Under the Provençal Sun
Living like the Masters in the heart of Provence
First, you smell it.
Lavender and wild thyme, carried on the breeze that whispers through ancient olive branches.
Then the warmth of sunbaked stone welcomes you home – the magnetic pull that drew Van Gogh, Renoir, and Matisse to this light-blessed corner of France.
They came to slow down. Breathe deeper. See clearer.
Can you relate?
The same golden light that illuminated their canvases now warms the pool; the same cicada chorus that scored their evening walks now accompanies your sunset aperitif.
The farmhouse emerges from its olive grove like a painting come to life. The ancient tree that gives this home its name has watched over countless harvest seasons, and now it’s your turn to dwell in its shade.
The morning sun illuminates a view that’s inspired masterpieces: a landscape that shifts from silver-green to purple as olive groves give way to lavender fields. The same countryside that moved Chagall to dream of love and so captivated Cézanne that he wouldn’t put down his brush, even during violent thunderstorms.
The light here isn’t like anywhere else – the masters knew that, and you’ll understand why.
Leave your watch in a drawer. Here, time is marked by church bells, the songs of Calandra Larks, and the evening light turning limestone to gold.
Five bedrooms, each with its own tale to tell. A living room where conversation flows as easily as the local rosé. Stone terraces where you’ll dine beneath the stars, the ancient olive tree standing sentinel over your feast.
The French have a word for this: insouciance.
The art of not worrying about time.
Your lesson begins at check-in.
Villa Vitals
Sleeps 10. Five bedrooms, five baths. Private pool, home cinema, centuries-old olive grove. Al fresco dining terraces. Chef and daily cleaning available. Car recommended (because you’ll want to explore).
Quick Tour
A Village Called Saint-Rémy
Beyond your garden walls lies Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, where Van Gogh found his stars and Nostradamus read his futures. Market days transform ancient squares into festivals of color and scent. Fresh herbs, local honey, wheels of cheese from mountain pastures. Cafés spill onto cobbled streets beneath the ancient silhouette of the Alpilles, their slopes a patchwork of vineyards and wild herbs.
Here, two thousand years of history whisper from Roman ruins, and time still moves at its own pace – measured in conversations and wine glasses rather than minutes and hours.
