Vegas New Years Eve

I was dragging from all the wine the night before. I slept well, but I needed coffee. My sister and I drove to Bonrue, a café bakery in Hurricane, Utah. We both had chocolate croissants, and I ordered a latté. It was exactly what I needed.

Ambient Marketing

In St. George, about twenty-five minutes away, I stopped at CVS to have a prescription filled. The building housed Target, Starbucks, and CVS under one roof. As I walked in, the music was lively—Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now was playing—and I felt my step pick up almost immediately. Something shifted. I had more energy, felt lighter, happier. It didn’t take long to realize this wasn’t accidental. If you feel good, you linger. If you linger, you spend. And if the experience is positive, you come back. This was ambient marketing.

Ambient marketing works by shaping your mood without announcing itself. Music, lighting, and pacing quietly guide behavior, lowering resistance and increasing comfort. Nothing is being sold directly, yet everything is being reinforced—the brand, the space, the feeling. Everyone behind the counter seemed genuinely upbeat. I mentioned to the pharmacy staff that the music had put me in a good mood, and they laughed, telling me they had their own happy playlist behind the counter as well.

Vegas Parking

While I waited for the prescription, I started calling around Las Vegas to reserve a parking spot for the van. Everything was booked. In the end, I decided to just drive and figure it out once I arrived. As I headed west, I kept running through options in my head. Nearing Las Vegas, an airplane passed overhead and it clicked—long-term airport parking. I pulled over, checked online, and confirmed that Reid International Airport had a large-vehicle economy lot at Terminal One. It took a bit of double-checking to make sure I was heading to the correct terminal, but once I was certain, I pulled in and parked well away from the garage in the oversized area.

I lay down for a few hours in the afternoon so I could stay up later that night. Around five, I woke up and started getting ready for the evening ahead.

I hadn’t been to Las Vegas in so long that almost nothing looked the same. I decided to take the bus because getting an Uber was unexpectedly difficult. I eventually found the bus stop near Terminal One. The ticket machine wasn’t working, but a couple told me you could pay using Uber. Just as I was pulling up the app, the bus arrived. The driver waved us on—no charge today.

It wasn’t immediately clear where to get off, and most of the people on the bus weren’t in much shape to help. Eventually I realized Fremont would lead me toward the center of the New Year’s Eve activity.

Rain, Wind, and Walking the Strip

After getting off the bus, I had about a forty-minute walk to the Bellagio and Caesars. It had already started to sprinkle, so I stopped to put on my Gore-Tex rain jacket. I tried walking and shooting with my camera, but it quickly became clear that wasn’t going to work. The rain picked up, wind funneled through the streets, and I couldn’t keep the lens clean.

After another hour of walking—and still trying to process how much the city had changed—I decided to stop for dinner.

Dinner at Favorite Bistro

I found Favorite Bistro in The LINQ Promenade, just off the Strip. I sat at the bar and chatted with the staff. I ordered a simple pizza and a Guinness. For dessert, I had a crème brûlée and an espresso. I needed the boost. The food was genuinely good, the staff friendly, and the music excellent. I added ten new songs to my playlist while I sat there.

Before I left, I used the restroom, not knowing what the situation would be like later, especially around midnight. The restaurant only had one small restroom, and the line was already backing up. While we waited, a woman dressed in a white cowgirl outfit caught everyone’s attention. Another woman complimented her, and she explained that she was getting married just before midnight by an Elvis, somewhere nearby. I asked if she had just met the guy that night. She laughed and said no—they’d been living together for five years and decided to skip a big ceremony so they could put the money toward buying a house.

The rain continued to intensify. All driving on the Strip was shut down. SWAT vehicles were in place, and the street was lined with police cars, their red and blue lights flashing continuously. Pedestrian access was also restricted in places. I stopped to take a few photographs. A police officer sitting on the curb struck up a conversation, curious about my six-inch tripod on the ground—something he said he had never seen before.

We talked about security. He said they don’t usually have many problems beyond people being too drunk. Their job was to keep people from getting hurt—or hurting others. He told me the best place to see the fireworks was the terrace at the Bellagio, which was exactly where I was headed.

Waiting at the Bellagio

By ten o’clock, the terrace was already packed shoulder to shoulder, people staking out territory as if the night depended on it. I ducked inside the Bellagio to warm up and reset. The Chihuly glass installation at the entrance stopped me cold—electric color, light everywhere, the kind of spectacle that reminds you this city knows how to stage an entrance.

I wandered into the Christmas exhibition next. It was massive, clearly a months-long production, and over the top in the best way. Kids stood wide-eyed while parents shepherded them through glowing scenes, everyone briefly forgetting the rain outside.

By ten-thirty, I made my way back to the terrace and claimed a spot. What stood out wasn’t just the wait, but the people around me: two Spanish-speaking women in front, a Chinese couple to my right, a Middle Eastern couple nearby, and a Japanese woman just off my left shoulder. We stood there together for the next ninety minutes—strangers bound by damp jackets, cameras, and shared anticipation. It all felt slightly absurd once I was locked in place, but I was dry, elevated, and had one of the better vantage points.

Midnight on the Strip

Midnight arrived as a wave rather than a single moment. Multiple countdowns broke out—unsynchronized, overlapping, mostly English with some Spanish—voices echoing between buildings. Phones went up everywhere. Then the Strip detonated. Each major hotel launched its own fireworks, filling the sky in every direction. The displays ran about fifteen minutes, each building toward its own final minute of excess.

The fireworks weren’t subtle, but the sound was something else entirely—deep, concussive booms ricocheting between towers, turning the Strip into a canyon of noise. Loud, chaotic, and unmistakably Las Vegas.

As soon as it ended, the crowd dissolved. I knew it would be hours before I could get a ride, so I walked, shooting with my iPhone as rain continued to fall. The street was a mix of celebration and exhaustion—people who had gone too far, shoes abandoned, heels soaked in standing water. I felt for the women navigating puddles in formal wear. My own feet were completely soaked.

At one point, a woman slipped on a flat escalator and couldn’t get up. It took five people to help her to her feet. I stepped on next and slid the entire way down, laughing despite myself. Nearby, a band played strange, echoing music while street cleaners moved methodically through the chaos.

Back to the Van

Around 2:45 a.m., I finally caught an Uber back to Terminal One. Four miles. One hundred dollars. I didn’t care. Sliding the van door shut and stepping into warmth felt like a victory. I peeled off wet shoes, dried out as best I could, and fell asleep around 3:30 a.m.

It had been a long, strange night. New Year’s Eve in Las Vegas—checked off the list. Not transcendent, not terrible, but one of those experiences that’s worth having once, just to know.