RICH MAN, POOR MAN : In a battle of budgets, two world travelers enjoy opposite extremes on the Big Island of Hawaii

Travel guru Arthur Frommer has a theory that the less money you spend on a vacation, the better time you have. We tested the premise on the Big Island of Hawaii. We separated Tom Callahan and Dave Kindred, who have traveled the golf world together, and sent one to the caviar/mai-tai side, the other to the Egg McMuffin/Hawaiian Punch side. As to which pal had the better time, you be the judge.

Kona on caviar

BY TOM CALLAHAN

For a pittance of $3,006, you get a lot in Kona.

You get four nights at the Four Seasons Resort. Your $395 room overlooks King's Pond, home to 3,500 different kinds of fish. Like Luca Brasi, you may swim with them but are advised to keep your hands to your sides as much as possible, keeping in mind the guidebook's caution that "large, abrupt or jerky movements often frighten fish," causing many to crash on the rocks.

While none of the fish are said to be predatory, it is recommended you particularly avoid the stinging spines of the Spotted Eagle Rays, who dislike being stepped on. Yellow Tang and surgeonfish sometimes employ scalpel-like fins against those who grab them. Don't grab them.

For an additional $155-per-round (plus $15 for all-day range privileges), you get to play golf at the Four Seasons' Hualalai course, a meticulously manicured and beautifully bunkered Jack Nicklaus design so generously situated in a frame of black lava that any ball landing in the lava deserves to be in the lava. Mauna Kea ($110-$195), Hapuna ($110-$195), Mauna Lani ($75-$200) and the Waikoloa Beach Resort ($105-$195) are among the courses nearby.

The third hole at Mauna Kea, a par 3 that requires a long shot from an island to a cloud, may be the most famous real estate on the Kohala Coast. But all of it is choice. Big-ticket, broad-shouldered resorts line the coast, cheek by jowl, like luxury yachts in Monte Carlo harbor. Mauna Lani, which sounds like a part for Dorothy Lamour, has fairways nearly too lush to be grass. This entire side of the island is dedicated to advancing the theme: What God could have done if only He had the money.

Rounds can be arranged at the other places. But to play Hualalai, you must be a registered guest at the Four Seasons.

In a spotlighted cafe right on the ocean's edge, the caviar costs $100 even. When mixed with the rain from a sudden cloudburst, it looks remarkably like black bean soup. While the caviar is not included in the cost of the room, breakfast is, along with Maureen Dowd; that is, along with a faxed Reader's Digest version of The New York Times.

Sea turtles with shells the size of manhole covers sun themselves on the beach. They are as haughtily aware of their sacred status as the cattle of Katmandu. For an extra $50,000, plus one year in jail, you may menace the turtles.

Among the other things you don't get for $3,006:

Seaweed body masques, Dead Sea mud baths and rehydrating aloe wraps. Of course, the sting of bonus charges must be measured against the embarrassment of having the only skin on the property that hasn't been properly exfoliated. First hot and then cold rocks are placed on and under the body, followed by a deeply moving massage with a basalt stone. The balance brought about by this leaves you with a feeling of wholeness.

The rooms, beyond lush in their teak and mahogany motif, come with everything but Peter Lorre and Sydney Greenstreet; in fact, there's two of anything you can think of: two kinds of robes, "Everlast" style or Japanese; two kinds of slippers; two kinds of music; two kinds of Scotch. There are all manners of fresh fruits and chocolates.

Towels? They could be wrapped at least twice, maybe three times, around Craig Stadler. They're impossible to steal, unless you brought a steamer trunk.

I was at the Four Seasons, by the way, because Kindred won the toss and shrewdly elected Uncle Billy's in Hilo, on the other side of the island. Rich man, poor man, don't you know.

The Four Seasons is said to be a playground for rich celebrities, and there was a rumor that Heather Locklear was abroad somewhere. I wondered if she'd like a snorkel.

Except for the staff, bubbling with sincere Alohas and unfeigned Mahalas (not at all as tinny-sounding as they can be in Honolulu), most of the guests, especially the men, looked a trifle grumpy. Their expressions seemed to say: "I can more than afford this, but that doesn't mean I don't bitterly resent paying it."

One evening, I took a sunset sail ($80) that integrated the sour citizens of the Four Seasons with cheerful folk from some hellhole without air-conditioning in Kona.

"I haven't slept in three days," complained a woman from Albuquerque who was keeping somebody else's husband company. (To be fair, she wasn't really complaining.) "Every night, drenched in sweat, I'm always just on the brink of finally dozing off when the birds start cawing. I don't mind. I'll sleep when I get home."

The captain of the Manu'Iwa was bracing for a solo sail to San Diego. Actually, he was flying to San Diego and sailing back.