Las Vegas Vs. Macao: Which Is The Superior Destination?

A few weeks ago, I was in both Las Vegas and Macao within a five day span which afforded me the perfect opportunity to write an entry juxtaposing the two. This blurb looks to contrast every aspect of the Macao/Vegas experience, and inevitably looks to discern which of the two is, well, better. I’ve opted to use a scoring scale that directly compares both destinations, and for each category ONE destination is given anywhere from +1 to +3 points, depending on how drastic the level of superiority (and rarely, a tie can also occur). The aggregate point winner will be deemed the ultimate global gambling destination (Note: Monaco is clearly the greatest gambling destination ever, but this is for the folks whose income is five figures and less). OK, one goes there.

Food: A key aspect to any gambling weekend are the meals consumed. Everybody has cash on hand, making them less apprehensive about spending larger sums of money than usual on foodstuffs. Macao is known throughout China for its indigenous cuisine, but it isn’t even the best on the Pearl River Delta (both Guangzhou and Hong Kong have superior food). It is a unique fusion of Portuguese and Cantonese cooking, but Macao just can’t compare with Vegas’ myriad high-end restaurants founded by world renowned chefs. Vegas would get +2 here, but Macao is making huge strides in this department and with each new Western casino, we’re seeing more and more haute-cuisine in the former Portuguese colony, and combine that with local cuisine (which Vegas can’t claim to have, Vegas only gets one point. VEGAS +1

BOOZE: Hand in hand with food is booze. I don’t know of a single casino in Vegas where booze is not complimentary for players. Yes, at some casinos, they’re less attentive, but all casinos offer this amenity. This is not the case in Macao. Most casinos won’t give you free booze, and the ones that do restrict you to six ounces of flat beer (I had to coax the MGM grand into even granting me this privilege, the first casino that allowed me to do so; thank God, because a Jack and Coke at the bar ran me a scant THIRTEEN US Dollars and a mug of beer in the five dollar range; my free beer pass eventually ran up, and they began to offer me red wine instead; I informed the pit boss that this would not slow me down and all this would accomplish is increasing the odds of me vomiting). I have two theories as to why the Macanese are so stingy in the liquor department: 1) in general, the Chinese are very bad drunks. Not all, but some are prone to violence, ESPECIALLY when there is a question of money. This is obviously not a trait unique to the Chinese, but from my observations, money issues+liquor is a really lethal combination for them. 2) the Chinese don’t want booze because it would hinder their concentration and thus their card-playing abilities (they are far more concerned with making megabucks gambling than Americans but more on that later). Clearly, Vegas has the advantage here, but there are tricksy ways to get drunk very cheaply in Macao that aren’t available in Vegas: ubiquitous 7-11s where beers are only fifty cents and road sodas are encouraged; the sundries at most casinos sell beer for only two bucks, and the time it takes to go fetch your beer probably saves you 25 bucks anyway. But that’s only enough to take one point from Vegas. Vegas +2

Transportation: Finally, advantage Macao! Ask anyone you know about their thoughts on Las Vegas’ McCarran International Airport; seemingly everyone has a horror story. Flying in on a Friday means waiting an hour for your bag, and flying out on a Sunday means an hour at security. Combine the inherent annoyance of waiting in security with top-5 hangovers ever and you’ve got one miserable experience on your hand. Driving is supposedly not much better. Most drivers are coming from one of the regional urban sprawls (LA, PHX) and the incessant traffic that residents of those cities continually endure. Macao on the other hand is a breeze to access. High-speed ferries run from Hong Kong every FIFTEEN MINUTES and it only takes an hour from ticket purchase in Hong Kong to getting into a taxi in Macao (and that includes going through customs twice). There is rarely a wait (only during Chinese New Year, when all of the Mainland flocks to Macao). Macao has an airport too (scary landing because the runway is surrounded by water) but isn’t very busy so you don’t have to deal with McCarran-style frustrations. Macao doesn’t get all three points because if the water’s rough, the seasickness can overwhelm even those who have packed Dramamine. MACAO +2

Seedy Underbelly: I don’t know who is running Vegas at this point: is it the Russians, the Italians, the Cape Verdeans? All of the above? I just know I don’t want to owe money to any of them, nor do I want to owe any money to the Triads (fun tidbit from a reliable source: the Triads still run the Hong Kong entertainment industry, and are so pissed off at Edison Chen for ruining Gillian Chung and friends’ careers that they’ve offered a fifty thousand dollar reward for his hands). So, let’s call it a tie. EVEN MONEY

Gambling Environment: Vegas has more games (good luck finding a craps game in Macao) and better black jack odds (dealer takes her card before you play your hand which allows her to check if she has a black jack. When a dealer takes her card after you play your hand, you risk putting more money on the table, only to lose it automatically to a black jack. Though it seems like an isolated situation, it has a drastic impact on the players odds). Macao doesn’t play annoying Muzak, has far fewer slot machines (meaning less annoying slot machine-related noises) but pretty much everyone only plays Baccarat. However, this means you have a lot of folks playing black jack for the first time and making painful decisions that directly violate basic strategy (I once had a girl hit a hard 17 with a six up. That was the closest I’ve ever come to striking a woman). Vegas is a more frenetic experience, whereas Macao is more relaxing, but I’ve got to give the nod to the locale with more game diversity and better odds. Vegas +1 (Bizarre side note: In spite of the worse odds, I’m way up in terms of aggregate winnings in Macao, and am way down in Vegas. Go figure).

Culture: (For the record, we’re going to make culture and entertainment mutually exclusive terms; bear with me) Macao has hundreds of years worth of history, manifested through Mediterranean style cathedrals, mesmerizing Portugese/Chinese fusion architecture, and the aforementioned unique culinary experience. Vegas does not. The art gallery at the Bellagio prevents Macao from a clean sweep. Macao +2

Non-Gambling Entertainment: Macao has a handful of bars and a “massage parlor” or two. Vegas’ night life is responsible for more celebrity sex tapes than Macao has bars. I don’t need to wax on about clubs like Luxe, bars like the Irish pub in New York, New York, roller coasters, etc. I’ve yet to even find a club in Macao. A lot of the casinos shut during the twilight hours (aka prime gambling time!). Good luck trying to translate “strip club;” that’ll be a fruitless 45 minutes. Because Jand would never forgive me if I even considered giving Macao any props in this department (the king of dealing with boredom woke me up at 7 am in Macao insisting that we leave because he was that miserable)….Vegas +3

Casinos: Now that Macao’s casinos are beginning to mirror those of Vegas, it’s hard to differentiate between the two. Macao’s versions tend to be more high end; Vegas has more of them; Macao has floating ones that look like pagodas; Both have tons of Asians in them. I really don’t see much of a difference. Even Money

Characters: One would assume that this would be an automatic tre punti for Vegas, but let’s take a second to examine this a little more carefully. In Vegas, I find that for every interesting character that I meet, I encounter at least five hollow shells of souls who were initially attracted to Vegas by the prospect of truly experiencing life, but who can now hardly be counted among the living. Conversing with people who are in Vegas on their second mortgage, who strip for a living, or have put all of their faith into some imaginary winning streak that will magically correct all of their problems. More times than not, a black jack table conversation is incredibly depressing in Vegas. In Macao, however, its always lively, positive, and, at times, almost uplifting. For example, last week in Macao, my table consisted of a Parisian (funny story, he turned out to be gay, but I honestly had no clue until he made out with his bf, mostly because all gay-dars no longer function around Parisians), a Korean, and myself. English became the de facto language (our Korean friend couldn’t speak French), which meant whenever he got pairs, he’d start screaming “SPRIT, SPRIT, I WANT TO SPRIT!” You just don’t get that in Vegas! Yes, Vegas will put you into contact with depraved Eastern European cab drivers, Hispanic transsexuals, Puerto Rican/Chinese dudes, prostitute/equestrians, and adorable, naive Korean girls, but we can’t gloss over the fact that Macao attracts their fair share of interesting human beings. Vegas +1

Epicness: This is probably the most important factor. Assuming you don’t lose so much money that it effects the rest of your life, the paramount aspect of any gambling trip is how said vaca will be remembered: who did what, who did who, thank God x didn’t do y, was z a man, the meal at q was all-time, i can’t believe we got into club a, etc. Nobody (except for the kids in 21) remember every hand. Hell, a year later, most can’t remember if they ended the trip in the black or the red. As sappy as this sounds, what really count are the memories (Excuse me, I just vomited. I apologize for exposing you to such trite writing) In Vegas, all of these statements are applicable. In Macao, they’re not. The kind of fun you have in Macao is “wow that was a cool Cathedral, hahahah there are lots of Chinese people here, yay we won two hundred dollars, let’s go to that Aussie steak place in Lan Kwai Fong tonight to celebrate” kind of fun. Vegas, on the other hand, usually consists of 24-48 hours of epic hedonism that usually ends with farewell sentiments like “that was the best weekend of my life. Next year, same time, same place? Oh, and, dude, you should really get tested.” Vegas +2

Grand total: VEGAS +6. Evidently, Macao’s got a long way to go before it can compete with Vegas on every level. But it’s catching up. And if you’re in the neighborhood, it’s definitely worth your time to drop by. But, for the love of God, don’t fly all the way from America just to go to Macao.

TALES OF SAN FRAN (Only Two Weeks Late)

Right after Las Vegas, I headed to San Francisco, ostensibly to catch a transpacific flight, but really it was to see the love of my life: Aleks Sedaazalarazsas (no, really, that’s how you spell his last name). Aleks and I are an interesting tandem because he, like, cares about people and stuff. He’s intelligent, but humble. He treats people of all races, political ideologies, and sexual orientations with respect. Clearly, we’re polar opposites, yet we remain friends for two reasons: a) Aleks is too kind to turn down a request for a rendezvous (for a period during our friendship I referred to him exclusively as “Kathy Bates” and now its Sandy which is short for Sandy Vag and he still hangs out with me!); b) we both love beer. Needless to say, our encounters are always amusing and memorable, and when our favorite androgynous Macanese punmaster Spiffy Tiffy is added to equation…well, actually its a lot less amusing than you’d expect. Whatever, I’ll let you be the judge!

Worst Idea of the Weekend (Even Worse than Anything We Conceived in Vegas. And There Were a Lot): Sandy is well aware of my affinity for Indian food, and he suggested what he considered to be an appropriate send-off meal (My flight left at 1 AM which allowed us to have a leisurely dinner before heading to SFO). He knew of a delicious, yet relatively inexpensive Indian buffet in the neighborhood which all but decided it. Three trips through the buffet line later, I knew I’d made an awful decision that was both inconsiderate to my healing nether-regions and to the passengers in my general vicinity. I popped a couple Gas-X (nice foresight, mom!) hoping that would stave off any leakage for the twelve hour flight to Hong Kong…erroneous! I provided enough gas myself to get that 747 to Hong Kong. After four hours writhing in pain, I decided to inconvenience my seatmate, ask her to let me out even though she was asleep, and finally relieve myself, for everyone’s sake. I figured it was the least I could do. And let me tell you, there’s nothing like the awkwardness after returning from a 20 minute bathroom break and the knowing glances that are exchanged. After that, I did the only sensible thing; I downed a couple Tylenol PM and prayed that I wouldn’t wake up until landing in Hong Kong, where I would promptly blame the gas on the rather unfortunately overweight girl sitting next to me. Word to the wise: if travelling with me, perhaps one should arrange separate transportation and rendezvous there.

Most Conspicuous Absence in the Bay Area: Sandy’s ardently feminist, occasionally violent, Hispanic (in the words of GOB Bluth, she’s one of our Mexican friends from Ecuador) girlfriend never made an appearance. I couldn’t really understand why. She must have been on her period, or something. (JOKE! GET IT, BECAUSE SHE’S A FEMINIST! She would’ve loved that one).

Coolest City Name: So all Chinese city names in North America suck. They’re all simple transliterations (hey, say these out loud in a funny Chinese accent, and then you’ll get the gist!). For example: Ao Lan Duo is Orlando; Ya Te Lan Da is Atlanta; La Si Wei Jia Si is Las Vegas. Most of the time they don’t even mean anything. But there is one exception (there are a few more, like they literally translate Phoenix, but they’re few and far between and nowhere cool as this one): San Francisco is Jiu Jin Shan. Wait, that doesn’t sound like San Francisco at all? Why? Because it means “the Old Gold Mountain!” Which is totally awesome! And in future brog posts, this city will only be referred to as “the Old Gold Mountain,” and will be said/read in a tone that conveys a sentiment of antiquity and mystique.

The Metamorphosis: On Sunday evening, Sandy and I had a pretty epic night at the bars, and we went back to my hotel room around 2 am for a nightcap, after which he headed home. Before I left my room again, Spiffy met me there the following morning. To the casual observer on the staff of the Intercontinental, it would seem as if I went to bed with a hulking Eastern European male and emerged with a petite Asian female who’s five foot on a good day only a few hours later. But, you know what, its San Francisco, I guarantee that’s not the first time that’s happened. That doesn’t even rank on the bizarre fetishes scale in SF.

Most Potentially Embarassing Moment: No, it wasn’t while we were on the BART when we all admitted that we watched both the Big Bang Theory (I heart physics jokes) and How I Met Your Mother (WWNPHD). It was while in San Francisco’s International Airport, where while watching the most recent episode of How I Met Your Mother, that I MISSED EVERY SINGLE BOARDING CALL. I had been waiting in the airport for two hours, yet still managed to be the last person to board the plane. And it was totally worth it to see Barney hook up with Robin. The Brog’s affinity towards BC-born Portugese girls is well-documented.

Another Brogpology: I’d like to apologize to the readers for endangering the Brog’s credibility by allowing Spiffy to write an entry. I was in the shower and she commandeered my computer and wrote what could have been the most Asian post ever. Evidently, Spiffy finds blogging incredibly difficult without pictures of food to aid her endeavors.

Worst Pun: Since all three of us are Sinophiles on varying levels (me being on the low end of the totem poll), China is a frequent topic of discussion. And when talking about China, it’s hard to avoid talking about Shenzhen: the city that transformed itself from an obscure fishing village to the richest city in the Mainland. Well, the influx of cash isn’t the only deluge that Shenzhen has experienced; prostitutes from all over the country have flooded Shenzhen trying to get a piece of the action. This prompted me to say: “So, they’ve traded their fishnets for, well, fishnets.” I don’t think Aleks has spoken to me since.

Least. Heterosexual. Parking. Ever: One joke? Maybe? Come on, its San Francisco! The parking in San Francisco is inherently less heterosexual than everywhere else, per capita wise! (well, other than Key West). FINE, I take it back. How about the parking sucked? Is that ok with everyone? Here’s where I was going with this: Jand and the Mexican wolf were actually in town for the weekend, and fortunately our paths crossed for two hours. However, an hour and a half of this was spent driving back from the airport (by the way, thanks again), dealing with SF’s totally straight traffic (meaning it sucked, see, we can make straight negative too!), and then looking for parking for no less than 45 minutes. Good times. This did allow us time to smoke cigarettes, but that was pretty much the only positive aspect of the experience. I cite bad karma (wow, I really shouldn’t use that word any more in light of the previous post) for our lack of luck, because these two should’ve come to Vegas in the first place.

Biggest Douche Maneuver: I’m pleased to announce that I will not be the recipient of this award (sorry to eliminate the suspense). So, it’s Sunday night, and Sandy and I are at bar number three, and they have one of those nouveau/touch-screen jukeboxes. You know, the kind that actually has music you want to hear. Well, it’s about 130 at this point, and we decided we were going to create a bitchin’ playlist to close out the night. We spent about ten bucks and the amalgam of our music tastes meant an eclectic, yet palatable mix (in other words, he prevented me from going off the deep-end with Korean Pop and Rai ‘n’ B selections) consisting of Lou Reed, Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam, The Pogues, Johnny Cash, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and others. Just as we had finished creating what was truly an epic playlist, the bartender comes up and asks us, “hey, do you mind if we play my CD instead?” As I remember it, I groaned audibly; given my level of inebriation, this meant it probably appeared as if I’d throw a tantrum (and rightly so!). But Sandy is way too nice and he told the bartender that “sure, we’d love to hear your cd;” this is a decision we’d come to regret deeply. Our new friend the bartender’s band apparently only had one musical influence: Limp Bizkit. For the next half hour, we not only had to deal with C-rate rap metal (not to mention a decade too late), we had to listen to the guy belt out the lyrics, point out favorite parts, and break down the meaning of the songs. It was don’t care city, and I was the mayor; thanks for almost ruining the night, douche.

In San Fran, Even the Homeless Are Environmentally Conscious! Sandy decided that we were all going to take the bus to the Indian restaurant. Sandy clearly forgot that I do not do well with public transportation that does not run on rails. About ten minutes into the ride (I know, because I’d only complained about the smell once, and I was pretty proud of myself), pandemonium breaks loose outside of the bus. A homeless woman is screaming at an Asian man standing directly in front of me: “LITTERER, LITTERER! YOU THREW A PIECE OF GARBAGE OUT THE WINDOW, LITTERER!” The professional looking guy in front of me protests his innocence, and I believed him, because a) I would have seen it if he had and b) the LADY IS A CRACK HEAD. Well, monsieur asiatique’s response was not enough to assuage madame tete de craque, and she brought the Asian’s supposed indiscretion to the attention of her two male friends. She resumed screaming “LITTERER, LITTERER!” while I prayed for the bus to leave, so that I could finally laugh (for fear of my life, I had covered my mouth and pinched myself to avoid aggravating Team Mental Instability). Well, her male friend mistook “LITTERER” for another, more pejorative insult and began to berate the young man as well: “Yeah, COCKSUCKER!” The homeless man decided he had not gone far enough, and proceeded to call him, “you COCKSUCKER-ETTE!” What I interpreted from the situation was that, not only does the male crack head suspect that the young Asian man regularly performs oral sex on other men, but that the Asian is secretly a woman as well! This continued for honestly a minute as San Francisco gridlock prevented us from moving much to my horror/secret delight. Sandy later confided in me that he didn’t think I was going to make it. Neither did I. The moral of the story, kids: don’t do crack.

MVP: Spiffy didn’t stand a chance, this was Aleks’ from day one. Not only does Aleks hate prohibition, he totally would’ve had Chipotle with me, had he been there. That’s mega-minus puntos for Spiffy. AND, Aleks invited us to the bookstore where he works (ugh, how quintessentially liberal) and got us all books on the house, including Amy Chua’s latest, and a The Onion Anthology. Aleks: bought me beer. Spiffy: did not buy me beer. Aleks: procured books for me. Spiffy: did not procure books for me. Aleks: tells funny stories. Spiffy: makes me zone out her stories. Aleks: don’t have to strain my neck to talk to him. Spiffy: do have to strain my neck to talk to her. Easy choice. Winner: Aleks!