Every time we go to Reno, I feel a sense of excitement and adventure, because every time we go, we have a great time -- but every time I
tell someone we're going to Reno, I feel a vague sense of defensiveness/sheepishness/apology/shame. Most of the kids' friends at school take their winter vacations in much ritzier places. They stay in chalets in North Tahoe, condos at Squaw Valley, hotels in South Tahoe, or fly to Aspen or Whistler. It's sort of like admitting you shop at Kmart or Walmart instead of Macy's, or eating at McDonald's instead of some chic organic/gourmet/celebrity chef cafe.
After all, when people think of Reno, they think of wrinkled old ladies with one hand clutching a cigarette and the other hand clutching a slot machine lever. They think of tacky casinos and cheap buffets and seedy motels. They think of Vegas' neglected little brother. And it's true, Reno does have an air of disrepair and shabbiness about it, of tackiness and tired glitz, especially near the downtown casino area.
