Playing Blackjack in Burma; Tempting Lady Luck Just Across the River From Thailand's Golden Triangle

“And those lights just over there—that’s the casino in Burma,” said Mark Heather late one night, pointing across a river from the outdoor terrace of the hotel he manages, Anantara, in Thailand’s Golden Triangle.

A casino? In Burma?

We were standing in the very north of Thailand, where the borders of Laos and Burma—or Myanmar as the generals who run the country prefer to call it—meet. The crew and I were almost done shooting our northern Thailand show for public television, and Heather, the Anantara’s general manager, had kindly invited us to a first-rate Italian dinner at his hotel.

Eating freshly made lasagna in a Thai jungle setting was strange enough. But I was equally surprised to learn a casino was just a quarter of a mile away. When I think of Burma, I don't think of roulette tables; I think of a country whose population is struggling to carve out a living while a military dictatorship tries to hang on to its power and lavish lifestyle in the face of almost global approbation.

The Golden Triangle, of course, is known for its long history of growing poppies that produce much of the world’s opium. And while the poppy fields of northern Thailand have almost entirely been replaced with tea plantations and other legitimate agricultural pursuits, the poppy industry is booming across the border in Burma. So is the production of methamphetamine, and smugglers sneak both opium and meth across the border into Thailand to reach world markets. Which is one reason no boats are allowed on the border river after six at night.

We were due to return to Bangkok the next day, but I really wanted to step into Burma, if only for an hour.

“Can I visit?” I asked Heather.

“Sure,” he said.

Turns out you just drive five minutes from the Anantara to a border town on the Mae Sai river, pay about $7 dollars, and obtain a one-day visa to Burma. Thirty yards from the small office where that quick transaction occurs, long-tail boats await to bear you across the narrow river to a dock on the Burma side. The free boat ride is courtesy of the two casino-hotels there, Paradise and Win Win. Both operations are housed in the same several-story building; I was told two Thai brothers owned the businesses but had apparently had a falling out and split the building into two identical halves—the left half is Paradise, the right half is Win Win.

The next day it was raining lightly—unusual this time of year in Thailand—when we boarded the boat for the three-minute ride from Thailand to Burma. We were met on the other side by a young man with an extra umbrella who escorted us up a few steps from the small dock to an official in a makeshift immigration office.

After a quick look at our visas, he gestured toward a rather dilapidated jitney that carried us down a perfectly straight, non-descript, concrete road to the front door of Paradise and Win & Win (or “Win Win,” as locals call it). Except for jungle, there was nothing else in sight—no houses, no stores, no village, no other streets. It was a direct shot: dock to casino/hotel.

Clearly, since there are no casinos in Thailand, the Burmese government figured setting one up just across the border was a good business proposition. (There’s another Thai-owned casino not far away just across the border in Laos, a well, I learned.) And it appears business is just fine. Manicured landscaping surrounds the several-story building, and it appeared we were the only customers around as we pulled up to the main door. A gold carpet led to Paradise, and about 12 feet away, a parallel red carpet led to Win Win.

I chose Paradise.

As I entered the spacious hotel lobby and walked up the stairs to the casino, I was well aware of the long-running debate among American travelers: To visit Burma or not to visit Burma? The first school of thought holds that to visit Burma and to bring hard currency into the country only helps prop up the country’s military regime. The other side of that argument is, without foreign visitors, the locals have no chance to make a real living and very little contact with the outside world.

I’d asked ex-pats and others in Northern Thailand on what side of the argument they came down on. Without exception, they wished more Americans would visit the country to help the locals and bring more news of other countries to Burma. Me? I don’t know the answer.

I do know I wanted to win because I figured I didn’t want to give a dollar to the government.

I counted out a few $100 dollar bills to buy chips. While the cashier carefully examined them under an ultra-violet light to check for counterfeits,  I checked out the casino. It was one, big room trimmed in gold with paintings that looked like they’d been done by WPA artists, sort of Art Deco in style. It was very clear what kind of games most customers liked to play—there were about 20 baccarat tables, two roulette wheels and a single blackjack table.  Six baccarat tables were the only ones doing any business.  All the players were Asian.  Outside the main room were a few rows of slot machines with nary a customer.

The cashier slid a couple of my $100 bills back to me.

“Only new,” she said.

Now you know: If you go to a casino in the Golden Triangle, don’t bring any old $100 US bills—only the newer, redesigned bills are acceptable, which I thought was pretty damn picky.

And then I went to the blackjack table where, after a very nice initial run of natural hands, I proceeded to give the house most of my money.

Clearly, I should have gone to Win Win.

On the way out, I stopped at the hotel front desk and asked the room rates.

“You play in casino?” asked the desk clerk.

“I did,” I answered.

“Special rate. Fifty US a night.”

I forgot to ask if they had Wi-Fi and CNN.

I knew that deep in the miles of jungles inland from the casino were meth labs as well as ethnic Karen rebels who have been battling the Burmese military for years. Closer to the Thai border, a Burmese border town is home to a thriving black market; bar owners in Northern Thailand, where there’s a steep tax on imported liquor, know the number to call there in order to arrange a surreptitious delivery of tax-free booze.

Things haven’t gotten boring in the Golden Triangle, tea plantations notwithstanding.