TRAVELING in style : THE HIGH AND THE MIGHTY : Remembering Malcolm Forbes: A holiday spent ballooning was one sure way to rise above the crowd.

The invitation came as a surprise: Malcolm Forbes had invited my wife and myself to join him at his Chateau de Balleroy in Normandy, France, to go hot-air ballooning during his 14th-annual spring house party last June, several months before Forbes’ death this past February. Flying from New Jersey aboard Forbes’ private Boeing 727, which he calls “The Capitalist Tool,” was like being ensconced in someone’s comfortable condo complete with a queen-size bed, and a large living room and dining room. We selected reclining fauteuil and settled in for a journey. The comfort, the service, the cuisine and the company of other guests contributed to the seemingly swift passage. As it turned out, we were the vanguard of a group that was invited to the 1989 International Balloon Meet and Festival at Balleroy.

As we left New Jersey, I found myself seated with Cap Weinberger, the former Secretary of Defense, and our host, the man who operates the Forbes publishing empire: a flamboyant capitalist, motorcycle fanatic and collector of everything from model boats and ships to rare Faberge eggs. The guest roster of those who joined us at Forbes’ chateau proved to be an amazing amalgam, from Stavros Niarchos, the Greek shipping magnate, to young actor Matt Dillon. There were Madam Francois Mitterand, wife of the president of France, as well as King Michael and Queen Anne of Romania and broadcaster Walter Cronkite and his charming wife Betsy. Mark Goodson, of game-show fame was there, and joining us were Her Royal Highness, Princess Chantal de France, and the Baron Francois-X de Sambucy.

It was dusk as the green and gold Capitalist Tool touched down at the little Caen-Carpiquet airport, where a convoy of cars awaited our arrival. No customs, no passport control, no checks of any sort. Just a handshake and a welcome before we drove off through the Normandy countryside. Some 20 minutes later we passed 200-year-old beech trees lining the main thoroughfare of the village of Balleroy, and ahead of us, with every room aglow, stood the chateau. We had a sense of being transported back centuries.

Later, after gathering for a late-evening supper, Forbes outlined plans for the following five days. The weekend would feature the balloon festival, and until that time he invited us to avail ourselves of his chateau, to enjoy his hospitality, explore the countryside--and simply enjoy.

Forbes’ chateau is a masterpiece of the early 17th Century, attributed to Francois Mansart, the greatest architect of his time and a major formulator of French classicism at the dawn of its golden age. Unity, balance, dignity--the chateau has it all: A magnificent structure set in superb grounds with acres of lawn surrounded by forest. The stable at Balleroy has been converted into a permanent museum to ballooning. Since its doors opened to the public in 1975, the Musee des Ballons has attracted more than 20,000 visitors annually.

We were awakened our first morning by the skirl of bagpipes somewhere off in the woods--a day that began cool and misty. There was something Brigadoon-like about the music floating up to our room on the top floor of the great mansion. At breakfast, Forbes announced that he was off to the World War II invasion beaches, which were no more than half-an-hour away, and that if any of us would like to join him, he’d escort us on a guided tour. (The ballooning would come later--the final episode of our superb adventure). Our host called for his own Harley-Davidson and along with other cyclers we traveled to the beaches of Normandy, passing through villages observing the 44th anniversary of the invasion with flags of the allied nations fluttering from their entrances.

Above Omaha Beach we walked through a field of markers for those who died during the historic invasion. graves of those who served and died. It was a moving experience, and although our host had made the pilgrimage on more than one occasion, he appeared to be as touched by the moment as any of us who were paying our first visit.

Returning to the Forbes chateau, the magazine magnate mentioned how during World War II he’d passed near the chateau with the Army and could not have imagined that one day he’d possess it: lock, stock, moat and forest, purchased from the last Comtesse de La Cour de Balleroy.

During our odyssey we found time to further explore on our own. We drove along back roads, through archetypal villages of thatched-roofed black and white timbered farmhouses, flowering apple trees and miles of rich pastureland. We explored Mont-St-Michel, which Victor Hugo had described as “the pyramid of the seas,” visiting the abbey that, in one form or another, has stood atop the island for more than 1,000 years. At the foot of the narrow, medieval, cobbled street that rises sharply toward the spire of the Abbey of Mont-Saint-Michel stood Mere Poulard’s restaurant, which has been serving omeletes to visitors for well over a century. They are cooked over an oak-wood fire, rise souffle-like, and taste slightly smokey and wonderful.

We motored elsewhere. I shall long remember the fish markets of Honfleur and Trouville in particular, with their displays of seafood, infinite in variety, glistening with freshness; dishes ready for the tables of the little restaurants and cafes that cluster alongside the port. Crabs, oysters, mussels, shrimp, langoustes, cockles and prawns--here we dined on a harvest from the sea and followed it with the finest apple tart in the world.

While we explored the countryside, preparations for the ballooning events were on-going at the chateau. A large tent for formal meals had been raised at the entrance to the castle, and balloonists were arriving from all over the world, together with crews and equipment. European royalty and celebrities, business tycoons and other notables were in evidence everywhere. A small symphony orchestra entertained on the lawn and a French military motorcycle guard of about 25 men maneuvered around the park. In the forest that surrounded the chateau, an old-fashioned fun fair appeared overnight, with bumper cars and a shooting range, cotton candy and carnival barkers. Days that began with the bagpipe ended with the sounds of laughter and the music of the carousel. During the final 48 hours some 20,000 locals converged on Balleroy for its major event of the year, the balloon festival.

After the first formal dinner that marked the opening of the festivities, our host invited us to the back lawn to observe a sound-and-light show that filled the night sky with dazzling color, accompanied by music that seemed orchestrated to each detonation.

As Saturday dawned cold and misty, Forbes was first up to greet each of 40 or so balloonists. Each year he prepares theme balloons. This year, as balloonists from the United States, Britain, Turkey, Sweden, Switzerland, Germany, Finland, Spain and elsewhere prepared to lift off, our host inflated 14 of his own balloons which he’s flown on the Forbes Friendship Tours across Thailand, Pakistan, Switzerland, China, the Soviet Union and other nations.

Can money buy happiness? Yes. I concluded that it could as I watched the face of Malcolm Forbes as his giant air-filled replica of Kyoto’s Golden Temple was being prepared. And later as his model of the Sphinx hovered over the chateau. And as his balloon, Suleyman the Great, rose gently from the lawn at Chateau de Balleroy.

There were others: the Faberge Egg and the Great Sky Elephant, both of which enthralled the audience, and the monstrous, ponderous, elephant constructed for his goodwill visit in Thailand--along with the replica of the Santa Maria that captivated Seville. Two of the all-time favorites were the half-size replica of the chateau and a replica of a Harley-Davidson. (Yes, a Harley-Davidson of all things!) With the roar of dozens of propane burners, the cheer of the crowd and a fanfare from Les Echos Du Pays Auge (the men who play the hunting horns in full livery), each balloon lifted from the grounds to drift slowly across the countryside.

Then came the other balloonists as they prepared for flight. Passengers boarded the baskets: royal heads, industrialists, celebrities, politicians and diplomats. Walter Cronkite rode with the world champion balloonist, Frank Nels, and I flew with Buddy Bombard, and we did justice to the Montgolfier brothers of Annonay, France, who set aloft in the very first hot-air balloon in 1783. There is no lovelier way to explore the countryside than in the company of dozens of other balloons, gliding over the treetops, the houses, the hedgerows, the church steeples, the villages, rivers and, in this case, the startled cows of Normandy.

Early morning and late-afternoon proved to be the best times for ascent and we made every moment count; switching balloons, meeting and getting to know each other and discovering the countryside.

On Sunday, after our final ascent, Forbes turned over the cellar of the chateau to the balloon crews for a barbecue featuring whole lamb roasted on a spit. Within the first hour, the Italians were singing arias, the Spaniards were dancing on the tables, the Germans were telling stories--and each of us was wishing that this could simply go on forever.