Almost marooned in Borneo

KOTA KINABALU -- Dark clouds were approaching the harbor at noon today when I took a launch out to Sapi Island. I swam a bit in the warm water and watched exotic fish wiggle around the corral. (One irate fish attacked me, no doubt an escapee from the fish-chew-feet salon in Kuala Lumpur.)

The clouds overhead got darker, and thicker, then dumped rain. Then came lightening. Shuttle service to Kota Kinabalu was shut down because of the risk. Were we all about to die? And how long till Sally and Michaela, shopping for knick knacks in town, would notice my absence?

Naturally, I panicked, fearful I would spend the rest of my days semi-alone on a desert island, stranded in solitude but for several dozen Japanese, Australians and French, plus a small restaurant with cases of cookies, chocolate and ice cream. No matter, panic crawled up my spine like a poisonous crustacean (I've been reading cheap novels). I looked around for a volley ball which I could name Wilson, while I made plans for losing weight, growing a beard and preparing for "Castaway II: the Sunburned Edition."

Recalling survival training I took in high school, I kept calm, placed my clothes where they would dry, developed a strategy for making fire and cooking fish. And yes, I ate a chocolate bar.

With an hour, the storm had passed and I had not starved. I might have gained a pound. Even so, I faced down the THREAT of the IDEA of death. Attached is an image of Sapi Island.

Blogging blather from Ubud

UBUD, Bali -- On our last night in Ubud, Sally and I brought the lap top and connected to the world wide web. In this exotic destination, for dinner we had chicken sandwiches. Don't you just love globalization?

I've come to realize that Ubud as some fabled destination for old-style spiritual awakening is a tad overstated, what with Rolling Stones music blaring from a nightclub and a Ralph Lauren Polo Shop just down the way on Monkey Forest Road. Perusing the local nightclub listings, I find that Ubud is one of Bali's top places to party. The hamlet is overrun with small motor bikes and cars driven by men offering you a ride. Auto fumes drifts into the restaurants. "Taxi?"

Two feet in heaven

BALI -- Those are not Brad Pitts' feet, though the confusion is common and understandable.

A brief musing on wealth, class and coach class

OVER THE PACIFIC -- This item is being written retroactively, two days after our arrival in Hong Kong. But the memories of undeserved luxury linger.

We came here on Cathay Airways, flying Business Class, thanks to cashing in about five years worth of Alaska Airlines credit card miles. If you were to book this trip through Expedia, the price for Business would be about $4,153 versus about $1,163 for Coach. Is Business worth four times as much as Coach? Well, it's 10 times as much fun. For me, its the difference between sleep or no sleep, between 13 hours of someone's elbow in your gut, between French Champagne and seltzer, and lay-flat seats (pictured) with massaging magic fingers that remind me of La-Z-Boy recliners. (Check out Cathay's dreamy introduction to its service.)

I have one friend who prides himself on traveling around the world in coach, even as far as Africa from the West Coast. A fairly good sized person, especially when his girth approaches 190 lbs., he can't always sleep on flights but is happy to read books. To him, privation is more interesting than luxury. I once traveled with him to Limerick, Ireland, where we landed in the middle of the night and checked in to a hostel and were escorted to a crowded room full of double bunks of snoring men. Recoiled, my mind immediately went to the steerage scenes in "Titanic" and I felt the presence of disappointed ancestors who had traveled in steerage to America. To the contrary, my friend inhaled the odor of 16 men in a confined space and chuckled in the darkness. He welcomed what he regarded as adventure.

And to that, I say: nuts. I am not a greedy person. I don't envy the rich... except on a few occasions such as air travel. The rich are different from you on me. On airplane flights, they are treated to real plates, French wines, chocolates, more booze and a vastly improved chance of arriving in a distant place refreshed and ready to enjoy a vacation.

You experience these distinctions especially on Cathay, the Hong Kong-based airline with some of the best service in the world. (One exception: my daughter had a lousy recent experience; another story.) On Cathay, coach has the same hip-hugging seats found everywhere but the food in the rear cabin is excellent, the service is warm and there's an open bar with booze and good snacks for the entire flight. In Business, riding in the upper deck of a 747-400, you might want to stay on the plane and skip the beaches of Bali.

I especially enjoyed how the flight attendant addressed me by name, "Mr. Gore, would you like more champagne?" I said yes three times. Then switched to a French red for the meat course, followed by a glass of Port with the cheese service. I hadn't enjoyed Port as much since my brief days at the Bodleian. I think I made a grab a little too quick when she came by with chocolates in a wooden box. I made a mental note to blog about this extraordinary service. How could she remember my name with so many others Business?

On her third pass, though, I discovered her secret: a slip of paper taped to the service cart. No matter. At least she took the time to write it down.