Holy cats, do I have some stories from Vegas. Some of which fall under “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas”, but I will be sharing some that are better-suited for public consumption over the next few days.
A group of us went to the Tournament of Kings show at the Excalibur. If you’ve never been, the arena is arranged in a big horseshoe, with the different seating sections grouped into different countries. Originally, we were going to be Irish, but then we added one more person, so we became French in order to all sit together. Of course, we didn’t know that beforehand, so we spent quite a bit of pre-function time in the Nine Fine Irishmen pub in New York, New York. Wow, we sound like quite the world travelers! A few other people from our conference had gotten their tickets separately, and they were Hungarian. (This will become important later.)
Each country has a “king” participating in the tournament, and they perform a number of different challenges, like jousting and hand-to-hand combat. The attendees are encouraged to cheer on their king. Let’s just say the French king had quite an enthusiastic cheering section. In fact, the waiter who brought our supper commented, “Wow. People aren’t usually so happy to be from France.” But that’s how we Extension folks roll.
Before I forget to mention it, I’d like to let you know that supper is served with no utensils – you know, to be authentic like the Middle Ages. However, the beer still came in plastic buckets.
So, when it was all said and done, the French king won the tournament and helped King Arthur’s son rise to power and defeat the dragon king. I’m fairly certain those poor people realized that the French cheering section would have staged a mutinous revolt if he hadn’t won the tournament, so they were doing their best to preserve world peace.
Other countries were a little touchy about our enthusiasm, and a couple of the Russians yelled, “Hey Frenchie!” to one of our pals as he was getting into the cab to head back to our hotel. He was more than happy to holler one last “Viva la France!” to end his evening.
After the show, the Hungarian king rode his horse back out to that section and our friends who’d had tickets there were visiting with him. Lo and behold, in real life, he went to school at the University of Wyoming with one of those gals and had dated her roommate.
See? It is a small, medieval world.
Oh, and we went back to the Irish pub.
Yours in travel,
The Asphalt Cowgirl
“Now our windshield’s a painting that hangs in our room, It changes each mile like the radio tune” –Rodeo Moon, Chris Ledoux