TRAVEL: Christmas in Vegas (It seemed like a good idea at the time ...)

Nobody writes toe tapping songs about fleeing from Christmas.

Nobody crafts film montages of people determinedly striding through crowded streets, suitcases in hand – only to reach an empty hotel room.

And nobody in their right mind runs to Vegas for the festive season.

Like many tactical errors, it seemed like a good idea at the time. It was the first anniversary of my mother in law’s death. It still felt close and raw – and we thought distraction would be best. Lights! Music! Food!

Different. That was really what we were after.

On the upshot, hotel rooms in Vegas are discounted up to 80 per cent during that part of the holidays.

We had a suite with a television ghost set into the mirror in the bathroom. There was a view of the strip, though the fake wave pool in the hotel was shut for winter.

There was more food than you can imagine. At dinner on Christmas Eve, my husband ate 38 petit fours.  I know this, because I was so shocked I wrote every one down. Yet in Vegas, that kind of behaviour isn’t out of place at all.

We soon discovered Vegas isn’t the anti Christmas- it’s Christmas compounded. Everything is bigger, shinier, louder- sadder.  All around us were tundras of gaming floors populated with children twirling on chairs like wind up dolls, while their parents fed the mouths of hungry poker machines. I lost count of how many people I saw slipping over while sucking cocktails from plastic guitars looped around their necks.

It seems there’s another breed of folk who hit Vegas for the holidays – the ones who are no longer invited to their family’s celebrations.

We couldn’t bring ourselves to swallow a chintzed up festive meal at one of the restaurants, so Christmas lunch was at ‘Fatburger’ on the strip. The burger was cold and flabby. If loneliness has a taste, that was it.

Last year we had Christmas in London. There was snow on the ground and the Queen’s message was screened at a sensible time. We ate turkey with friends and drew comfort from the heat of the oven.  We skyped family in Sydney and made small talk about weather and food.

Later that night I wrote a list of the things I missed. It included things both huge and small. I missed mangos. I missed eating Christmas pudding ice cream parfait in wet togs.  I missed my step sister rolling her eyes every time I pressed repeat on Robert Downey Jnr singing ‘River’ on our scratched Ally McBeal Christmas CD. I missed seeing the look of glee on my nieces’ and nephew’s face when they tore open their presents.

I missed the family.

So this December I’ll be joining the thousands of others who will get on a plane to spend their Christmas elsewhere. But this year I’ll be winging my way to the best destination of all – home.

Where’s the strangest place you’ve spent Christmas?

What did you miss the most about yours when you were away?