City Cast Las Vegas co-host Dayvid Figler shares some thoughts on how former Las Vegans often view their old hometown upon returning.
My younger sister, who was born and raised here, left Las Vegas for good around 2002. A lot of people leave Las Vegas. It’s something we get used to. But the ones who grew up here and then leave are my favorites.
Think of it this way: The traditional way to cook a lobster is to bring it to a slow boil. Then, it becomes dinner. A lobster never knows what hit it and all it can remember is a nice bath. That’s me, a lifelong Las Vegan. Expat Las Vegans, on the other hand, escaped the tank. When they come back, they notice everything with clear eyes: what used to exist, but doesn’t anymore. How people once engaged with the city, but don’t anymore. At least not in the same way.
Specific example: When I drive around with my sister on a visit, she’ll point out, “Oh, the Enigma Garden Café (4th and Charleston) is totally gone,” or “Remember when you did a show at the Fremont Street Reggae & Blues Club?” or “I miss the Mariposa.” (A café on Paradise near Trop).
Oh, I miss those things, too, sis! Honestly, the details are dim if not forgotten. But the people who once lived here and have the mental snapshots really remember.
It's true for all my old friends, too. When they come back, it could be the corner doctor’s office or a quirky furniture outlet. Funky local characters who used to sit on the back stairs near the Café Roma by UNLV or the real splendor of hotels long imploded. A downtown music venue called Tongue & Groove off Ogden!
As present-day locals complain about things like parking fees, the people who used to live here say, “Parking garages? I remember when your car baked in the sun on the asphalt in front of the casino!” It’s perspective. It’s a view from our former selves we should celebrate as we piece together where we’ve been, what we’ve become, and who we really are.
