Oh, the convenience and shame of staying at this illustriously positioned, yet so poorly appointed legend of sandy Vegas lore...\n\nThe bottom line with almost everyone who bunks at the Trop is price. Not so anywhere else on this end of the strip, so convenient to the big whigs like MGM, Caesar's, NYNY, and Paris. At the Bellagio, for instance, you can be sure that a sizable portion of guests have flushed their savings on rooms in the thin hope that they will strike oil at the tables, thus rendering their outsized tabs a drop in the pan. \n\nNot so at the Trop. With its uninspired designs (all queer arabesque and pale earthtone) and shoddy neglect of public spaces, the Trop has clearly conceded that it is now a lowballer's paradise, no longer shouldering its way through the Vegas night alongside the Caesar's and Palms of the world. Even checking in, a process evidently designed to recall the bureaucratic nightmares of the 1970s, takes about a half an hour, including opportunities to roll dice and win worthless coupons. (Yes, you must roll the dice, or the whole process comes to a grinding halt.)\n\nThe pool remains the decided upside of the casino. Although perhaps not the most hygenic of the strip's piscinas, it's faux mountains and attentive pool waitresses keep things pacific. There is always a fairly young and modestly hip crowd of sun worshippers applying themselves to their solar arts. Swim-up blackjack tables and a fresh supply of frosted margaritas keep most guests in amiable form. And then there is the sun, the sun, the one beautiful mainstay in this ceaselessly renewed landscape of light. \n\nOnce inside, there is the Celebration Lounge, about as far from paradise as the pool is near. This supposedly celebratory atmosphere generally attracts wasted fiftysomethings hoping to recapture a sordid glimpse of their glory days, and the cover band does its damndest to fulfill these pathetic longings. Invariably some wavering soul transports himself to the dance floor, and everyone feels a deep thrall of embarrassment. Everything rolls steadily downhill from that point on, although it must be admitted the margaritas are especially sweet. If you care to share, a safari of call girls can be found ringing the bar, anxious for faux conversation and a swipe at your wallet. \n\nOnce you've had your surfeit of salacious activity, you can walk the long gauntlet of consumer junk that lines the passageway from casino to hotel elevator. Fear not, there's nothing in this long landfill of trinkets that will whet your appetite. If there is, it may be time to ease away from the trough...
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