America's Best Flea Markets

JOSH DEAN His destination: Quito Age: 36 Home base: New York City Must-have travel item: My iPhone with Google Maps and Translator apps Argh! What he forgot to pack: A small shoulder or messenger bag for souvenirs Read his story >> MIKE KESSLER His destination: Tokyo Age: 38 Home base: Los Angeles Must-have travel items: My Canon Elph point-and-shoot and a Moleskine notebook Argh! What he forgot to pack: An umbrella-but you can buy one every three feet in Tokyo Read his story >> SEE WHO WON! Check out how they used their budgets and who came out on top >>

It was 4:00 in the morning when I realized I was suddenly alone. Well, not alone, exactly. I was sitting at the bar in a one-lightbulb Tokyo dive; there were other patrons, but I didn't know any of them, and together they looked like a casting call for a David Lynch film. There was a stern-faced guy in a samurai kimono and haircut; a 50-ish androgynous man with perfectly brushed shoulder-length hair that rested on his flowing, red-silk blouse; a grumpy 30-something salaryman in a wrinkled brown suit. I had been at the bar for several hours—those Tokyo hours after the trains stop running at midnight and there's nothing else to do—with Sho, a 30-year-old children's TV writer I had met earlier in the night. Together with the rest of the bar, we'd been singing along to every song the craggy-faced bartender played on the old turntable. I couldn't have been having a better time. Sho, however, had too much fun, pogoing up and down, singing louder than the rest of us, saying who knows what, and eventually he was escorted out of the bar and off into the night. It took me a moment to size things up. The trains wouldn't start for another hour, I was almost out of money, and I didn't even know what neighborhood I was in—much less how to get back to my hotel.... The great transpacific dollar stretch The trip started innocently enough, with the recent trend of outrageous last-minute travel deals sparking dreams of faraway adventure. I had heard about $400 fares to Mumbai, $300 flights to Moscow. Would I accept the Budget Travel Challenge and see if it was all as good as it sounded? You bet. An absolute must when looking for last-minute deals is flexibility—on your destination as well as your dates. I started my search at the three giants of Web-based booking: Travelocity, Expedia, and Orbitz, and detoured to so-called meta-search sites like Kayak and SideStep, which troll many of the other booking sites for you. I tried Cheapoair, which appeared to have some of the lowest rates by far...until I clicked through and saw the astronomical taxes and fees. There were deals, sure, but they were outnumbered by snags. L.A.–Houston–Caracas for $560 (Priceline) sounded good. But, oops, that's not eight air hours, a requirement of this competition. L.A.–Marrakech direct for $610? Yes, please. Oh, wait—that deal was valid only in the off-season, which ended 12 hours ago. I tried the recommended 30-percent-below-market-rate ­formula on Priceline and never scored. Pop-up ads dangled juicy-looking deals that fell apart in the fine print. Finally, deep into day two, buried beneath two dozen browser windows, I came across search results from igougo.com. IgoUgo is a social network/travel-planning site that lets you compare fares from online travel agencies. Among those is vayama.com, whose results looked like this: L.A.–Vancouver–Tokyo R/T Air Canada, $333. Wow. Add taxes and fees (of course) and the whole thing totaled $537.55. Not bad, considering it usually costs double that to get to Tokyo on anything classier than a tuna boat. I did some quick math: After airfare I had $662.45 left in my $1,200 budget. Adding a hotel was going to make it tight. But I took my chances and booked it. As luck would have it, one of those pop-up ads proved useful. It read: Sakura Hotel Hatagaya, Tokyo, $70 per night (1-32-3 Hatagaya, Shibuya-ku, 011-81/3-3469-5211, sakura-hotel-hatagaya.com, from $72 with breakfast). The room looked tiny, maybe 8 feet by 10 feet, but it was charming, with a platform-style bed and striped duvet cover and a hyper-compact bathroom. I reserved it free of charge for 24 hours, looked at my options (mostly $100 and up for an equally decent shoebox), and confirmed. I now had $391.73 remaining. I set aside $40 for each day of air travel (bringing me to $311.73), which left me with $77.93 for each of my four days on the ground—a challenge in any big city. Maki, Kiyoshi, and comfortable shoes The cheapest way from Narita airport to central Tokyo—by train—takes two hours and costs $18. The city's transit system charges by distance and per transfer, making it perfectly easy to spend $10, $15, even $30 a day if you're not careful. I kept my spending down by using a three-pronged method: eating at establishments that don't employ waiters, never taking a taxi, and engaging with the locals. This is how I met Maki and Kiyoshi, a couple in their late 40s who occupied two of five counter seats at Yoshimasa (2-28-4 Nishihara, Shibuya-ku, 011-81/3-3467-1580, small fish plates from $5), a narrow diner a few blocks from my hotel. Maki spoke enough English to help me order a plate of deep-red tuna sashimi and shrimp tempura; with two Sapporo drafts, dinner cost $23. If Maki, a marketing consultant, and Kiyoshi, a hydro-engineer, were giving me a show of typical Japanese hospitality, then travelers are in luck—the friendly couple helped me map a simple walking itinerary, punctuated by a few only-in-Tokyo activities each day. One day I hoofed it to Shinjuku Station, the world's busiest train stop, and watched some of the 3.4 million daily commuters walk in near silence through the cleanest subway on the planet. Aboveground, I wandered the Shinjuku district's skinny alleys, the kind that in other cities would instill fear but here are immaculate and lined with flame-spitting yakitori counters, where skewers of chicken and veggies are grilled to order. I bought a $10 standing-room ticket to see the Yomiuri Giants that afternoon at the Tokyo Dome (1-3-61 Koraku, Bunkyo-ku, 011-81/3-5800-9999, tokyo-dome.co.jp/e) and stood sipping BYO Sapporo with thousands of fans singing the team song. Next door to the baseball stadium is the Thunder Dolphin Roller Coaster (Tokyo Dome City, next to the stadium, tokyo-dome.co.jp/e/laqua/attraction.htm, $10.50), and, as I found out, there may be no better vantage for appreciating the Tokyo skyline—so vast it makes Manhattan look like downtown Albuquerque, N.M. With a pair of comfortable shoes, I discovered, Tokyo is surprisingly walkable, despite its immensity. I strolled the East ­Garden of the Imperial Palace (the palace itself is off-limits to the public); the Ginza neighborhood, where Gucci and Armani stores commingle with bonsai gardens; and the Asakusa neighborhood, where tourists throng the 1,381-year-old Senso-ji Temple and shop the Nakamise Market (next to the Senso-ji Temple, near the Asakusa station) for souvenirs—and where I hopped a $9 boat down the Sumida River to the 17th-century Hama-Rikyu Onshi Teien gardens. I ended the day at Maki and Kiyoshi's favorite sento, or traditional bathhouse: shiny-clean Sengoku-Yu, near my hotel in Hatagaya, where I paid the old lady at the door $7 and spent an hour soaking in three hot pools. Those were all worthy adventures, but none of them topped dragging myself to the 5 a.m. train bound for the Tsukiji Market (5-2-1 Tsukiji, Chuo-ku, 011-81/3-3542-1111, tsukiji-market.or.jp/tukiji_e.htm), the largest fish market in Japan. I got there in a downpour that added to the cacophony created by the beeping electric carts transporting tuna the size of wild boars. Inside, buyers with flashlights inspected the tuna, row upon row of them, and then gathered around an auctioneer to bid on the day's catch before selling it to market stalls and restaurants throughout the city. Maki and Kiyoshi invited me to keep my Friday evening free and join them at Saito Sakaba (2-30-13 Kamijujo, Kita-ku, 011-81/3-3906-6424, small plates from $3.25), their favorite izakaya, or traditional happy-hour pub, near the Jujo station. An izakaya, as Maki explained, "is where people go at the end of the week to drink and smoke and say bad things about the boss." From where I sat, at a communal table just wide enough to hold fast-arriving plates of tuna and mackerel sashimi, as well as an endless parade of sake and beer, everyone seemed to have forgotten their gripes. Maki and Kiyoshi exchanged my-country-your-country observations with me the way people do when language is a barrier-and soon enough, the young man across from us chimed in. I couldn't understand a word he said, except for this: "Randy Newman," and then "Jackson Browne." And then "David Bowie." The conversation turned to the films of Wes Anderson, and before long, our new friend bowed to Kiyoshi and insisted on taking us to a different bar. His name was Sho. "To meet you and not take you to this wonderful bar would be a shame," he said (Maki translated). "It is my favorite place in all of Tokyo." And so we left the izakaya for a tiny bar called Stories on the Odakyu line. (2-9-13 Kitazawa, Setagaya-ku, 011-81/3-3465-6843) The final reckoning Maki and Kiyoshi were long gone by now, having made the wise decision to catch the last train home. Sho was nowhere to be seen. So I sat in silence, listening to Joni Mitchell on the turntable and waiting for the day's first train, at 5 a.m. This, I realized, is the risk that comes with putting your trip in the hands of strangers: They have lives to get back to and you can be left hanging. I paid the tab ($40), and by the time I got back to my hotel, packed up, and took some cash out of an ATM to get myself Stateside, I was $50 over budget. Then again, I had just spent four days in one of the world's most expensive cities for less than it usually costs just to get there. Mike's top tip: Hang with the locals "I always get the best travel tips when I'm not expecting them—talking to a stranger or listening to a long story. If I hadn't let Maki and Kiyoshi befriend me on my first night in Tokyo, I'd never have known about the traditional Japanese sauna, or the boat ride from Asakusa, or the izakaya they took me to later that week. Those were the highlights of my trip!" KEEP GOING Read about Josh Dean's trip to Quito >> Check out how they used their budgets and who came out on top >> Go back to the homepage >>

There was a time when taking an affordable long trip at the absolute last minute was dif­ficult, if not impossible. For instance, anytime before now. Airlines have typically required seven days' advance purchase on their cheapest tickets, but dire circumstances have forced them to be more flexible. "I've never seen so many no-advance-purchase tickets available," said George Hobica, founder of bargain-hunting website Airfare Watchdog, when I called him for advice. "If you have money, travel." Amen, George! My first choices were North Africa and Turkey, because they're exotic and I had never been. Marrakech had cheap hotel deals, but searches on all the major discount engines crushed that dream: It was at least $1,000 to get there, or for that matter, to Cairo or Istanbul. Hobica suggested Rio de Janeiro, where new routes had sparked a bidding war, and suddenly the clouds parted. Flights were under $500! But then I realized I'd need a visa, which would cost an extra $130 and take as long as five days. I made a half-hearted $400 offer for a ticket on Priceline and was rejected. No time to waste—I moved on. A detour to wholesale-flights.com only fueled my frustration. There was a $437 flight to Santiago, Chile, but the site doesn't let you book online. I called the 800 number. "Sir, that will be $900," a woman told me flatly. "But your website says $437." "That's before taxes and fees. If you can get those fares, sir, good luck to you." Gee, thanks. I hung up and pushed onward, bouncing from site to site, city to city, with increasing mania. Hobica had told me that he preferred to use Orbitz or Cheap Tickets for international fares, because their search options are more flexible. I varied departure times and dates, and one city kept popping up as the cheapest: Quito, Ecuador, which I'd heard was not only spectacularly situated but also as well preserved as any colonial city in the hemisphere. No matter which way I finagled it, the fare hovered around $580, on American, with a stop in Miami. I made a last-gasp attempt at Priceline, offering $400 and getting a $560 counter, with two stops—and promptly went back to Orbitz and plugged in my credit card info. ¡Hola, Hugo Chávez! It was night when I strolled into my Quito hotel, La Casa Sol (Calama 127 and 6 de Diciembre, 011-593/2-223-0798, lacasasol.com, from $56 with breakfast), in a landmarked building in the town's nightlife center, La Mariscal. I had selected La Casa Sol by cross-referencing the reviews and locations of under-$80 spots on a number of sites (TripAdvisor, Yahoo Travel, Frommer's). I decided to begin my first day in the planet's second-highest capital city (behind La Paz, Bolivia) by ascending to the loftiest point in the area: the 15,419-foot volcano Guagua Pichincha. There was virtually no line when I arrived at Telefériqo (011-593/2-225-2753, $8), the gondola, even though guidebooks warn that the wait can be up to four hours on weekends (I was there on Sunday). At the summit, the view was amazing: The city is long and thin and extends in two directions in a valley that sits between rows of green peaks. Quito's Centro Histórico is a warren of cobbled streets with enough churches to occupy an entire afternoon, making the area a prime draw for tourists-and those looking to target tourists. As in any crowded city, it's wise to keep an eye out for pickpockets, but I never felt threatened. I visited several churches, my favorite being La Compañía de Jesús (Calle García Moreno and Calle Antonio José de Sucre, Quito, 011-593/2-258-4175, entry $2), a massive baroque affair with an ornate white exterior and an inside that could raise Liberace from the grave. Gilding its surfaces is said to have taken seven tons of gold and over 163 years of construction. From the church, I wandered into the city's verdant Plaza Grande, where a crowd was buzzing outside the steps of the Presidential Palace. Traffic was blocked off, and the steps of the grand edifice were teeming with military personnel decked out in ceremonial feathered hats, brass swords, and the like. I lingered for a while, waiting for something to happen. Then a motorcade whisked into the plaza. Commandos hopped from trucks, a band broke into song, and out stepped Ecuador's president, Rafael Correa, and his guest of honor, none other than a smirking Hugo Chávez. It was the kind of bizarre surprise that makes a trip memorable, and I celebrated with some goat stew (a national specialty) at Tianguéz (Plaza de San Francisco, Quito, 011-593/2-257-0233, sinchisacha.org, entrées from $6), a restaurant inside the base of the gigantic monastery on Plaza de San Francisco. Dessert was a bowl of tropical fruit topped with crema and raspberry sauce at the decadent Frutería Monserrate (Calle Espejo, near Plaza Grande, Quito, desserts from $2), a short walk away on Calle Espejo. And I topped it off with a pisco sour at Café Mosaico (Manuel Samaniego N8-95 and Antepara, Quito, 011-593/2-254-2871, cafemosaico.com.ec, cocktails from $5, entrées from $5), a bar/restaurant on a hillside across from Parque Itchimbía with city views so awesome that they justify the overpriced (for Quito) $5 cocktails. Maria and the magic tree Anyone can go to a city and tour churches for four days, but I wanted to experience the country's great—and proximate—diversity. And it turned out that the proprietor of La Casa Sol also owns a second hotel of the same name at the foot of a volcano overlooking Otavalo, a town famous for having one of the largest artisan markets in the Americas. I booked a room. The next morning I set out by bus, for $5, on the lurching two-and-a-half-hour journey through the Andes to the other La Casa Sol (from $56 with breakfast and dinner), a multicolored lodge that tumbles down a hillside like a waterfall. My tab for one night in a large room with a fireplace and a small terrace: $56, including breakfast and dinner. I will forever remember it as one of the great bargains of my traveling life. For an additional $15, the lovely desk clerk Marisol told me, she could have a hiking guide take me to see some local sites: Peguche Falls, a sacred waterfall; and El Lechero, a tree considered to have magical powers. I took her up on it and spent the afternoon in the footsteps of a guide named Maria, who so easily navigated gnarled trails and treacherous scree slopes despite wearing slippers and what appeared to be a formal black skirt that I dubbed her the Slipper Ninja. Back at La Casa Sol that evening, I ate every scrap of the four-course meal, downed a bottle of Argentine merlot, and asked the waiter to prepare a fire in my room. I was asleep by 10. Paying the gringo tax I started my final full day at the Mercado 24 de Mayo, the labyrinthine market where Otavalo's townspeople shop. It is a poorly lit maze of stalls offering fruit, nuts, batteries, and towels, and it has a whole section stocked with tripe, sheep heads, and piles of quartered chickens. It was a stark contrast to the city's claim to fame, Otavalo Artisan Market (Plaza de Ponchos, Otavalo), which is in a square known—I kid you not—as the Plaza de Ponchos. I did not purchase a poncho, but I did my gringo duty by picking up a pair of drawstring pants, a bunch of cheap silver jewelry, a painting, and an alpaca-wool blanket. For my return to Quito, Marisol arranged alternative transport that seemed almost decadent: a cab. Not my own cab—that would be a budget-busting $40—but a shared cab, courtesy of Taxi Lagos, for $7.50. The driver put one of my bags on the roof and motioned me to a sliver of seat next to two sleeping women, one of whom almost immediately began to teeter toward me. In the back—the trunk, essentially—was another woman, and in the front passenger seat was the tiniest old man I'd ever seen. Three long hours later, the cab dropped me off in Quito at Hotel Café Cultura (Robles 513 and Reina Victoria, Quito, 011-593/2-222-4271, cafecultura.com, from $109), a century-old mansion converted by a Hungarian designer into an eccentric boutique hotel. I had budgeted for a splurge on my final night, and it worked without me really even trying. With $250 left for the hotel, dinner, and some taxis, I decided to treat myself at Zazu (Mariano Aguilera 33 and La Pradera, Quito, 011-593/2-254-3559, zazuquito.com, entrées from $10), a Latin American fusion restaurant considered to be one of the best in South America and the kind of place where men in expensive suits eat alongside beautiful, much-younger women. It wasn't hard to understand the allure—from the ceviche sampler to the grouper in a spicy cream sauce, everything was extraordinary. Along with champagne, dessert, half a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and tip, my total was $75. My planning had been perfect: I had just enough cash left to get to the airport, and then home to my Brooklyn apartment in a taxi—or so I thought. I neglected to factor in one last surprise: a $41 exit tax, payable at check-in. I busted the budget, yes. But it was a small price to pay. Josh's top tip: Get out of the city and explore! "Quito is spectacular on its own, but it's also special because of its proximity to Ecuador's diverse countryside. Within an hour of the city, you'll find beautiful 19th-century haciendas on volcanic plains, as well as ecolodges in lush rain forests. Combine all that with cheap transport, and there's no reason not to wander, even during a short trip." KEEP GOING Read about Mike Kessler's trip to Tokyo >> Check out how they used their budgets and who came out on top >> Go back to the homepage >>

If the two forks of Long Island's East End were sisters, the North Fork would undoubtedly be the innocent, modest one. She has none of the glitz of her southern peninsular twin, the Hamptons. Celebrities don't seem to pay her much attention. She faces the quiet Long Island Sound instead of the lusty open ocean. And instead of a party scene, she offers bucolic countryside dotted with wineries and farm stands. But, as with sex appeal, geographic appeal is a matter of taste. Some of us prefer the North Fork's easygoing charm to her famous sister's haughty glamour. The North Fork may not be as posh as the Hamptons, in other words, but she has a better personality. "The North Fork is like a young Sonoma," says Joe Watson, who opened Vine Wine + Café, in Greenport, one of the area's biggest villages, in 2006. Long Island's wine country occupied fewer than 20 acres of vineyards some 35 years ago, but today there are more than 4,000 acres. Local wines have been touted in Wine Spectator. This—in combination with easy access to fresh seafood and produce—has attracted a thriving group of epicures. Chef Tom Colicchio (of Top Chef fame, owner of the Craft restaurant empire, and cofounder of Manhattan's tony Gramercy Tavern) bought a house here in 2004. The area has not, however, become too enamored of its own success. Towns have been gently burnished, but their rural character has remained unchanged. "This is the last vestige of what all of Long Island used to be," says Chris Baiz, owner of The Old Field Vineyards in Southold. Only about 75 miles from Manhattan, the North Fork juts into the Long Island Sound, separated from the Hamptons by the Peconic Bay. The peninsula itself is only about 30 miles long. At Riverhead, strip malls begin to give way to open spaces and, every few miles, a speck of a village just off the road. First Mattituck, then Cutchogue, Greenport, and at the far tip, Orient. When my husband and I turn off Main Road (Route 25) and arrive in Greenport on Friday afternoon, we wander down a quiet side street to Vine. We've been told it's a good spot to start sampling North Fork wines: The restaurant serves a dozen local varieties by the taste, the glass, or the bottle. The carefully considered restaurant and wine bar occupies an old-fashioned house on a corner lot and has plenty of outdoor seating on a front porch and a terrace. It's hard to imagine that when Watson first started coming out to the area 10 years ago, much of the town's main street was vacant. "Greenport was still a shambles," he recalls. "So many houses have been bought and fixed up now. It's becoming a cute little village, like Sag Harbor but not as precious." A meal can be assembled from the various small bites or more substantial dishes on the menu, but Watson says he wants to keep the focus on wine. "I love when people have a couple of glasses of wine and some olives, and just hang out," he says—which sounds like a fine way to spend a weekend. On Saturday, we begin hunting and gathering. Many of the area wineries encourage visitors to bring a picnic to go along with their wine, and we stop at some farm stands for provisions. On Main Road in the village of Cutchogue, Wickham's Fruit Farm has been operated by the same family for about 70 years. Fresh doughnuts (cinnamon, plain, or sugar) are brought out by the plateful, and there are jars of jam, containers of flavored honey sticks, a table of pies, and pick-your-own fruit out back. I settle for some fresh-baked bread, a pint of strawberries, and homemade cucumber salad for our alfresco feast. We reach the Shinn Estate Vineyards in Mattituck in time to share our picnic spread and taste some wine before catching a tour of the grounds by owner-vintner Barbara Shinn. Shinn and her husband, David Page, established their vineyard in 2000 and later sold their acclaimed Home Restaurant in Greenwich Village. They were determined to run a completely organic farm despite numerous warnings that it was an impossible feat with the fluctuating East Coast weather conditions. Through a combination of experimentation and perseverance, they have succeeded in creating a sustainable vineyard. Instead of chemical-based treatments, their biodynamic approach means rows are lush with overgrown grass and flowers that attract beneficial bugs—a natural pest control for the vines. "Out here, you realize how fragile the ecosystem is," Shinn says. When Shinn and Page bought the farm, their immediate goal was to keep the land from being developed. The gaping hole between the declining profit­ability of farming and the soaring property values made the area vulnerable. Shinn and Page have been able to protect their land in perpetuity thanks to a law that allows them to get cash rewards for signing away their development rights to government authorities. "Farmers are paid to preserve the land," says Shinn. Because rosé wines are among my favorites, we head to Southold's Croteaux Vineyards. They specialize in rosés, and their four offerings have notes like peach, cherry, and vanilla. The property has five buildings from the 18th and 19th centuries, and the shady courtyard with red wrought-iron furniture looks a bit like a Hollywood fantasy of a vineyard setting—but it's real. We make our way to the very tip of the North Fork, and just before the town of Orient, a narrow bridge of land affords a view of a handful of large gracious homes along the shoreline. On the main street, Village Lane, the houses suddenly shrink, giving Orient the feel of a Victorian-era Lilliput. Perhaps in size they are cottages, but many look more like brightly painted toy mansions. At the curve in Village Lane, we come to a small harbor and find swans swimming in the ocean. Right at this spot is Edgewater Cottage, which has three apartments that share a front porch overlooking the water and a private strip of sandy beach. Many of the affordable places to stay on the North Fork are '60s-era motels that have a certain kitschy appeal but generally fall into the category of adequate. The airy, cedar-shingled Edgewater is a refreshing anomaly. The apartments—with Shaker-style chairs and checked tablecloths—are simple in a way that's well suited to the setting. On Sunday morning, we make it to the Love Lane Kitchen by 10 a.m., when tables are still plentiful. Wise move, since by 11 there's a wait outside. The home-style food (a big jug of real maple syrup for the thick French toast), friendly staff, and low-key vibe (a large self-serve coffee setup...why doesn't every breakfast spot do this?) make me fervently wish the café was located around the corner from my house. I also wish we were around long enough to come back for dinner: Love Lane's uncomplicated menu hits that sweet spot between the area's beachy eats and fussy white-tablecloth options. As we head back out toward more wine tasting, I spot the sign for Catapano Dairy Farm in Peconic, and we do a quick U-turn. Our reward: a private audience with a contented herd of goat kids. Catapano's fresh chèvre, also sold at many of the local farm stands, is delicately flavored and so creamy-soft that it's almost fluffy (the American Cheese Society named it the country's best goat cheese in 2005). If you were to pick a winery that best represents the North Fork idyll, the Old Field would be it. It has been farmed by Chris Baiz's family for 90 years. He and his wife, Ros, bought the farm from their relatives to save it from being sold and subdivided. "We decided this was something we needed to do," explains Ros. "Otherwise this land was going to be developed, and that seemed like a horrible, horrible thing to do." One end of the property faces Main Road, and the other fronts Southold Bay. (The Baizes are growing oysters there this year.) Large, rambling, and relaxed, the Old Field is shaded by enormous, ancient trees and has its own pond, plus bay views. The property, largely unchanged for 150 years, is scattered with old buildings and barns. You can take a tour of the vineyard to learn about the grapes, wine making, and the harvest. But you can just as easily wander off to sit under a tree with the new release, Blush de Noir rosé. I make a point of stopping in to some of the midsize and larger wineries before heading back to Manhattan. At Pindar Vineyards, the biggest, a crowd of 35 people taste from more than 20 options, dozens of bottles of wine are stacked on a counter, and across the field a warehouse building bears a massive company logo. But the staff is jolly, and there's a large covered deck out back for drinking and relaxing. It's a different kind of social scene—more bar than family room. I miss the small vineyards I experienced first. Talking with the owners, hearing their love for their grapes, seeing their determination to preserve the North Fork's open spaces—all of this while sitting in what are essentially their backyards—just makes the wine taste better. LODGING Edgewater Cottage 2072 Village Ln., Orient, edgewatercottage.net, from $150 FOOD Vine Wine + Café 100 South St., Greenport, vinewinebar.com, entrées from $15 Love Lane Kitchen 240 Love Ln., Mattituck, lovelanekitchen.com, entrées from $12 WINERIES The Old Field Vineyards 59600 Rte. 25, Southold, theoldfield.com, $10 for tour and tasting Shinn Estate Vineyards 2000 Oregon Rd., Mattituck, shinnestatevineyards.com, $8.50 for tour and tasting Croteaux Vineyards 1450 South Harbor Rd., Southold, croteaux.com, tasting $5 for three wines and sangria Pindar Vineyards 37645 Rte. 25, Peconic, pindar.net, tasting $4 for five wines FARM STANDS Wickham's Fruit Farm 28700 Rte. 25, Cutchogue, wickhamsfruitfarm.com, jam $6 Catapano Dairy Farm 33705 Rte. 48, Peconic, catapanodairyfarm.com, goat cheese $8 for 4.5 ounces PSST! THEY CALL IT "NOFO" And a couple other insider tips... There's nothing stuffy about tasting wine on the North Fork. Most people would rather sip and talk than spit their wine out in a bucket and make notes about it. The majority of the wineries are small, so if you're in a big group it's best to call ahead. Some have random hours; check online before you show up.