Column: A northerner's trip to the Nevada Southland

The last vacation I took was more than five years ago in Las Vegas. Being the country boy that I am, my arrival to the “Entertainment Capital of the World” was filled with both excitement and angst.

I hadn’t been back to Sin City since I passed through with my folks in 1986. Those were still the days of Rat Pack-era hotel casinos that hadn’t been razed yet to make way for bigger, brighter and more extravagant resorts.

Fremont Street in the heart of downtown was still an actual street without the "experience," per se.

From my home in Carson City, I made my way across U.S. Highway 50 east and down to U.S. Highway 95 at Schurz. Then south all the way into Vegas.

Cresting that last rise out of Indian Springs and dropping into the Las Vegas Valley, the first man-made landmark that caught my eye was the Stratosphere, the tallest free-standing observation tower in the United States rising 1,150 feet above the city and taunting its Seattle look-a-like more than a thousand miles away.

Traffic picked up seemingly all at once from the outskirts of the metro area, and before I knew it, I felt like Marlin and Dory getting caught up in the powerful East Australian Current.

My hotel was the Excalibur, right on the Las Vegas Strip, so I had to go deep into the dragon’s lair and run smack-dab into its gaping maw.

Before my vehicle even left the freeway, I was already a fish out of water — pun intended.

I was admittedly slack-jawed by the time I reached my exit. In front of me was a shimmering Egyptian pyramid, a medieval castle straight out of storybook Arthurian legend, the Statue of Liberty and the Eiffel Tower all within a few blocks of each other.

Now I felt very out of sorts. Was this really Las Vegas or some sort of strange dream? It certainly wasn’t the Sin City I remember seeing briefly as a kid.

I’d never seen so many taxis in one area, either. Obviously, I had never been to the Big Apple for comparison.

Then there is the Strip at night: A cacophony of glittery neon making up a veritable sea of color and artificial light. Downtown Vegas is so bright, in fact, that I actually neglected to turn my headlights on more than once.

There were all sorts of characters roaming the sidewalks up and down Las Vegas Boulevard, too.

I met Marvel heroes Spider-Man, Iron-Man and Captain America all gathered together admiring my Superman t-shirt. They even invited me to join them. Not a bad impression to make for a guy advertising DC comics.

There were also Michael Jacksons, Tina Turners and, of course, Elvis Presley impersonators.

To borrow a phrase, I was feeling “all shook up” by this modern entertainment experience. But I eventually settled in and enjoyed my week-long urban adventure in Las Vegas.

I credit the dozens of service industry workers and enthusiastic street personalities I came in contact with for helping me feel more comfortable and welcome in my unusual surroundings.

If not for them and their friendliness, Las Vegas would have been just another check off my bucket list instead of somewhere I’d like to visit again.

I did just that about a year later.

This time I took an eastward detour at Tonopah to drive State Route 375, the Extraterrestrial Highway, so I could stop by the Little A'Le'Inn in Rachel and feel what it's like to be a stone's throw from Area 51.

I continued on eastward to the junction with State Route 93 and headed south on the Great Basin Highway through the Pahranagat Valley on my way to Interstate 15 and Mesquite.

I visited Overton, parts of the Lake Mead Recreation Area and the Valley of Fire State Park before making my Vegas return. On the trip back home, I checked out Beatty, Tonopah, Goldfield and Hawthorne again along Highway 95.

With two notches now on my belt from the Nevada Southland, I felt more like a local and less of a stranger. I was just beginning to get my Gila Monster on, in fact, when it was time to return to my little Northern Nevada oasis in Carson City.

Although I came for the sights and tastes of the region, the people made my two trips both delightful and memorable.

I am grateful to the front desk agents, valet attendants, park service personnel, food servers, retail cashiers — all added to my experience and made me feel more at home in a strange land.

The fact is, no one I know likes to be out of place or feel that they don't belong.

Nobody I know enjoys being treated as an outsider absorbing contemptible glares from locals. There is no worse feeling as a tourist than being unwelcome.

That's why people can make the greatest difference, turning an ordinary vacation either into a trip to forget or one for the books.

Considering there exists a rather spirited rivalry between North and South Nevada, I half expected to be treated more like a Red Sox fan at Yankee Stadium — or vice-versa — than a guest in the Mojave Desert.

Thankfully, that wasn’t my experience at all. It should never be this way for any Nevada traveler.

During National Travel and Tourism Week, I remember what it’s like to be a tourist, an out-of-towner, a visitor to an entirely new and exciting place. Having been one myself, I appreciate more those who choose to visit my town.

Vive el turismo de Nevada and happy trails to all.

— Brett Fisher is a former journalist and wannabe novelist living in Carson City.