Mary Gostelow finds luxury in Las Vegas

Girlahead rests surrounded by a Picasso and Van Gogh at Wynn Las Vegas

I wanted to see what makes the 4,750-room Wynn Las Vegas work from a luxury point of view; the arrival boded well. RVP Ramesh Sadhwani, a skilled GM who had many years of experience with Four Seasons, was standing at the Towers entrance. We went through a small Chelsea Flower Show of floribunda and a marbled, single-floor lobby and then a private access specialist took me up to suite #5403.

Wynn Las Vegas - Atrium North

Wow, this could easily be a highly agreeable home. A palette of creams and honeys – typically Wynn – has made this heaven. Walk into a honey-marble foyer, half-bath to right, and on into the expansive living room. Sandalwood walls, cream woodwork, a patterned cream carpet and a half-mirrored ceiling seem to expand the total space, as do all-wall windows ahead. I have a quarter-circle corner bar (deep burgundy, an intrusion colour) with two high-up stools, a permanent gold-leg marble table with L-shaped banquette and a pair of three-seat cream sofas. There are (copies of) Van Gogh’s ‘Sunflowers’, a Matisse and a Picasso. Of course, the bedroom is perfect, but the bathroom is, for me, the highlight: a haven of brown-streaked cream marble, with gold fittings and flattering lighting.

Wynn Las Vegas - Tower King Suite

After a fitness workout, with whirring fans overhead and an excellent selection of equipment, it is time for dinner. We are going cas in jardin, ahi tuna tartare tower with mango and avocado and then the best-selling branzino, with sides of seasonal mushrooms. From the iPad wine list and we choose a Russian River pinot noir by the glass. I hear 120 bread types are made in house. Everything is mega. Postprandial, we window shop stores, that include two Chanels and a Rolex. I take tourist selfies galore in front of the 10-metre-wide Jeff Koons tulip sculpture that is airbrushed by a technician in white overalls at 5am daily.

Wynn Las Vegas - Jardin

Thanks to my Sealy bed, I sleep well and am woken by a pleasant real voice. My requested newspapers – a rarity in Las Vegas – hang outside my door in a brown fabric bag. I call private dining to order breakfast. The server at 7am precisely wheels in a trolley with beige Garnier-Thiebaut linens, bespoke for Wynn. The Wynn Tradition (for which read ‘American’) hot dish is three eggs anyway, bacon, chicken or pork sausage, an enormous rectangle of rosti. Outside in the forecourt, driver Bill, with the company since 1986, waited – he loves his job, but he would like more time for ocean surfing.

Mary Gostelow’s travelogue is

All images courtesy of Wynn Las Vegas | credit: Barbara Kraft

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