"You're going to Reno? Getting divorced? Ha! Ha!"

Lorraine and I were going to Reno but not for a split. We were visiting our niece who lives in a rustic log cabin in the Sierra Nevadas and Reno was the closest big (?) city. Reno used to be the divorce capital of the USA in the 1930s and 1940s, before liberalized divorce laws became popular. A six-month residency was required and only rich people availed themselves of this service.

There were no direct flights from New York to Reno and Salt Lake City was a transfer point. We had been to Reno about 20 years ago and the memory was still fresh in our minds. Cowboy gambling with guys wearing boots and 10-gallon hats playing black-jack with one deck of cards. That was Reno! In swanky, glitzy Las Vegas the card shoe holds six decks. If you were a card counter, your odds of winning were much better. Reno was a lot less formal and more low-down. Actually a freight train ran right through the center of town.

We checked into the Flamingo Hotel ($45 per night) and went to our room. It was an ordinary room except for one thing. Someone's luggage was in the room. It was a carpet bag-like container and we immediately called the front desk. A series of "We're sorry!" and "It's our fault!" were issued from management.

The bellhop arrived to take us to our new room. As we visited our new accommodations we were stunned. The room was five times larger than the former room with two or three couches, a bar, a full refrigerator and a sitting room. This must be for the high-rollers or whales as the big bettors are called. I play $5 blackjack and Lorraine plays the quarter slots. Definitely no big gamblers.

On the way to the bathroom we made another startling discovery. Tucked into another corner of our huge room was a giant jacuzzi bathtub. It was almost large enough to swim laps. What luxury!

I had never operated a jet-stream bathtub but I was dying to jump in. In the morning I pushed a few buttons and waited for action to unfold. I was unaware of one major rule for this type of tub. You must let the water into the tub rise above the jets before starting the jacuzzi pumping machinery. A slight but important rule.

Before too long, water was flying everywhere. "Ching-ching-ching," said the jets as they spewed water in every direction. Lorraine heard the noise and came running in, only to be hit by a jet-stream of water. We were both soaking wet when the water level elevated above the jets and sanity prevailed. It took two days before a huge electric fan evaporated the soaked carpet and wet walls.

No museums grace this town, gambling was king. A huge bowling arena and a national tournament were present when we were in Reno.

The cowboys seemed to have disappeared and were replaced by elderly couples who were not rich or chic enough to handle Las Vegas.

Except for winning $100 and the bathroom incident Reno was not what I remembered.

"You can't go home again." Thomas Wolfe.