What happens when a small California city gets a direct flight to Las Vegas - SFGate

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Some of the most excited people in America, myself included, have gathered five hours north of San Francisco at California Redwood Coast-Humboldt County Airport. We are all headed to Las Vegas on the first-ever direct commercial flight from our remote and rural hometown. Our tickets cost $29 each way.

At the Avelo Airlines ticket counter, people are doing little dances and hugging each other. Every now and then someone hoots, “Vegas baby!”

I’ve never seen our tiny airport so crowded — as in, there is an actual line at security. And at the gate, a strong contingent of passengers is dressed for the occasion.

In studded steampunk masks, Conor and Ryan Wallace are flying to Vegas to renew their vows after five years of marriage. Across the waiting area, friends Johanna Daily and Gini Noggle flaunt purple hair and leopard print ensembles. They’re celebrating Daily’s completion of nail technician school.

Passenger Holly Aitken has been forced by friends to wear a tiara and a sash that reads “50 & FABULOUS.” The friends surprised Aitken at her house, then blindfolded her, packed her up and whisked her to the airport. “I love Vegas,” she tells me matter-of-factly.

I, too, love Vegas. And that’s why, 15 minutes after this new route was announced, I booked seats for myself and my partner on the inaugural flight.

As our plane pulled away from the gate it was doused by a fire engine in a ceremonial water salute, and I knew this was going to be good.

Excited passengers on the inaugural direct flight from Humboldt County to Las Vegas dressed for the occasion.
Ashley Harrell

Our downtown hotel was right on debaucherous Fremont Street.
Ashley Harrell

We’re not in Humboldt anymore

When traveling direct from a vast and rural California county to one of the world’s most glitzy and crowded tourist destinations, a period of adjustment is only natural.

From the back of a cab, as we gawked at the neon-splashed casino resorts, we couldn’t help but notice something equally unfamiliar: traffic. It was rush hour — something we never experience in Humboldt — and the main arteries of Vegas were doubling as parking lots.

The chatty cab driver invited us to take our masks off, then removed his own.

“Are you vaccinated?” I asked.

“I have antibodies,” he said.

Vegas is not the place for someone concerned about the pandemic.

Nearly an hour and $60 later, we arrived at Circa Resort & Casino, a year-old downtown hotel right on debaucherous Fremont Street, otherwise known as “Glitter Gulch.” The street is as old as the city itself, dating back to 1905, and its Old Vegas vibe is a great counterpoint to the Strip. Four blocks of it have been a pedestrian corridor since 1996, with regular live music and ridiculous dance parties, a zip line (aka SlotZilla) and a canopy with millions of LED lights.

Normally I would have booked a room at the Golden Nugget, another Fremont hotel with a 200,000-gallon shark tank that people slide through. But that attraction is closed for the season, and I was curious about how wild Circa would be.

At reception, upbeat music blared and the plinking, blinking casino beckoned from across the room. It wasn’t really our scene — the 20- and 30-something guests were mostly dressed in sports fan gear and pumped for Vegas’s largest sports book — but we loved that the iconic, 25-foot neon cowgirl Vegas Vickie was restored and suspended over her namesake cocktail lounge, still kicking one leg into the air.

An employee in fake eyelashes and bedazzled acrylic nails asked if we wanted to upgrade to a room with a view of both the Strip and the Stadium Swim — Circa’s complex of six heated pools and two hot tubs set before a 40-foot HD screen.

We definitely did. The indulgence had begun.

The view from Legacy Club, the rooftop lounge in the Circa Resort & Casino.
Ashley Harrell

Vegas Vickie still reigns in the Circa Resort & Casino.
Ashley Harrell

I threw on a black sequin dress, and we cabbed it back to the Strip. Crackling with energy and brimming with humanity, this street can feel like a lot — until you’ve had a few drinks and a meal.

After a watermelon margarita, a strong espresso martini and some bomb short rib tacos, I was ready to try my luck at pai gow poker and dropped untold sums. Then we sauntered through the dazzling halls of the Bellagio, and beneath its famous Chihuly flower sculpture, on the way to the "O" Theatre Showroom. Over the next almost two hours, we gasped, gripped our seats and laughed hysterically at Cirque du Soleil’s long-standing water show.

The perforated stage with a 1.5-million-gallon water tank can look like a giant swimming pool, just a puddle or even solid ground, and acrobats in elaborate costumes fly through the air and into the water. They also dangle from a swinging pirate ship and perform death-defying dives from 60 feet in the air.

As one performer was catapulted by a Russian swing across the entire stage, turning to smile at the audience and execute a full-body shimmy in mid air, I thought, "We’re definitely not in Humboldt anymore."

Cirque du Soleil's "O" has been thrilling audiences at the Bellagio in Las Vegas since 1998.
Ashley Harrell

The Strat SkyPod offers amusement park rides 1,149 feet off the ground.
Ashley Harrell

Rides, booze and art

Our first attempt at breakfast — Eggslut — was a fail. The line at the popular LA outpost within the Cosmopolitan casino resort was effectively endless. So we bumped around the Strip, eventually wandering into Smokey’s Bistro & Bar to capitalize on a $6.99 deal involving eggs, bacon and hash browns. OK, so I also ended up ordering a $20 mimosa.

Eager to try all the new and interesting things that definitely do not exist in Humboldt, we headed to FlyOver Las Vegas for a 4-D experience on steroids. It feels a little like an IMAX movie and a roller coaster had a baby. We soared above the exhilarating landscapes of the Wild West, careening through the Grand Canyon, racing alongside stallions in a snow-covered Yellowstone and chasing giant waves off the California coast, mist and wind blowing in our faces. I began to seriously regret that mimosa.

We retreated to Circa to relax at the pool and lose in blackjack, then rested before taking the elevator to the 60th floor Legacy Club, the hotel’s swanky rooftop bar. An ode to Vegas history, the walls are festooned in custom busts and black-and-white photos of the city’s founding icons, and the lounge has a display case with 1,000 ounces of pure gold. On the firepit-warmed terrace, we gazed over the twinkling city as the sun set behind the Spring Mountains.

The remainder of the evening was spent at AREA15, a 200,000-square-foot entertainment complex that includes immersive art projects, light and sound experiments, virtual reality centers and drinking establishments bathed in blacklight. Oversized art abounds, with a Burning Man outdoor sculpture garden, a massive projection-mapped skull at the entrance and an artificial tree adorned in thousands of LED lights glowing over a bar.

The anchor of it all is Omega Mart, a surreal grocery store that, on first glance, appears ordinary. In looking closer, though, I started to notice things like “Gender Fluid,” “Mammoth Chunks” and “Tattoo Chicken” for sale. We may or may not have stumbled through portals to other dimensions, and spent nearly two hours immersed and awestruck by the project. It was dreamed up by the artist collective Meow Wolf and brought to life over three and a half years by more than 325 artists.

From there, we danced our faces off at Museum Fiasco, a light, sound and fog experience, and had our minds expanded at Wink World, a psychedelic funhouse of infinity mirror rooms designed by Blue Man Group co-founder Chris Wink. Finally, we caught the 9 p.m. "Rated: Red," a neo-burlesque show with a diverse cast of insanely talented dancers. I suspect there was not a jaw in the house left undropped.

AREA15, an experimental art and psychedelic entertainment complex in Las Vegas, is full of delightful surprises.
Ashley Harrell

Steven Sparapani explores Meow Wolf's Omega Mart in AREA15.
Ashley Harrell

The decadence continues

On Saturday, we probably should have taken it easy. Instead we walked around Fremont watching the street performers, drunk tourists and a half-naked woman in a monster mask and a wheelchair, holding a sign that read “Aging Stripper — Respect The Hustle.”

We occasionally popped into casinos, trying to win back our money (with very limited success), then hit some dive bars and antique shops in the lesser-explored Arts District neighborhood. In the distance, it was impossible not to notice The Strat poking skyward.

The 1,149-foot skypod looks kinda like Seattle’s Space Needle, but it’s nearly twice as tall and has an amusement park on top. We took the elevator up the Strat and, from the observation deck, I sipped a pina colada, and contemplated which thrill would be most worthwhile — being abruptly elevated nearly 1,000 feet above the building, dangled by swinging cranes over the edge, or dropped bungy-style to the ground. In the end, the price tag felt high, and my partner’s a chicken.

We rewarded our temperance with an indulgent meal at our hotel’s glamorous new restaurant, Barry’s Downtown Prime. In a booth fit for royalty, we ordered the tableside smoked old fashioned and dined on gnocchi with white truffle cream, superb rib eye cap steak and lobster mac and cheese served exploding from the lobster shell. There was no room for the Oreo ice cream cake, and we ordered it anyway.

Exhausted and bloated but unready for our final night to end, we hailed a ride to the Cosmopolitan for one final show — "Opium" by Spiegelworld. An adults-only interstellar comedy punctuated with unusual acrobatics, a bubble exhibition and a hairy nipple snafu, this hilarious and disturbing spectacle cannot be unseen. And we couldn’t have loved it more.

The lobster mac and cheese at Barry's Downtown Prime is ridiculous.
Ashley Harrell

Spiegelworld's "Opium" is an interstellar comedy and acrobatics show that also involves bubbles.
Ashley Harrell

Leaving Las Vegas

There was talk of renting a car and driving out to Red Rocks Canyon National Conservation Area, but ultimately, we were too delirious and filled with dread about our upcoming departure. So instead, we relaxed in the pool and hot tub, feasted on a delicious Ethiopian meal — something we definitely can’t get in Humboldt — and tried our luck in a few more casinos.

In reuniting with the rest of the Humboldt-bound passengers at Vegas’ McCarran International Airport, it seemed everyone returning to the coast had maximized their time.

The nail school crew was still drinking and had spent every single night at Hogs & Heifers, a biker saloon where women dance on the bar. The married couple had successfully renewed their vows, and Elvis had conducted the ceremony. The birthday woman looked haggard but satisfied, having gone out hard, seen two Cirque shows and attended the drag queen brunch at Señor Frog's.

Everyone said they were already thinking of booking another trip soon. And when our flight home was delayed a couple of hours, we all had the same thought: Why not just cancel it?