Around the World in 11 Days

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There are several. First, I am limited to six stops, no more than three in one continent, and I can only fly in one direction; no doubling back. (Not a problem; I don't care.) Second, I must complete any travel within one year. (Not a problem; I have only 11 days.) Third, the most direct routes between two cities may not be available. (I am in no hurry.) Fourth—and here is the zinger—the awards are subject to limited seat availability and blackout dates. (I'll work around this limitation if it means a free ticket.)

Adding to the challenge, I provide some parameters: maximum of 11 days, with stops in Europe, Russia, and the Far East.

Good News, Bad News

"Let me work on it," Ms. Greene cheerfully says. "Rather than keep you on hold, I'll call you back."

Within half an hour, Ms. Greene calls back to suggest some routes. Her suggestions underscore the illogical world of airline restrictions. Around-the-world award tickets, she tells me, depend on seat "inventories," which vary, depending on the number of paid-ticket sales. "If we are not selling seats, the inventory control group will make more seats available," she says. "I am happy to say we have been selling a lot of seats."

This may be happy news for Delta, which recently emerged from bankruptcy, but it's not such good news for me.

Ms. Greene offers some circuitous routes around the world which involve more time in airplanes than in the cities I would visit. Over several months and repeated calls to the Atlanta center, I settle on New York-Budapest-Moscow-Beijing-Seoul-New York. Ms. Greene debits 220,000 from my Sky Miles and sends me a paper ticket.

Traveling Incognito

My trip begins. I treat myself to a helicopter ride from midtown Manhattan to JFK International Airport. I clear security at the heliport, saving time when the helicopter drops me off steps away from the terminal.

I board a Delta flight to Budapest, disguised as a civilian. I eschew my gray business suit, yellow tie, and tasseled leather shoes in favor of jeans, sneakers, a baseball cap, sunglasses, and an old sport jacket. Even though I am flying as a civilian I adhere to the same basic rule I follow when flying for business: travel light. If it doesn't fit in the carry-ons, it doesn't go.

Instead of toting my bulging briefcase, I carry a backpack (okay, it's a Tumi backpack) containing a Nikon D-80 digital camera, two lenses, a Bose Quiet Comfort II noise-canceling headset (thank you, Delta), a tripod, and an iPod, plus an assortment of chargers and power adapters. I regret to say the laptop comes along, as does the BlackBerry, so that I can handle ongoing client crises.

Worn Around the Edges

Traveling in the front of the Delta flight to Budapest, I study the flight attendants and the other passengers. Mostly suits and a couple that might be rock stars. The flight attendants are friendly. I don't sense that they lavish any more attention on the suits, as I'd think they would. One suit in the row behind recognizes my firm's name on my baseball cap. My cover is blown. We are staying at the same hotel and we later chat briefly about mutual acquaintances.

Delta's Business Elite international service is consistent and pleasant, but the cabin is tired and worn around the edges. This will change when Delta introduces its new, state-of-the-art, fold-down beds in its Business Elite this year. While the flight is several steps up from domestic first class, it is not as good as, say, Virgin Atlantic's Upper Class. Still, Delta's Business Elite lounges help ease the transition at the airport and make waiting time less unpleasant.

Aeroflot (AFLT) is another story. Based on the looks of horror I receive when I tell my friends I am flying Aeroflot, I expect the worst. Two clients, independently, asked to take out a life insurance policy on me, naming them as beneficiaries.

At Least the Vodka's Good

I envision a Soviet-style cargo plane and half expect to sit next to a goat on a wooden bench, with ropes for seat belts, and beefy humorless flight attendants in military fatigues. My encounter with the surly ticket agent in Budapest reinforces this fear.

On the Budapest-to-Moscow leg, the Oligarch Class cabin of the Tupolov 154 is comfortable but drab. The service is polite, cold, and perfunctory. The smooth Russian vodka, however, partially compensates for the tepid, overcooked gray lunch and the Budapest baggage incident. The seats recline ever so slightly, but, to my relief there are no goats, even in Proletariat Class. (That's just my joke: Aeroflot uses the terms "business class" and "economy class" like everyone else.) The seat belts are not made of rope, but the buckles are rusty. I wonder if I have made a huge mistake, but it is too late. They shut the doors and the plane is on the runway. I close my eyes and we take off.

Aeroflot does much better on its flight to Beijing. The plane is bigger, cleaner, and more comfortable, but the service is still a bit cold and impersonal, much like Moscow itself. They let me carry two bags on board without an argument. Considering the flight is headed to China, I wonder why the flight crew makes announcements only in Russian and in heavily accented English. I also wonder why the passengers applaud when the plane finally lands in Beijing.

If it's Saturday, This Must Be Seoul

The 14-hour Korean Air flight to New York is comfortable, and I welcome the fully reclining seats. (Delta has partnered with 19 airlines around the world, including Aeroflot, Korean Air (KRNRF), AeroMexico (AEMXF), and Alitalia.) Due to the peculiarities of the international dateline, the Boeing 747 arrives in New York at a time before it left Seoul on Saturday.

The fast pace of continuous travel is disconcerting. Two or three days in each city lets you sample local color, but not adjust to it. One day I am standing in the middle of Red Square, the next day in the middle of Tiananmen Square. Cultures, cuisines, and currencies begin to meld. By the time I get to Seoul my pockets are stuffed with a potpourri of foreign currency—dollars, forint, rubles, yuan, and won. My head is spinning with conversion rates, and I cannot figure out how many dollars convert to the won needed for a taxi to my hotel.

Next Time: Leave the BlackBerry at Home

Adding to the confusion is the incongruity of using modern communication technology on historical sites. I learn that my electronic tether, the omnipresent BlackBerry, has full coverage in Red Square and on the Great Wall of China, but not in Korea. This allows me to talk to a client in Denver about a pressing regulatory issue while standing on a centuries-old guard tower overlooking the mountains in Mutianyu, but not in the Ritz-Carlton in Seoul the following day, or the FDR drive in Manhattan the following week.

In 11 days, but for the Aeroflot baggage experience, I achieved my goal. I traveled 16,398 miles in 32 hours and 5 minutes, not including the eight-minute helicopter ride from midtown Manhattan to JFK airport. This rapid pace of travel is not for everyone. Next time, I will spend more time in one place, less time in airplanes. And maybe lose the BlackBerry.

Jay G. Baris is a partner in the New York law firm of Kramer Levin Naftalis & Frankel. .