Shundo David Haye – Zen Priest

I can’t say that I ever intended to visit Las Vegas – but then I used to think the same thing about living in the US, and look at me now. A friend from abroad was visiting there for a few weeks, and suggested that I could spend a weekend, so I booked a flight, and, after reading a lot of dispiriting hotel reviews, an Airbnb. 

The plan was to arrive in time for dinner on Friday, but the weather had other ideas; with Hurricane Hilary bearing north, the leading edge of the weather front produced thunder storms in Las Vegas on Friday afternoon. Our plane kept getting delayed so I had an extra three hours at the gate – thankfully I was in Terminal 1, which is quite restful after its recent remodel – and another hour on the runway once we got into the plane. 

I had intended to take the bus from the airport to where I was staying, but since I was arriving well past my bedtime, I joined the line for taxis in very warm drizzle, and watched the neon lights go by from the freeway.

The next two days were mostly grey, with showers, and some very heavy downpours just as we were planning to go to dinner on Sunday; it was cooler, but I imagine more humid, than usual, so we were able to walk around most of the time. I was very happy with my Airbnb choice, in the Arts District, which meant that we had neat coffee shops and tasty food within a few blocks, as well as empty and developing lots and some homeless folk roaming the area. 

On Monday I took a walk down the Strip after checking out of the Airbnb; I managed a couple of miles before deciding I had seen enough and taking a bus back to my starting point and taking another one to the airport. I probably should have had lunch before I left, but I hadn’t been feeling hungry after eating so well for a couple of days. Of course, in the slightly less relaxing surroundings of Terminal 1 at Las Vegas airport, with its slot machines and limited food options (for a vegetarian, at least), I discovered that we would be an hour and a half late taking off. 

Both days I did what I often advise people to do at airports: treat it as a great opportunity to stay mindful and not just dismiss the hours as wasted time. In neither case did I have any rush to be at my destination – except for getting to bed at a reasonable time – and I could people watch and stay present to my heart’s content. I confess that there were a few moments on Friday when I wondered if I would have to return home, and when I arrived, I calculated that, door to door, I probably could have driven there in the same time.

I returned to a heat dome in San Francisco, with warm and sunny weather, which made me pretty happy. I even got my lightweight duvet out of the chest for the first time this year. It has not been this warm since the Labor Day weekend last year.

All this certainly made a difference to the weekend before, where I had felt I was getting sick, and lay awake one night worrying about all the in-person things I would have to cancel or postpone if I had Covid (as others I know have in recent weeks); I took a couple of tests which were negative, and apart from feeling a bit woozy for a couple of days and low energy after that, had no symptoms. I did mask up on the planes and buses though; this is the world we live in.