the Nile Cruise. The barge floated serenely through the lobby, past restaurants and into tunnels covered with hieroglyphics, statuary and paintings. Our guide name-dropped a few gods: Osiris, Isis, Horus, Amun . . . without burdening us with details about their complex role in Egyptian life. She showed us a replica felucca drydocked near the registration desk, plenty of colorful murals and a belly dancer.
At the end, the guide said, 'You folks know you're a part of history, don't you? You happen to be some of the last people to ride the Nile Tour--ever. They are going to close it down for remodeling of the casino.' (In Las Vegas, 'remodeling of the casino' are code words for 'add more slot machines.')
Outside my hotel room window, which was canted 39 degrees and fitted with special gravity-defying blinds, workers swarmed over scaffolding and concrete molds to produce yet more Luxor housing units. The resort soon would extend northward almost to the moats of Excalibur, the bloated medieval palace that Circus Circus Enterprises also owns.
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We still are at a loss to explain exactly how the Egyptians managed to build all their glorious edifices. Luxor's bustling construction site left no doubt as to how contractors do things now. At the time Luxor opened, Douglas Trumbull--creator of the 'Secrets of the Pyramids Trilogy' (and world renowned for his Back to the Future ride at Universal Studios)--marveled: 'This was a trailer park 18 months ago. This place will never close. It's open 24 hours a day. It's a living thing.'
I wondered how long before wreckers would shatter this glass pyramid to make way for yet some other themed extravaganza, an even more outrageous, history-bending, virtual-reality thrill.
Whenever that happens, Egypt's Giza pyramids, the old Luxor, the temples at Karnak--all of them will still be around.
Bet on it.