My alarm went off at 6 pm and the three hour nap did wonders for my aching legs, but my feet still hurt. I bandaged them up again as well as the blisters on the Mister's feet. I placed my shoe on and told him I could make it. I wanted so desperately to go to the Eiffel tower. I also wanted to watch the Bellagio's fountain show and see the volcano erupt at the Mirage but I gave up on those events. I thought maybe we would catch a bus or a cab and ride down there. Nope, I was wrong, we walked. We tried to find somewhere to eat for dinner. One place had a standing only 1 hour wait, so we both agreed that was way to long to stand, so we forged on. We went into Paris and the Mister thought it would be nice to eat dinner at the restaurant in the Eiffel Tower. I told him we were not dressed appropriately, they have strict attire and very costly dinner/view. We ended up at Bally's for dinner. It was nice and the restaurant was next to the stage where a band was playing at the casino. We took our time since the tower was not opened to the public due to a wedding. After dinner, my legs did not want to work at all. My feet was screaming at me. I walked like a very old lady, stiff and all. I never told him my feet were killing me. I just told him my muscles tightened up, which his did too but not nearly as bad. Once we were at Paris again, they have an indoor path between Bally and Paris, (Many of the hotels have this with at least one other hotel, except for the older hotels.) my legs were much better and I was not walking so stiff any more. We purchased our tickets and had a 15 minute wait on the bridge.
While we were standing on this bridge I started to think, what am I doing? What if it is so high up that I do not even enjoy this? I noticed the elevator was a glass elevator. I seriously wanted to back out but did not have the courage to tell the Mister. He would just look at me every now and then and rub my back or hand. He would lean over and gently kiss my cheek or head. I loved it. I was also being entertained by this couple who were going to be married. They were rather different couple. One was wearing a beautiful white dress, the other in a slacks outfit. The one wearing the slacks was rather odd I thought and very entertaining. Our turn finally arrived. I refused to look outside, this way I would not be terrified. I kept looking at my husband and once in awhile looked at this adorable little girl from Great Brittan. Once I stepped out, I was so grateful that I did not back out. The view was wonderful! It was so beautiful seeing the lights down the strip. The view tower made me feel very secure, so secure I could go up to the fencing and hold my camera through the little squares they had large enough for cameras to take awesome pictures. Awesome pictures I did take.
Paris is directly across the street from the Bellagio and while we were up at the observation deck, the fountain show went off. It was absolutely beautiful.
I could even hear the music. The first show and the one I watched was Faith Hill's This Kiss. I think this was the best spot to watch the show, on the ground, you fight with other people to stand close to the fence, and you are crowded with other people. Who knows if you would have an opportunity to take pictures without heads being in the way? I took a few shots and then let others stand in my spot. Simply beautiful, the weather was perfect. It was a very hot day, near 100 degrees earlier. It was still warm but there was enough of a breeze that cooled us off while we were waiting for the elevator once again. This was so worth any pain I was enduring that evening. A wonderful night with my husband, viewing the beauty of the night lights with my best friend, the man of my dreams is so worth any pain in my feet or legs. We eventually made our way back to our hotel. Las Vegas night was definitely different from the day and a Saturday night was very busy, just as we imagined. I think it was nearly 4 o'clock by the time we went to bed. I am so glad we had a nap so we could experience what we did.
Comments
Post a Comment