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.� plete an enormous gas pipeline with international partners: Unocal, a US firm; French petro leum giant TOTAL; and PTI of Thailand. The pipeline will span the isthmus from the Andaman Sea to Thailand and is expected to bring upwards of $200 million per year to Burma's government, a tremendous sum in kyat, the Burmese currency. SLORC's main obstacle in building the pipeline is the rebel Karen Nationalist Union, headquarter.ed in the area. With the threat of attacks, labor is hard to find. "Unocal claims there have been no village relocations nor forced labor connected with 'their part' of the project," Joe Cummings writes. "I offered to corroborate if they would let me loose with my own interpreter. So far they haven't responded to the offer." This thickly forested jungle of southeastern Burma is one of the few areas of the country that remains off-limits because of the insurgency. While it wouldn't be possi ble for most visitors to witness these skirmishes first-hand, it's a different story on the other side of the border in Thailand. Near the border town of Mae Sot, Thailand, I visited the Karen refugee camps, home to more than 100,000 people displaced during their fight for autonomy. Some fled Burma more than a decade ago, all these years subsisting on distributions of rice by international aid organizations. A few days before I arrived, Burmese soldiers had burned two of the camps. They attacked in the middle of the night. At gunpoint, the" soldiers forced the Karen out of their bamboo huts. They burned their homes to the ground. Their misguided message: Return to Burma. The Karen's charred villages smoldered like a scene from a Mad Max film. The threat of more attacks loomed. War raged across the border in Burma. During my stay, 15,000 more refugees crossed into Thailand. They ran from the fighting between Karen rebels and Burmese military. By day, the Karen crossed the River Moei into Thailand, their possessions atop oxen that Thai authorities then confiscated because of an anthrax scare. Many were frail with malaria. The corpse of an 18-year old girl still haunts me. The Thai government grows weary of the refugees' prolonged presence. The refugees just grow weary. From the camps, I traveled back to Bangkok, re-entering through Rangoon, Burma's front door. At the airport, visitors are required to cash a minimum of US$300 into foreign exchange certificates (FEC), a means for SLORC to siphon the flow of foreign exchange into state coffers. While FEC can be used only at government owned shops and hotels, travelers with dollars can spend their money at small, pri vately owned businesses. Since SLORC holds the monopoly on gems and logging in Burma, tourism is one of the few small businesses available to the Burmese. Economists point to the stabilizing effects of a prosperous economy. Will tourism bring stability to Burma? Listen to the story of Nye Win, a tour guide in Mandalay. Win's father recently died and at 28 she supports her entire family with the money she earns from tourism, a program the government is eager to encourage. "Many years ago my mother was a teacher and she saved money every month, always in bills of 75 kyat. It is her lucky number. In 1988, just before the rebellion, she had 300,000 kyat (almost $4,000). Then the government discontinued the 75- kyat note. They are worthless now. When she complained, she lost her job. But I am a tour guide. They would never do the 'same thing to me because my job is important to the economy. My mother keeps the money. She says one day change will come." In Rangoon, it already has. Along tree-lined streets in this colonial-era town, new luxury hotels rise as icons to the upscale "creature-comfort" trav eler. Package tours are no longer obligatory, but most hotels are govern ment-regulated, racking up a minimum of $30 to $40 in FEC per night prices beyond Burma's cost of living and the budgets of backpackers. The high-end market is the first to have been tapped by foreign companies in partnership with Myanmar Travels & Tours, the government tourism author ity. Fortunately, cites Cummings, as of 1996, "well over 90 percent of the tourist-oriented businesses belong to the private sector. " Travelers can spend their money wisely while traveling through Burma, putting it in the hands of citizens rather than the government. Still, well-heeled Parisians cruise around in private minivans, shielded behind tinted windows. The British arrive by boat. The Eastern & Orient Express Company boasts the Road to Mandalay, a posh new European canal barge that cruises the Irrawaddy between temples and ancient river front towns. Its luxurious cabins and suits-and-gowns dining room are staffed by Burmese beauties who bow and scrape, wide-eyed at the cost of caviar and cognac but thankful for much-needed jobs. How long before their curiosity becomes contempt? As more tourists reach Burma, a range of mid-market options owned by the Burmese will become available. What kind of traveler will share responsibility for Burma's growth? Economics are only part of the package. Travelers in Burma double as watchdogs. Few know what happened here in 1988, events depicted in the