I was not surprised when applause broke out as the pilot touched down at the Quito airport, high in the Ecuadorean Andes. In five and a half years as the Frugal Traveler columnist, I’ve learned that cheering a safe arrival is a standard (and lovable) practice in some parts of the world.

What struck me was how muffled the merriment sounded, through the curtains that separated their cramped quarters from my opulent perch in seat 1A. Apparently, those of us who can afford business class don’t cheer. But why? That’s the sort of mystery I hoped to solve on this journey.

I had been separated from the thrifty throngs — my people — through the whim of an editor, who, for my final column, decided it would be entertaining to send me on a luxury trip. My counteroffer: I’d do the first half high-end, and close with a frugal flourish.

I’ve been suspicious of high-end travel since long before I started this job in 2010 with a 13-week bus, boat and train trip from São Paulo to New York. My skepticism has only deepened as I so often watched my skimpy budget lead to serendipitous adventure. “The more you spend, the less you see,” I say with annoying frequency.