(Tribune Media Services) -- Market days are an especially big deal throughout France. No single event better symbolizes the French preoccupation with fresh products and their strong ties to the farmer than the weekly market. And in no other region is it more celebrated than in Provence.

You can find an endless array of products at Provencal markets, from clothing to crafts, art to antiques, pates to picnic fare (produce, meats, cheeses, crusty golden baguettes and pastries). The best of all market worlds may rest in the picturesque town of Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, where, on Sunday mornings, a brilliant food marche tangles with an active flea market and a good selection of antiques. I like to sip a coffee at a sidewalk table at Cafe de France and enjoy the carnival-like scene.

Arles stands out among Provencal market towns. Here the ring road erupts twice a week into an open-air market of fish, flowers, ready-for-ratatouille baskets of produce -- everything but car traffic. Join in. Try the olives, sniff the lavender and sample the wine. The beauty of Arles' market is its international flavor, reflecting how Provence remains a crossroads of Mediterranean cultures. In addition to local items, you may find spices from Morocco and Tunisia, paella and saffron from Spain and fresh pasta from Italy.

Markets typically begin at about eight in the morning and end by one in the afternoon. Set-up commences in the pre-dawn hours -- a good reason not to stay in a main-square hotel the night before market day. Bigger towns may have two weekly markets, one a bit larger than the other, with more nonperishable goods. The biggest market days are usually on weekends, so that everyone can partake.

Perishable items are sold directly from the producers -- no middlemen, no Visa cards -- just really delicious, fresh produce. Samples are usually free, including small cups of locally produced wines or ciders. You'll find different items throughout the season.

The Ferry Building, that long, tall landmark where Market Street meets the Embarcadero, is where they brought the injured after the great San Francisco quake of 1906. It's the hub that drew as many as 50,000 commuters daily across the bay before there were any big bridges here, then sent them back across the water at day's end. It's the monument that a freeway amputated from the rest of the city in the 1950s, its clock tower left to jut into the fog like a forgotten gravestone.

Now it lives to make people hungry. On a brilliant summer day, my wife, daughter and I step in and take seats at Mijita, one of several restaurants that now occupy the Ferry Building. But before we can dig in, a woman steps up, eyes my wife's plate and blurts a question.

"Is that the empanada with squash blossoms?"

"Yes," says Mary Frances. Then, a few minutes later, a white-haired man appears behind her shoulder. He too scrutinizes her plate, now nearly empty.

"Excuse me," he says. "What was that?"

"The best empanada in the world," says Mary Frances. He heads toward the counter.

Here are my questions. Why doesn't anybody care about my mushroom quesadilla? And who could have guessed that after spending much of the 20th century in the throes of a slow death, the heart of San Francisco would be reborn as its tongue?

Born in 1898 and reborn in 2003, the old, new Ferry Building has not only helped revive the art of aqua-commuting but also has established itself as a foodie haven like no place Southern California has ever seen. About 40 retailers and restaurants peddle all things organic, artisanal and upscale. One of the liveliest farmers markets in the West springs up here Tuesdays and Saturdays (and this summer, Thursdays as well), with about 80 farmers and 30 artisanal food-makers.

(Tribune Media Services) -- We are sitting cross-legged in the water, 60 feet underground in a Mexican cave surrounded by some of the most beautiful formations I've ever seen, as the niece of a famous shaman chants a Mayan prayer asking the gods to let us go in peace.
Stalagmites hang overhead in a cave along Mexico's Riviera Maya.

Stalagmites hang overhead in a cave along Mexico's Riviera Maya.

Not your typical day at a Mexican beach resort, though we'll hit the pool later. We're just an hour or so from Cancun, a few miles from Playa del Carmen, five miles off the highway along a bumpy road in Rio Secreto, a unique cave just opened to the public last year, after the owner of the land, Don Cleo, inadvertently discovered it while chasing one of his animals.

There are underground "cenotes" (roughly translated it means sacred water that gives life) -- river systems that crisscross the Riviera Maya. What makes this cave so unique, explains our guide Andres Orozco, is that it's the only one not completely flooded.

There are thousands of stalagmites overhead -- big ones, small ones that look like sunbursts. We follow our guide Andres down past giant calcium dunes. He explains cenotes were holy for the Mayans. In another part of the cave not open to the public, they have found pottery dating back to 800 AD. Archaeologists from Mexican museums have yet to confirm their value. "We want people to appreciate what came before us," Andres explains.

Whether you want adventures like this with your kids, or to learn about endangered sea turtles or if you simply want to hit the beach, there's no better time to visit Mexico. Don't let swine flu keep you away, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention says Mexico is safe and tourist spots are far removed from those experiencing political turmoil.

The Heceta Head Lighthouse near Yachats, Ore., stands on a seaside slope as spectacular as anything in Big Sur, and there's a bed-and-breakfast in the lightkeeper's home next-door. Be nice, and the innkeepers will let you stand beneath the lighthouse tower after dark.

From here you can follow the beam as it scans the western horizon, cutting through the misty air for miles. Coming ashore, the beam crawls across the cliff face on the other side of the inlet, then flashes through the nearby evergreens like a spotlight on the heels of a fleeing thief. Then to sea again.

Every time another revolution begins, you think, "I am wearing the mother of all headlamps." And then: "This trip was a very good idea."

I've just spent seven days driving the coast of Oregon and Washington, covering 1,149 miles. In my prelaunch dreams, this trip did not begin with Horizon Airlines misplacing my luggage and did not continue with me at the wheel of a Kia Spectra.