We checked into the Flamingo Las Vegas because – at least online – the pool looked huge and jungley.
I was also interested in its history as the oldest operating casino hotel on the Las Vegas strip—the tales of Bugsy Siegel, the birth of modern Las Vegas, and the pink, kitschy charm we hoped would persist. But let’s be honest: this isn’t even the Mirage, where we usually stay, not even the outdated version of the Mirage being readied for demolition when we stayed there last year.
But the Flamingo was only $90 a night on Hotels.com so we decided to give it a go.
The perma-horde of tourists here is as colorful as the property’s flamingo-themed décor, and the experience is pure chaos, with marbled halls as relaxing as the Denver airport the day after Thanksgiving.
Yet here we are making money—$800 from last night’s lucky streak at the poker table—and slumming it in pink with the best of them.
The Flamingo’s Golden Past
The Flamingo is legendary, one of the original resorts on the Strip, opened in 1946. Bugsy Siegel’s vision of opulence ushered in the glitz and glamour of Las Vegas, turning it from a dusty desert outpost into the entertainment capital of the world. The property was once a symbol of sleek mid-century luxury, a beacon of innovation with its lush gardens, expansive pool, and high-end amenities. Over the decades, it’s been remodeled, renovated, and stripped of much of its original grandeur, but the spirit of its history lingers. Kind of. There’s at least a plaque dedicated to Bugsy.
As I wandered the property, I imagined what it might have been like in its prime: suits and cocktail dresses at the bar, a Rat Pack vibe that spoke of elegance and exclusivity. Today, that glamour is replaced by pink flamingo motifs, oversized palm trees, and a Starbucks line that might as well be its own tourist attraction. There is no peace to be found except in your room or at a gaming table.
Starbucks Line Chronicles: A Microcosm of Chaos
Speaking of that Starbucks line: it’s a saga. I need caffeine, and I’m old. One of the best things about being old is I wake up like a bat out of hell at 6 am and get most coffee shops to myself. Not this one.Picture this: 20 minutes of standing in a parade of people chatting with relatives in far-flung countries on their phones. It’s only 7 am and the energy has reached the fever pitch of a rush hour Chicago bus station. People trying to catch planes, dragging enormous rolling suitcases and screaming children.
I’m paying to be in hell. Unlike the Mirage there’s no quiet place to escape to, no small cafe tucked away in the corner where you can get properly caffeinated for the day.
The business guy in front of me finally loses it, muttering, “OMG, this place is a dump, and I know I’m bad for saying that.” I crack up, telling him, “I was about to say the same thing but I didn’t want to offend you.” We both dissolve into laughter, swapping life stories like we’ve been stranded on a deserted island. It’s funny how shared misery can create camaraderie, even if it’s over something as trivial as a bad coffee experience and a never-ending line.
The Room: A Testament to Time and Neglect
Then there’s the room. Let’s just say it’s… functional. The door handle on the bathroom slider is barely holding on, the toilet has seen better and cleaner days (especially from the vantage point of the tub), and the drain is falling apart with some mystery clog slowing things down. The same mystery clog that is keeping the sink from draining properly.
It’s not exactly the kind of place that inspires you to linger. But our beloved Mirage—once a bastion of slightly outdated opulence—is gone gone gone, and this is what we ended up with.
I was drawn here by online photos of the pool. It looked huge and palm-tree and tropical-plant lined like the Mirage is. In real life it’s “closed for the season.” In fact it’s closed for a lot longer than the season from the looks of it. It’s all dug up and under construction. So the entire point of coming here is moot.
At least there’s the view of the Sphere from our room and a looming Sphere matinee in our future.
And, there are glimpses of charm if you squint hard enough. The Flamingo’s gardens, dotted with what I’m told are real flamingos (going in search of those next), koi ponds, and waterfalls, are a lovely respite from the chaos inside. The pink-themed décor, while kitschy, has its own endearing quality. It’s a reminder of what this place once was and a hint at what it could be if someone decided to polish it up a bit.
Broken handle on the bathroom door. I refrained from showing you the dirty toilet but I have photos.
The verdict: If you are used to seamless luxury (or even a nice Best Western) and not into broken sliding door handles and crowded hallways filled with luggage-schlepping hordes, this isn’t your place.
The Flamingo isn’t for the faint of heart or the high-maintenance traveler. It’s chaotic, overcrowded, and far removed from the polished luxury of newer properties.
But it’s also iconic, a piece of Las Vegas history that still manages to draw in the crowds with its kitschy charm and budget-friendly price tag.
Would I stay here again? No. I’m enough of a snob to admit that the dingy bathroom and Starbucks line were almost trip-ruiners. But for $90 a night and the chance to pocket $800 at the casino, I’ll chalk it up to an adventure worth having—just once.
