Provence plays with borders. It comes up against the Rhône, bounces off the Alps, empties into the sea.

This southern radiance, where the sun shortens the winter, has always seemed to be the happy side of a worried France. Provence is, however, something quite different. It is culture, traditions, rough stones and foggy winter. The soul of Provence travels within itself.

It imposes to stare at the Sainte-Victoire mountain and to contemplate, perched high, the fortress villages which tell how much this land was coveted and managed to resist.

Because in Provence, the seed that you sow, traveler or pilgrim, always blossoms afterwards in your heart.

—Ariane Fornia