Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
flashing back to my last stay). Stained carpets, not enough furniture in the rooms,
ancient phones and TVs—this medieval-themed resort isn't channeling King
Arthur so much as it is Norman Bates (as in the Bates Motel of
Psycho
). I've seen
prices range from $49 to $112, and sometimes up to $189, but I think I've made
it clear that I don't think you should pay beyond the bare minimum to stay here.
Public areas are a bit better than the rooms, with their “merry olde England”
patterned carpets and chandeliers and statues of Merlin and the like. But this is
one of those cavernous casinos where if you take the wrong turn, it could be half-
an-hour before you find your way back to your car or room (so leave a trail of
breadcrumbs). Speaking of cars, Excalibur doesn't handle them well: The valet
parking seems to be full most of the time, and if you self-park it's a long and
uncovered walk from the garage to your room (hell on a really hot day).
Beyond the casino, there's the second-floor Castle Walk, a medieval version of
a mall where you shoppe 'til you droppe, picking up such items as dragon stat-
uettes, conical princess hats, crystals, T-shirts, handbags, and more. It's not great
for top-end gear, but kids will love it. They'll also dig the basement Midway that
combines video games and a “magic motion film ride” with those classic carnival
games (fishing with magnets, knocking over milk bottles). The pool is particularly
kid-friendly as well—no, there's no wading pool for the little ones but it's large
enough so that overenthusiastic splashing won't disturb anyone. Pools are NOT
heated, though, as management claims. Also on-site is one of the worst buffets in
Vegas, a standard food court, four restaurants, a fine spa, and surprisingly, one of
the nicest wedding chapels on the Strip (p. 164).
$-$$$
Just across the street from Excalibur, the
Tropicana Resort & Casino
(3801 Las Vegas Blvd. S., at Tropicana Ave.;
%
888/826-8767 or 702/739-2222;
www.tropicanalv.com; AE, DC, DISC, MC, V)
was a record-breaker when it opened
in 1957, a princely $15 million of mob and Teamster smackeroos poured into its
construction. Known as the “Tiffany's of the Strip,” it was the last word in ele-
gance, with its Czechoslovakian crystal chandeliers, classy
Folies Bergeres
show, and
mahogany walls. Today, it's generally referred to as one of the last examples of
“classic” Las Vegas, which is a polite way of saying that it's old. But I don't think
it has the spittle down the chin, geriatric air of poor King Arthur's place across the
way. Instead, the Tropicana's like an aging show girl, feathers moulting a tad, but
double chin held high, legs still trim enough for a cancan. You can have a lot of
fun here, without trying too hard. It features two of the most popular, taste-chal-
lenged but viscerally potent exhibitions on the Strip (
BODIES…The Exhibition,
with actual corpses skinned and preserved [p. 143]; and an exhibition of
Titanic
artifacts [p. 140]); its gardens are dandy, tropical, and no longer filled with noisy
birds; and it boasts the only swim-up Blackjack table on the Strip at its large out-
door pool. There's also a small indoor pool (a rarity on the Strip), seven restau-
rants, two lounges and three weekly shows.
Because the Tropicana grew in stages, starting as a squat motel, and then
adding two towers, room quality and decor can vary wildly. My favorite is the
older tower, called the “Island” tower, as it's the only one to have retained its tropical
theming, and it's here you can act out any of your Tom Jones-Vegas fantasies—
many of the beds come with bamboo and mirror backboards and “viewing
ceilings,” and the tubs are pentagonally shaped. They're not chichi—the carpet-
ing's too old for that, and the ceilings too low—but they certainly are a giggle.
