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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.

So What's With This Indian Company Taking Over the Boston Ritz?

I received an e-mail the other day from a correspondent lamenting the fact that an India-based hotel company called Taj had just taken over the Ritz-Carlton Boston, the one that's been a beacon of the Ritz-Carlton chain for decades. In fact, until Ritz management realized that there was nothing wrong with their hotels reflecting the community in which they stood, the Boston Ritz was nearly a template for the dark wood, and hunting prints--that English club look--that distinguished Ritz-Carltons for so many years.

I write to say, "Fear not."  The Taj Hotels company can be expected to maintain Ritz standards and, perhaps, even surpass them.  After all, the Boston property could use a bit of a renovation here and there.  (And if you MUST stay in a Ritz, there's the newer hotel, the Ritz-Carlton Boston Common, just across the park.) 

Taj is part of the Tata group of companies, and in India, the name "Tata" is something like the name "Rockefeller" in the US. Tata owns more than 90 companies involving engineering, chemicals, information systems, energy, and trucking.  With more than 70 hotels in the Taj portfolio, the company knows what it's doing.  It has a collection of five-star hotels and resorts in India and elsewhere--from Australia to Zambia--that make even the most jaded traveler drool.

The CEO of the Taj hotel group is Raymond Bickson, formerly the legendary general manger of the late, lamented hotel-of-choice for celebrities on New York's Madison Avenue, The Mark.  I know Mr. Bickson and was personally sorry when he moved to India four years ago.  But I'm delighted that Taj picked a smart, warm guy to run its hotel empire.  And to expand it.  Remember the Four Seasons' Fifth Avenue jewel, The Pierre?  That's now a Taj.

I expect you'll be seeing the Taj flag flying on other legendary properties in the US over the next several years, because Taj's task is to get its name better known in North America.  Which is why I'm going to send an e-mail right after I post this to Raymond suggesting Taj become a corporate underwriter for my public television travel series.  Isn't it wonderful when self-interest coincides with a brilliant marketing idea for someone else?

Reykjavik, Iceland: Radisson SAS 1919

Radisson SAS 1919 Hotel  **** (see end of this item for an explanation of the one-to-six star rankings)

Posthusstraeti 2

101 Reykjavik

+354 599 1000

Room rates: $225-$400 depending on the season

The 1919 is the newest--and most upscale--of three Radisson SAS hotels in Iceland's capital and big city, Reykjavik.  Just opened this spring, the hotel is all minimalist design with 70 rooms made roomy in no small part because of unusually high, loft-height ceilings. 

The decor is Scandanvian spartan.  Rooms have blond wood floors with no carpeting, a minimum of wall art, low beds with sheet duvets, flat screen TVs, and metal and black-wood desks and bedside tables.  The good-sized and well-lit bathrooms have simple, white-tiled walls and a fashionable, small, white sink inset on a slab of black Corian running the length of one wall.  The toilet is wall mounted.  Some rooms have baths; others, like mine, have no bath but a huge, walk-in shower with good water pressure.   

Toiletries are presented in small, plastic capsules mounted on what looks more like a spice rack than a bathroom fixture.  The orange bath gel is called "Gentle Orange," the shampoo is "Zest of Lemon," and the liquid soap is "Hint of Apple."  There's a one-line desk phone, bedside phone and bathroom phone as well as free, high-speed Internet access.  (It's wireless and also complimetary in the hotel's lobby.)  Heat is from radiators as befits a country whose biggest asset is its wealth of geothermal hot water that's used to heat homes and offices.

Thanks to the high ceilings at the 1919, the room windows are tall and may be opened to let in sunlight and fresh air.  But unless you've requested an interior courtyard room, you'll want to close those windows at night.  Reykjavik is famous for its downtown nightlife that begins around midnight and stretches into dawn.  And the party spills into the streets around the 1919.  Normally rather proper and formal, some Icelanders turn wild after a few drinks, swaying through the narrow streets shouting to friends all night.  Maybe, one guest said to me, that's why the hotel doesn't have a clock anywhere in its rooms--then you'd know just how much sleep you aren't getting.  So either join the revelers or bring your own earplugs so you can sleep.  Either way, be careful where you step the next morning--public vomiting isn't unusual. 

My three-night stay at the Radisson SAS 19191 wasn't entirely flawless.  There was no one to help with luggage upon my early morning arrival.  The operator failed to deliver a wake-up call one morning.  When CNN stopped appearing on my television a day after I checked in, the front desk promised to send someone to my room to check on the situation, but no one ever showed up.  Otherwise, the staff was pleasant, though great service isn't necessarily a hallmark of northern European countries.  I'm hoping as this hotel matures, the staff will increase its attention to details. 

Breakfast is included in your room rate, and the morning buffet features salmon and herring, great breads, cheeses, fresh yoghurt, resh fruits (but not freshly squeezed juices), and scrambled eggs with all sides. 

This is a very nice hotel.  Its clean interior design makes you feel as if you're in Denmark, the country that gave Iceland its independence in the '40s.  The cost of a night's stay at the 1919 may surprise Americans, given that Reykjavik is essentially a small town.  Heck, the population of all of Iceland is less than 300,000.  But a high demand for hotel rooms, a booming economy, and a relatively weak US dollar all translate into room rates Americans more commonly associate with much larger urban luxury hotels.  But even nice local bed & breakfasts can run $75 per peson and a double room with shared bath at the pleasant, well-located Salvation Army guesthouse costs more than $100.  Meaning no matter how you cut it, Reykjavik is an expensive city.

A thumbnail guide to Rudy's ratings of hotels:

One star: A clean, simple, utilitarian and inexpensive hotel, usually in a location of little note.

Two stars: A property with a better location than a one-star and rooms with modest amenities.

Three stars: Guests can expect more amenities, such as a restaurant or breakfast in the lobby as well as, in warmer climes, a swimming pool and, in the bath, toiletries and thicker towels.

Four stars: Usually a mid-priced business or leisure hotel that provides upgraded bedding and bath aminities along with a fine-dining restaurant, high-speed wi-fi access, room safe, in-room mini-bar and other touches.  At this level, you should find a knowledgable staff available to answer any questions and meet most any need. 

Five stars: Expect top-shelf bedding and bath products, a pleasant design, good location, and extras such as around-the-clock room service, a handsome setting, striking interior and exterior design or landscape, impeccable rooms, spa or noteworthy fitness facility and an ultra-accommodating staff. 

Six stars: This over-the-top rating applies to only a handful of hotels and resorts in the world.  Expect to find most imaginable amenities, a spectacular setting, a highly trained staff that anticipate your wishes, and an ambience that makes you never want to check out.

Washington, DC: Rudy Reviews the Morrison House

Morrison House ****   (see end of this item for an explanation of the one-to-six star rankings)

116 S. Alfred St.

Alexandria, VA 22314 (just outside Washington, DC)

Room rates: $149-$349 + packages

You could drive right by the Morrison House, a 45-room hotel just off the most lively commercial street in the Old Town section of Alexandria, VA, a close-in suburb of Washington, DC.  The signage is discrete, and the Morrison House blends in so well with its neighbors that nothing says "HOTEL" about it.  You'd also be forgiven for thinking the hotel was built 100 years ago--its architecutre mirrors the Georgian and colonial brick homes that make Old Town Alexandria so desirable.  In fact, the Morrison House was built in 1984.

Until earlier this year, the hotel was a member of the Relais & Chateaux group, a Paris-based association that's been a reliable indicator of lovely lodging in Europe for years.  The Morrison House owner and Relais & Chateaux, however, decided they didn't see eye-to-eye on how to run a hotel, so they parted ways.  But if you like a well-priced hotel that is understated, with a staff that is literally standing at attention in the intimate lobby, awaiting your request, the Morrision House is your kind of place.

In the interest of full journalistic disclosure, I want to tell you that hotel's owner, Peter Greenberg,  and I have become friends.  (And this Peter Greenberg is no relation to another Peter Greenberg who is also a close friend of mine, the travel editor of "The Today Show" on NBC-TV.)  However, I can assure you that even if I didn't know the owner, I'd recommend the Morrison House as a hotel of special merit.

And because I do know the owner, I can also tell you that he had no hotel management experience prior to buying the Morrison House. Which explains why the doors of unoccupied rooms stand open--Peter thinks it is interesting for guests to see the different decor and configuration of other rooms.  There are bowls of apples on each floor and at the reception desk free for the taking, and a big bottle of sparkling water and a couple chocolate chip cookies with a modest fruit basket greet you upon check in.  The high-speed, wi-fi Internet connection in your room is free.  The towels and sheets are Frette, and the bathroom bath & shower gel, shampoo and conditioner is Gilchrist & Soames.  In the morning, tea and coffee are complimentary in the hotel's main floor sitting room.

Rooms are of varying sizes, but there are only a few with two beds--most rooms come with one queen or king-sized bed with oversized pillows.  There are three suites. The decor is colonial comfortable, with deluxe rooms sporting romantic, canopied beds.  A small, quite good restaurant serves breakfast and dinner seven nights a week, and the cozy bar turns into a crowded sing-along headquarters on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights peopled by locals.  With a kindly piano player who looks like everyone's favorite Sunday-school teacher at the keyboard, men and women who probably performed in high school and college musicals belt out entertaining renditions of show tunes from Les Miserables, My Fair Lady, Fiddler on the Roof, and dozens of other faves.  Can't quite remember the words to "Get Me To the Church On Time" or "There is Nothing Like a Dame"?  No problem--a few songbooks with lyrics are available.  Even if you're not a frustrated thespian, it's actually great fun just to listen and watch.

A half block from the Morrison House is King Street, a popular shopping, dining and nightlife street that bisects the commercial district of Alexandria.  Follow it to the Potomac River and browse the Torpedo Factory, a multi-story warehouse converted into artists' studios and galleries.  There are restaurants that run the gamut from Tex-Mex (the Austin Grill) to seafood (The Flying Fish) as well as Thai, South American, Italian, Greek and French lining King Street. 

Rooms at the Morrison House come with dozens of channels of TVs but no music player.  Evening turn down includes ice and a couple of squares of chocolate on your pilow; there's a Washington Post outside your door each morning, and room service breakfast is available though you should not miss the impeccable breakfast servied in the hotel's dining room.  It may be time to spiff up the elevator interior a bit, but overall, the hotel is in good shape.  And the staff, many of them from European backgrounds, exhibits the kind of can-do spirit that makes the difference between a hotel that's just a place to stay and a hotel that makes you want to return time and again.

Footnote: Is Alexandria a suitable place to stay for a Washington, DC, tourist?  Absolutely.  There's a Metro (Washington's above ground and underground rapid transit system) stop a few blocks from the Morrison House, and taxis are easily available.  Figure on about a $20 (including tip) taxi ride into the center of DC.  Reagan National Airport is a six-minute ride away.  There are great hotels in alexandria.

A thumbnail guide to Rudy's ratings of hotels:

One star: A clean, simple, utilitarian and inexpensive hotel, usually in a location of little note.

Two stars: A property with a better location than a one-star and rooms with modest amenities.

Three stars: Guests can expect more amenities, such as a restaurant or breakfast in the lobby as well as, in warmer climes, a swimming pool and, in the bath, toiletries and thicker towels.

Four stars: Usually a mid-priced business or leisure hotel that provides upgraded bedding and bath aminities along with a fine-dining restaurant, high-speed wi-fi access, room safe, in-room mini-bar and other touches.  At this level, you should find a knowledgable staff available to answer any questions and meet most any need. 

Five stars: Expect top-shelf bedding and bath products, a pleasant design, good location, and extras such as around-the-clock room service, a handsome setting, striking interior and exterior design or landscape, impeccable rooms, spa or noteworthy fitness facility and an ultra-accommodating staff. 

Six stars: This over-the-top rating applies to only a handful of hotels and resorts in the world.  Expect to find most imaginable amenities, a spectacular setting, a highly trained staff that anticipate your wishes, and an ambience that makes you never want to check out.

Garmish, Germany: Forsthaus Graseck

One of the most knowledgeable firms selling travel to Germany, Switzerland and Austria as well as elsewhere in Europe is called Gemutlichkeit (with an umlaut over the "u" that I don't know how to create).  The firm offers rental cars at favorable prices, airfare, rail passes and entire tours.  I've used the company to rent cars while shooting my PBS series in Europe, and the father/son team that runs the West Coast-based agency is extremely knowledgeable about the territory they cover. 

       Which is why I paid particular attention to a recent item in Gemutlichkeit's privately circulated newsletter that warned travelers away from a once-lovely hotel near Garmish, Germany.  Here's how Bob Bestor, the editor of the newsletter, reported it beneath the headline, "Unreliable Offer From a Reliable Source":

       Last month, a promotional e-mail funded jointly by four Alpine countries--Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and Italy--contained the following item:

       The charming mountain hotel Forsthaus Graseck--which boasts its own cable car--offers double rooms from 52 to 86 euros per person/per night, single rooms from 29 to 56 euro. Very reasonably priced apartments are also available.  Forsthaus Graseck's three-night "Mountain and Wellness" package includes a gondola excursion to Mt. Eckbauer. Price for three nights: 259 euros per person. The hiking tour contained in the package is followed by a health spa treatment and massage, as well as body-wrapping with fango or hay.

       The Forsthaus Graseck is well-known to this writer. We first stayed there in 1979, after seeing it's red roof-peak symbol in the 1979 Michelin Red Guide for Germany. The hotel is remote, reached only by the two persons-plus-luggage cable car that rises out of a tiny enclave at the end of an unpaved road, not far from the old Olympic ski stadium in Garmisch-Partenkirchen. We loaded our luggage into the cramped cable car and ascended to the hotel's Bergbahn station part way up the mountain. Dangling hundreds of feet above the rugged Partnach gorge, while brushing rocky outcrops in a rickety, swinging capsule about the size of an elevator in a very small hotel, is not a ride for the acrophobic.
       The Forsthaus turned out to be an almost fairy-tale Bavarian mountain chalet. A shaggy St. Bernard patrolled the reception area, an open fire warmed a cozy Stube, and the guestrooms, each with balcony, faced the dominating view of the magnificently craggy Wetterstein range.

       For a few years we returned annually. Then, in about 1990, we stopped going when the hotel began a slide from which it has not recovered. Since then, in the hope of finding some sign of rejuvenation, we've made several trips up the mountain. Our most recent was in December, just four months ago. The upper cable car station is now in such a state of disrepair that one becomes uneasy about the condition of the cars and cables one's life depends on. Employees and a few visitors simply stepped over and around a pile of dog droppings a few feet from the main entrance. Inside, we found an indifferent staff and a run-down, dirty, near-vacant hotel. In its present state, we could not recommend this sad place to anyone at any price.

       That's Bob Bestor's take on the place.  I haven't ever visited this hotel, so I can't weigh in with an opinion, but my high regard for the expertise of Bob as well as his son Andrew and their West Coast-based company leads me to suggest you steer clear of Forsthaus Graseck until further notice.

       By the way, if you have an interest in all things German, Swiss or Italian, consider subscribing to the Gemutlichkeit newsletter that is published 11 times a year.  It's $59 a year, but if you tell them Rudy sent you, they'll knock $10 off the price.  (Call 800-521-6722.)  You can be sure the recommendations in the newsletter have been personally viewed and tested by the Bestors. 

        P.S. Bob Bestor sent an e-mail to the Alpine Tourist Commission--a normally trustworthy and reputable marketing alliance of tourist officials from Germany, Switzerland, Italy and Austria--to ask how they could recommend the Forsthaus Graseck with a straight face.  As of this writing, he hasn't received a reply.

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