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Renovation: Prologue (8/16)
Aug. 22nd, 2011 06:37 pmPreparing for my flight to Reno, I packed a few books into my tote, which I would be carrying aboard: Neil Gaiman's Stardust (which I had already begun reading), Tim Flannery's Throwim Way Leg, Michael Bishop's Brittle Innings (which I had decided to reread, prompted by its mention in one of Jo Walton's Hugo retrospectives), and H.S.M. Coxeter's Projective Geometry (which I'll be using in a readings course with one of my students this fall). "By the time I got to Phoenix" I'd finished Stardust, and blitzed through Throwim Way Leg at the airport and en route to Reno. On the latter flight were a couple of other convention-goers, a pair of sixtyish brothers. One, a wiry fellow, proved extremely talkative. (I was to see him at quite a few panels later, but did not re-engage....) There was a fair-sized fire south of Reno; we flew through a billow of smoke as we approached the city. I heard nothing more of the fire in the following days, but I'll admit I was otherwise occupied.
After retrieving my luggage at the Reno airport, I piled into a taxi and told him to take me to the Peppermill Resort. (The convention proper took place at the city convention center; room for attendees had been arranged at the Atlantis, a block or so away, and at the Peppermill, another three blocks off.) In the ensuing conversation, I admitted I was there for the convention. This may have confused the driver; I have no other explanation for the fact that he dropped me at the wrong hotel.
I felt something "off" as I was getting out, especially since, where I was, there was no visible indication of the name of the hotel. Still, I shrugged and went on in. The desk clerk was puzzled by her inability to find my name on the reservation list - as was I, until I finally noticed the "Atlantis" tag on her shirt. After we sorted that out, I asked for directions to the Peppermill. I asked again, after walking about a block, and eventually found my way to the Resort. My trials were not over; I did not see any entrance to the hotel. To the restaurant, yes; to the casino, yes; to the hotel, no. After circling three-quarters of the way around the building, I asked another passerby, who was kind enough to lead me through the casino to the check-in desk.
By this time, I was hot and sweaty from the walk and the heat. (The altitude didn't help either.) In any case, it was too late to get over to the convention center and register, so I simply took a shower and wandered downstairs to get a bite to eat. Of course, in between non-gambling Point A and non-gambling Point B were what seemed to be miles of casino. (I should perhaps mention that slot machines infest every corner of the Reno airport as well....) I eventually found my target, the cheapest of the half-dozen restaurants in the building; there, I had a tasty if expensive BLT, before hacking my way back through the casino jungle to the elevators, my room, and the welcoming bed. (I got turned around and slightly lost at least five times that evening, despite the multiple direction-giving signs and the map of the building the desk clerk had given me. Yes, a map.)
As an aside, I soon managed to block the casino from my attention, though I did find myself making occasional notes of oddities. For example, though music was omnipresent, which music changed as you moved across the casino, each segment having its own soundtrack. I only noticed this when, listening to Leeann Womack warble "Stronger Than I Am", I suddenly - between one line and the next, one stride and the next - found myself in the midst of a completely different song. :headshake:
After retrieving my luggage at the Reno airport, I piled into a taxi and told him to take me to the Peppermill Resort. (The convention proper took place at the city convention center; room for attendees had been arranged at the Atlantis, a block or so away, and at the Peppermill, another three blocks off.) In the ensuing conversation, I admitted I was there for the convention. This may have confused the driver; I have no other explanation for the fact that he dropped me at the wrong hotel.
I felt something "off" as I was getting out, especially since, where I was, there was no visible indication of the name of the hotel. Still, I shrugged and went on in. The desk clerk was puzzled by her inability to find my name on the reservation list - as was I, until I finally noticed the "Atlantis" tag on her shirt. After we sorted that out, I asked for directions to the Peppermill. I asked again, after walking about a block, and eventually found my way to the Resort. My trials were not over; I did not see any entrance to the hotel. To the restaurant, yes; to the casino, yes; to the hotel, no. After circling three-quarters of the way around the building, I asked another passerby, who was kind enough to lead me through the casino to the check-in desk.
By this time, I was hot and sweaty from the walk and the heat. (The altitude didn't help either.) In any case, it was too late to get over to the convention center and register, so I simply took a shower and wandered downstairs to get a bite to eat. Of course, in between non-gambling Point A and non-gambling Point B were what seemed to be miles of casino. (I should perhaps mention that slot machines infest every corner of the Reno airport as well....) I eventually found my target, the cheapest of the half-dozen restaurants in the building; there, I had a tasty if expensive BLT, before hacking my way back through the casino jungle to the elevators, my room, and the welcoming bed. (I got turned around and slightly lost at least five times that evening, despite the multiple direction-giving signs and the map of the building the desk clerk had given me. Yes, a map.)
As an aside, I soon managed to block the casino from my attention, though I did find myself making occasional notes of oddities. For example, though music was omnipresent, which music changed as you moved across the casino, each segment having its own soundtrack. I only noticed this when, listening to Leeann Womack warble "Stronger Than I Am", I suddenly - between one line and the next, one stride and the next - found myself in the midst of a completely different song. :headshake:
