The Best Way to Get From NYC to Atlantic City? A Blade Helicopter Straight to a Luxury Casino

Originally catering to high-rolling Manhattanites with helicopter transfers to the airport and jet, helicopter, and seaplane routes to the Hamptons, Blade partnered with Ocean Casino Resort in 2024 to expand farther afield. Chopper rides to Atlantic City cost $1,889 round-trip, but the package also includes a suite for the weekend at the Ocean Casino Resort, the crème de la crème of hotel-casinos in Atlantic City. The flight was a splurge for me, a semi-employed writer, but I figured my winnings at the tables would balance out the books. Yessir, for all the bread I was about to make, well, there ain’t enough yeast in the world, baby.

As with Vegas, Disney, and Times Square, a weekend is just the right amount of time to spend in Atlantic City. I recommend splitting your time between enjoying the revelry, casinos, and restaurants of Ocean Casino Resort and exploring the town — one of the most historic on the Eastern Seaboard.

Photo: Johnny Motley

Driving to Atlantic City takes three hours, give or take, from New York City, but the Blade helicopter ride takes only 50 minutes. There’s no real threat of traffic jams in the air. And the surreal aerial views — Manhattan’s skyline, the Jersey Shore, and Atlantic City’s boardwalk all seen from 10,000 feet — are appealing on their own.

Blade choppers to Atlantic City depart from two locations on the island: West 30th St., near Hudson Yards, and East 34th St. in Midtown. Unlike plane travel, Blade’s boarding process is a breeze: no TSA rigamarole, no baggage claim waits, and none of the general unpleasantness of being in an airport. After emailing Blade my weight (important data for the flight), I arrived at the heliport 15 minutes before take-off and drank a complimentary San Pellegrino while gazing across the Hudson River. At noon, a sharp, German-accented command from the pilot — “Get to the chopper!” — broke my reverie. A few minutes later, we were soaring above Gotham’s concrete canyons.

I have acrophobia (fear of heights) and this was my first time in a helicopter, but the ride was pure pleasure. Floating at eye level with the tips of Midtown and the Financial District’s towers, I took better photographs than I could have with my DJI drone.

As we flew south, I chatted through aviation headphones with the pilot and Andrey, a 300-pound ex-Soviet who joined me for the weekend. The pilot explained that the chopper, a Bell 407, retailed for $5 million.

As Jersey’s salt marshes and barrier islands yielded to Atlantic City’s iconic oceanfront, we touched down on the rooftop of Ocean Casino Resort. I grabbed my bag, thanked the pilot, and made a rooftop oblation to Daikokuten, the Japanese god of prosperity and fortune popular with gamblers.

Photo: Ocean Casino Resort

In its heyday in the Roaring Twenties, Atlantic City was Nantucket and Miami combined, a glittering seaside Shangri-La graced by Frank Sinatra, Babe Ruth, and New York City’s rich, famous, and beautiful. Fun fact: the streets and buildings of the Monopoly play board are based on Atlantic City. A number of factors led to a long, slow tourism decline and economic headwinds following World War II. The interstate highway system and commercial jets made for easier travel to farther destinations, for one, and urban flight led to less investment in the city.

And then came a possible solution: legalized gambling. The first casino opened in 1978 and a flood of others followed, bolstering the economy and drawing an unprecedented number of visitors. Tourist numbers went from about 700,000 people in 1978 to more than 33 million a decade later.

Atlantic City’s prosperity rose and fell repeatedly over the following decades. It’s safe to say the city’s star is on the rise again, and its magnificent architecture remains as a testament to a Golden Age of yore.

Photo: Johnny Motley

Take a taxi from Ocean Casino Resort to Irish Pub Inn, hands-down one of the best Hibernian public houses in America. The bar has a commendable selection of fine Irish whiskeys, and the bartenders pour Guinness well enough to pass muster in Dublin.

The Boardwalk, a raised wooden walkway tracing the coast, is emblematic of Atlantic City, and a lazy stroll past the arcades, casinos, and buskers is a delightful way to imbibe the vintage Americana charm of “America’s Playground.”

White House Subs serves cold-cut-laden, oblong sandwiches approaching the Platonic ideal of a Jersey hoagie. The magic is in the bread, which arrives fresh daily from a local Italian bakery. Noshing on a sub — sorry, a hoagie — on a beach bench is by itself worth the trip to South Jersey.

At some point during the weekend, I gave Andrey half of my cash as a safeguard against my worst impulses. My instructions were clear: “Don’t give this back to me, under any circumstances, until we’re back in New York.” But now it was 3 AM on Saturday, our last night, and I was down big. Lower than a snail’s belly button.

I left the blackjack table and found Andrey at the dollar slots. “Andrey, give me back my money. Right now.” He swung around in his chair, his eyes bulging with rage. “You miserable rat!” he snarled in his heavy accent. “You bought Cristal Champagne bottle for women at bar with company expense account! Your money was not enough for even half of cost!” I had, in fact, operated under the assumption that said expense account would absorb such incidentals. By now his shouts — sonic booms of Russian curses flecked with airborne spittle — were drawing attention from security. I skulked away in despair.

Panic rippled through my nervous system as my mind raced. How did fortune take such a cruel turn? Did I need to call my bank, my mom, or my priest first thing tomorrow? Would plasma centers still be open at this hour? I tried to calm myself down by thinking of the highlights of the weekend, which, prior to financial ruin, had gone swimmingly.

Photo: Johnny Motley

There was the luxury poolside cabana we booked after checking into our suites at Ocean Casino Resort. In our air-conditioned canopy, we drained Seed Beer IPAs and ate shrimp cocktails while soaking up views of the ocean and the Atlantic City Ferris Wheel. There was an epic dinner at Ocean Steak, a feast that would have made Frank Sinatra giddy: charred porterhouses, a platter of oysters, and a bottle of Napa Valley cabernet sauvignon. Then, a concert by America, an underrated classic rock band, at Ovation Hall.

But, alas, after all the carefree fun came that doomed decision to storm the casino one last time.

I lit a Pall Mall, and a scene flashed through my mind: the cast of Jersey Shore, regulars at the Ocean Casino Resort, drinking at 1927 Lounge, a cocktail bar on the property. A wild idea began to take shape and I knew exactly what to do. I would find Snooki.

Like a fever dream, I started to play out an alternate future. Snooki would bring me luck at the blackjack table. I would earn enough to live in the Presidential Suite at the Ocean Casino Resort, and catch rock shows from the likes of Lynyrd Skynyrd and Shinedown at Ovation Hall. Boardwalk strolls at sunset, no second guessing expensive drinks at 1927 Lounge. I’d play blackjack, but never for serious money, and I’d toss winnings to dealers who nicknamed me Cowboy.

Every two weeks in the summer months, I would take Blade back to New York City to check my mailbox and water my plants.

It wasn’t meant to be. Blade’s summer helicopter schedule between NYC and Atlantic City, however, is a blessed reality for a city getaway unlike any other.