Formerly the "Tiffany of the Strip," the aging Trop has come under fire lately. While some of its disrepair probably dates from the procrastination of its previous owners, Aztar Corp., it wasn’t a good sign when current owner Columbia Sussex began by closing a restaurant and telling Casino Enterprise Management magazine that, henceforth, hotel maids would double as casino-cleaning staff.
Another thrifty move involved bailing out of our Pocketbook of Values. As Huntington Press Publicity Director Len Cipkins informed LVA Forum members, the Trop’s management was now "in slash-and-burn mode."
Criticism of Columbia Sussex’s low-cost management style has been mounting ever since the new owners took the keys to the property. At least some of it seems to have taken hold: A recent visit found at least one of the swimming pools being repainted and the smashed Tropicana Ave. entrance sign that made the front page of the Las Vegas Sun had been fixed.
But the biggest improvement had taken place in the casino. Under Aztar, the Trop was notorious for having one of the last non-ticketless slot floors on the Strip. But now nary an old-school slot machine is to be found.
At least some gossip is true: Slots on the mezzanine level and in the 5100 corridor have been removed in favor of massaging recliners. Wi-Fi is available, at $14.95 a pop. Signage is contradictory, often useless -- but that’s an Aztar legacy.
It’s still the old Trop you knew and loved – provided you stick to the casino floor or in the Paradise Tower. Venture much farther and it’s like taking a trip into the slums. If this is, as the Web site proclaims, "The way Vegas was meant to be," that’s one mighty scary thought.
The bird of ill-omen first alit at the tour-bus bench, on the northwest corner, which was drenched in guano, as was the adjacent trashcan. A "boulder" hanging over the pool area sported a gaping hole. The overall state of the property connotes managerial indifference, manifest in the form of dirty walls, chipped paint and linoleum, graffiti in an elevator, roof matting peeling off the wedding chapel, stained acoustical tiling, broken light fixtures, standing water, and omnipresent litter, including a used washcloth. Pictures have been stripped from the walls in the Catering & Convention Services area.
The bathrooms run the gamut of cleanliness. The men’s room in the convention area was filthy and unrepaired, like something you’d find at the Gold Spike. One of the two cleanest was the 'gent’s' next to the Sales and F&B offices.
Yes, the escalator to Bodies: The Exhibition is still broken and one in the casino conked out while we were there. The air on the upper floors of the low-rise motel wings is humid, thick, and motionless, and it’s not much better high up in the Island Tower. (One note from our visit reads, "I sweated thru [sic] my shirt.") As far as cleaning staff, the rule appears to be two maids per floor -- 44 rooms to a floor in the Island Tower -- and we saw at least one maid struggling with a cart three times her size.
Breakfast options are limited to the Garden Café and Island Buffet, plus the sad-looking Player’s Deli. (The Trop generously dubs the "Java Java" pastry case "Dining," but we wouldn’t.) Hours at Player’s and at Legends Steak & Seafood, have been changed to the family friendly 9 a.m.-to-9 p.m. and 5 p.m.-11 p.m., respectively.
Expect a 15-minute wait to be seated at the buffet ($10.76 person, tax included), which has one of the smallest selections – if not the smallest – to be found on the Strip. We arrived on the cusp between breakfast and lunch, and were confronted with a variety of mystery meats.
The chaps at the Omelette Bar did a nice job but the rest of the food ranged between mediocre and abysmal, including rubbery bacon and flavorless coffee. We briefly debated going back for seconds but thought of it. The humdrum dessert selection is somewhat redeemed by the large number of sugar-free items available. Thumbs up for the flavorful pumpkin pie; thumbs emphatically down for the synthetic-tasting apple pie. The buffet appeared understaffed and service was sporadic.
You still have to run a gauntlet of vending booths (some manned by aggressive salespeople) to get to the buffet, too.
Our dispiriting experience was not unique, apparently. A reader who frequents the Laughlin market, where Columbia Sussex owns the River Palms Casino and the Tropicana Express (formerly Ramada Express) writes, "I visit these hotels regularly and have noticed that they are slipping in quality. By that I mean the maintenance … carpets are worn, rooms need remodeling, buildings need paint, and buffets at both Laughlin properties have declined dramatically. [W]hy have they (Columbia Sussex) let the properties in Laughlin decline so much?"
Why indeed?
