Vegas, baby, Vegas!

Route planning

Pity Las Vegas. America's party capital was already hurting from a collapse in visitors before President Obama went and stuck his oar in. Now Sin City is reverberating not to the sound of slot machines but emails pinging back and forth from executives canceling upcoming junkets. The reason? His eminence, the President, has decreed that companies shouldn't squander their cash on boondoggle trips to Las Vegas, especially not ones being funded by Joe Sixpack. 

"You can't go take a trip to Las Vegas, or go down to the Superbowl on the taxpayer's dime," Obama said this week, referring to the banks busy squandering cash from their recent bailouts on cushy breaks. His comments have enraged Las Vegas mayor, Oscar Goodman, who reckons people aren't visiting his city because "the president doesn't want them to". Goldman Sachs (recipient of a $10bn bailout) and Wells Fargo ($25bn bailout) have both pulled the plug on planned trips, compounding the misery caused by 30,000 room cancellations in January and a 11 per cent plunge in visitors in December. 

But help is at hand for the embattled city. Enter Louis, a one-man stimulus package, whose rampant consumerism is single handedly keeping America afloat. (Witness his recent NYC shopping binge.) Our young newspup is planning a two-week roadtrip to the Southwest, kicking off in Las Vegas in defiance of President Obama (his first signs of rebellion: should his Mom be worried?). With the pick of the Strip's hotel rooms, should he stay in a faux Egyptian pyramid or a Disneyfied version of Venice? 

From Vegas, it's on to the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley and Santa Fe. DJ has carefully plotted the trip to take in four states, bumping Louis' state count up to nine, one for each month he'll have been alive by the time he's done. Babieswhobrunch will be taking to the road too, so watch this space for a daily update on Louis' take on Americana at its finest. 

If Obama gets wind of the trip, someone tell him to relax: it isn't US taxpayers' money Louis plans to burn but BBC licence fee payers'. 

Louis takes Manhattan

The Standard hotel 

Louis, his crib and the ESB

Peekaboo bathtime

Actually, who needs a crib?

Manhattan? With a seven month old? Were we nuts? Possibly, but having the Big Apple just three hours away by train was too tantalising to ignore. Granted we could have attempted a slightly more baby-friendly weekend than splurging on The Standard, the new Andre Balazs hotel in the Meatpacking District, but, hey, that might have been dull.

Besides, what's a diaper budget for if not for blowing on a hot new hotel? Especially one dubbed "intimidatingly modish" by Vanity Fair. How better for new parents to kid themselves that having a kid doesn't have to mean not having a life? 

We were excited to see The Standard because it takes the big glass box style of architecture that has become DJ's post-Chicago passion to the next level. Plus it straddles the High Line, an elevated railway line, defunct since 1980, being given a new lease of life from this spring as a park. Our room was amazing. On the shoebox side, to be fair, but brilliantly designed to squeeze in everything including a "peekaboo" bath and shower. (Q: How many other guests actually played peekaboo in their's?) There was even room for Louis' crib, a minimalist grey number. (Although he decided the bed was more comfortable....)

Louis lapped it all up, from his cribside view of the Empire State Building and Saturday night dinner out at BLT Burger in Greenwich Village, to drinks in a Meatpacking wine bar on Sunday and a late lunch on Monday at Pastis, his first stab at sharing "proper food" - Mommy's salad nicoise. He even came away with new togs: some needlecord overalls ("dungarees" in English) and sleeveless puffy gilet from a Eurochic children's shop. In fact, the only negative in his eyes was the temperature, several eye-watering degrees below freezing, which meant he couldn't check out the swings in the Bleecker Street playground. Next time. Provided we win the lottery first. 

Pulp crucifiction - by Daddy J

Another snobby Euro thing I've been trying to resist - laughing at Americans for being so darn weird. But this was too good an opportunity to miss. Our route back to Orlando airport from Daytona Beach passed right by one of Florida's most exotic theme parks: the Holyland Experience. 

The park holds crucifictions twice daily (we caught the 12.45 showing) and we were able to snatch a few minutes with the Messiah himself after his resurrection.  Turns out he's a genial Canadian called Les who really does look a lot like Jesus. 

On the way there we were as full of quips and one-liners as you'd expect a couple of Brits raised on Monty Python to be, but as so frequently in America, the people we met were disarmingly charming and so passionate about their work (in the case of the actors) and their leisure (the devout tourists) that I started to feel a little sheepish. 

It's not just a Christian thing, on our travels we've met people with similarly strong convictions about Barack Obama, the right to carry a gun, or the inherent virtue of the free market. The point is that Americans just really believe in, well, stuff generally. It seems to me that, beyond the football terrace, the default British attitude is to smirk and take the piss so as not be caught failing after trying too hard. Americans irrespective of politics, religion or ethnicity seem to me to be quite different. Earnest, hard-working, and possessed of some whacky beliefs they are easy to lampoon, but the can-do spirit is not just some kind of national myth in my experience but something real and worthy of admiration.

Daytona - by Daddy J

To Florida for the start of the NASCAR season. These trips out into the "real" America are always anticipated with a mixture of excitement at the adventures in store and trepidation at the cuisine. In general I have no (pickup) truck with Europeans who are snobbish about American culture, but when it comes to feedin' outside the big cities I have decided after exhaustive research that snobbery is the only rational response. 

Visiting the racetrack in Daytona was final confirmation of this - the place is a mecca for racefans and a magnet for the zillions of bucks poured into one of the most reliable ad markets in America: beer-swilling NASCAR man. But there is nowhere to eat. Poor old Juan Pablo Montoya. We spoke to the Colombian driving ace about his transfer from the glamorous world of Formula One. This time last year he would have been quaffing champagne and oysters quayside in Monaco. Daytona has a beachfront promenade of sorts, but the dinner options didnt go much beyond hashbrowns and eggs-over-easy at the (really not very) International House of Pancakes.

(To hear the package we did for Today press here and scroll down to the 08.23 slot.)

White House Yogi

Yogagaginis

"Let me just adjust you"

Final relaxation - aka Relaxation! Finally!

Turns out Louis isn't the only high-flying Washingtonian to seek refuge in shavasana when he needs to de-stress. In another top political scoop, babieswhobrunch can reveal that when it all gets a little too much for the top man in the West Wing then he, too, will reach for his yoga mat. 

Yup, unlikely as it sounds Rahm 'Rahmbo' Emmanuel, Obama's brass-balled chief-of-staff is a yoga devotee. Hardly something you'd expect of a man likened to a pit bull by his former employer, Bill Clinton. I imagine Rahmbo prefers to keep his inner yogi under wraps for fear that images of him chanting "Om" might ruin his reputation as one of Washington's sharpest political operators. It's a bit like suggesting Don Corleone was a keen knitter. 

As for whether there might be something in those images of "Ombama"  after all, well, watch this space. BWB has heard that the President is not adverse to the idea of a few sun salutations. Rahmbo is trying to find Obama a window for some classes with his personal Washington guru. Given how beautiful she is, I'd warrant Michelle will also develop a sudden interest in yoga were that to happen. 

Talking of yoga, now that Louis finds downward dog a doddle, he's graduated from the babies' class to the crawlers'. You can find him of a Friday chanting with his chums or, as the picture above shows, helping one of the other Moms with her poses. If Obama does take up yoga Louis could always give him a few tips.