Regions of France

Provence

Sunlit villages, lavender fields — and the rosé the world tries to copy.

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The region

The light here ruined a generation of painters.

Van Gogh, Cézanne, Picasso — none of them could leave, and none of them ever quite got it down. What they were chasing was never the lavender or the ochre; it was the light that makes both of them impossible. We can't sell you the light. But we know whose terrace catches it best, and which gate stays shut to everyone else.

600 BC — the first vines40% of France's rosé20,000 hectares of lavenderCézanne's mountain, unchanged

Two thousand years — under an open sky

History that never went indoors.

Romans who built an arena still standing after two thousand years. Popes who ruled Christendom from a fortress on the Rhône. A postman's son who painted his way to genius, four streets from here.

We walk it after the gates close — a private hour in the Palais des Papes by candlelight, the Arles arena at dusk with an archaeologist, Van Gogh's wheatfields with the historian who wrote his biography.

A Provençal picnic spread with rosé, figs and cheese

Sun, oil, and no apology

The Provençal table.

You don't eat at Provence. You eat from it.

Liquid gold

Huile d'olive AOP

Les Baux, Nyons — pressed within hours, not shipped.

Tapenade noire

Olives, capers, anchovy — ground by hand, still.

Herbes de Provence

Thyme, rosemary, savory — wild, not jarred.

The rosé, and what it hides

Côtes de Provence

Pale, dry, deceptively simple.

Bandol

Mourvèdre reds built to age decades, not summers.

Cassis blanc

Mineral whites the rosé fame overshadows.

The black diamond

Truffe noire du Luberon

Hunted at dawn, gone from the market by ten.

Truffle omelette

The only dish that lets it speak alone.

Richerenches, in winter

France's truffle capital, every Saturday morning.

The market & the sea

Bouillabaisse

Marseille's stew, saffron and strict rules.

Daube provençale

Beef, red wine, olives — slow, on purpose.

Fougasse & figs

Bread shaped like a leaf, fruit still warm from the tree.

The Mediterranean coast near the Calanques

Every Provence we design is different

No two of our journeys are the same. Tell us yours.

Speak to Marie

Gordes

Built from its own cliff. Unmoved in a thousand years.

A village carved from the rock it stands on — and below it, an abbey ringed by lavender that blooms for three weeks a year.

A sketch of what we\'d build you

Journeys we've made here.

Six we've designed here. Open one to see how it goes.

A milestone anniversary

The village built from its own cliff

See the journey

A proposal

The arena, just before the light goes

See the journey

A honeymoon

Rosé among the rows

See the journey

A private stone bastide among cypresses in the Luberon

A family escape

The house that was theirs for a week

See the journey

A quiet morning

The vines, before the heat

See the journey

A candlelit terrace dinner in Aix-en-Provence

A private dinner

Dinner that started at eight and ended at one

See the journey

0104

A travel house — not a tourism office

Why us.

A tourism office hands you a map. We hand you to the people who are Provence — the winemaker, the truffle hunter, the historian who wrote the book on Van Gogh's years here. Twenty-five years of friendships open doors no brochure can.

iTwenty-five years of real relationshipsNot suppliers on a commission — friends who open their own doors.

iiAround fifty journeys a year, never off-the-shelfEach built from nothing. We turn most inquiries away.

iiiMarie reads every inquiry herselfA real conversation, and a reply within two days — or nothing at all.

Start a conversation

Begin here

Tell us the Provence you want to feel.

A lavender field at sunset, a truffle hunt with a historian, a rosé poured by the person who made it.

Marie reads every inquiry herself and writes back within two days.

No itinerary · No brochure · A real conversation

Write to Marie