Life in a village of Provence, France

The medieval village of Gordes, perched in the heart of the Lubéron, Provence

When the bustle of summer had passed, the village returned to its extraordinary tranquillity. It was then that I truly savoured its beauty. I wandered along narrow, cobbled streets and conversed with the artists whose living creations breathed in the ateliers.

Gérard, who had come from Savoy, worked meticulously with olive wood, producing objects of rare elegance, sold alongside heaps of bric-à-brac rescued from the many old houses of Provence. Robert and Nadine ran a small gallery, offering watercolours full of light and subtlety. Claude Victor, a scion of the region’s minor nobility, worked enamel upon copper and glass, his renown stretching to the Côte d’Azur. Gabrielle, having left her native Lorraine, sold coloured glass imported from her hometown, while Léonard had lined his shop with sacks of lavender, mint, and thyme, and on the shelves lay large jars of dried herbs cultivated by local farmers on their estates.

Saint-Paul-de-Vence, the picturesque Place de la Fontaine, Provence

One afternoon, as I ascended a street beside the central fountain, I paused before a shop window, captivated by two books. I studied their bindings with care. Beneath the letters of the title was a carved image, the handiwork of the artist’s inspiration. Softly, I murmured, Symphonie en blanc majeur. Entranced by the musicality of the words, I entered the studio to speak with the artist. To my surprise, he was my neighbour, a man with whom I had exchanged no words all summer, always seeming hurried by the demands of his work. His name was Amédée, and in that atelier, at last, he truly noticed me.

The charming medieval village of Èze, perched upon a rocky promontory and gazing over the French Riviera

The autumn days passed with a serene rhythm, immersed in that authentic and profoundly human atmosphere. Here, the stresses and clatter of modern life had no place. And if happiness can be measured in fleeting moments, I experienced it in abundance — hours, even days, while painting and watching from above as the lavender fields spread, their violet merging seamlessly with the soft purples of the distant rocks, and beyond, where the deep blue sea met the pink glow of the sunset sky.

* This treasured sojourn in the Provençal village unfolded in October 1990.

My book PROVENCE, Fragrances, is published in Greek

Embark on a journey with my Books in English