Visitors to Vegas are struck by the sheer magnitude. Yesterday’s dollhouses are today’s miniature Venice, Paris, New York, and Lake Como. Everything is neon, gilded, metallic, reflective, light-up, angular, self-important, and not a small bit desperate. And out of this miasma of numb stimulation, tucked in from the frontal onslaught of the Strip, is the Mandarin Oriental. At first impression you’ll know this one is different. There is no casino, and the lobby is on the 23rd floor, adjacent to a lounge serving afternoon tea and champagne on ice. A step further and you’ll enter the bar, a rounded corner of a room with floor-to-ceilings of the horror below. A perfect place to recharge with a moment of float time before plummeting into a posse of pamphleteers advertising “Girls to your door in 20min”.
Yes, we’ll have another. . .
The Lobby and Lounge:
