Last week, I went on a whistlestop US trip for work, taking in Palo Alto and 40 hours in Las Vegas. Las Vegas was everything I thought it would be; a gaudy trinket of a city that doesn't stop drinking, or stomping through the hotel lobby to find another slot machine. I have a real thing right now about old fairground signs so a mere $20 cab ride out of town to check out the Neon Museum was a must.
Sin City has been a draw for America's pleasure seekers for decades, and this museum is a collection, displayed in a pleasingly junky way in a plain yard, of fluoro casino or hotel displays from the old days.
For only $18, you buy an hour's worth of time in the yard, with an excellent tour guide who took us through everything Vegas, including the social history of the city, like when the Moulin Rouge show helped break down racial segregation.
The stories were beautiful but the signs were better, from enormous big birds advertising dry cleaners to long-closed casinos and hotels.
My only tip; if you go anytime from April to October, take a hat. It was roasting, roasting, roasting, and my motley crew of pale Europeans suffered in the sun.