Crown Macau : The MacauTripping Review 2008
The Crown of Macau (Part 3) : Photo and Video Review of the Suites at Crown Macau
Welcome to Crown Macau, room 3603. As mentioned in the previous two episodes of our exploration of Crown Macau, I really had no idea what to expect from Crown Macau. At this point in my Macau adventure, I was blown away by one night at Galaxy's StarWorld, survived two strange days at Hotel Lisboa and adored a pair of lovely evenings at Wynn Macau. In addition to photographing pillows, perusing palatial playgrounds, playing paigow, peeking at prostitutes and pounding the contents of amply stocked mini-bars, I've poked my proboscis into twenty plus baccarat dens, most of which truly were - pun intended - the pits. I've been shadowed in multiple casinos by paranoid security details, oogled up and down by chain smoking Chinese women whose agape jaws silently seeped the remnants of the puff my presence interrupted. I've been brow beaten by bunches of bewildered, balding, Banker bettors and given the stink eye by more strangers than I care to mention. Through the course of this Trans-Pacific trudge I've been inspired (or assaulted) by every gradation of decor - shiny, funky, dingy, cozy - as well as nearly every tint of paint: custard, firebrick, chartreuse and nicotine. To say that this trip has been interesting would be akin to describing Macau's neon signs as being subtle.
Asia's Las Vegas, my ass. This is Macau - a remotely similar, yet entirely different beast.
The mid-point of this barnstorming blast through Macau's finest hotels has passed, and with one night each at Crown Macau and "Cotai Strip" monolith the Venetian Macao, you could say we're rounding the far turn heading into the homestretch. With the Venetian Macau essentially being a super-sized Asian version of a dish I've had the relative displeasure of previously tasting, Crown Macau, in my eyes, will probably be the final stop of unknown-unknowns, barring the outside possibility I get offed by a Triad or thrown in the pokey.
At this point, however, I'm completely worn out. Buzzing around Macau in 90% humidity has taken an enormous toll on my body. Nearly every last drop of my ever present curiosity has been dripped dry by exhaustion. Honestly, I'm ready to cash in my chips, hop the ferry to Hong Kong and book an early flight home. Fortunately, I've still got a handful of hit points left and my +3 MacBook still has enough juice to slay a dragon or two.
Here I stand, on the precipice of Crown Macau's room 3603, front desk attendant Violet and an unnamed bellhop at my side, both armed with a mysterious sixth star of service that - if you believe hotel marketing department hyperbole - will magically wash away all of the previously outlined baggage currently weighing down on my tremendously fatigued brain. My inner jerk channels Robert Conrad's performance in those 1970's Eveready commercials and dares Crown Macau to knock this tired and grumpy chip off of my shoulder.
Go ahead... I dare ya. Knock it off.