Provence hotels collection

Cézanne painted the Sainte-Victoire dozens of times without ever exhausting the mountain, and Provence lies in that obstinacy: a raw light on pale stone, which one comes back to look at. The Alpilles raise their white limestone above the olive trees; the Luberon sets its villages along its ridges, between the ochres of Roussillon and the vines; the Ventoux closes the north with its pale cap. Aix lines up its fountains and plane trees, Avignon its palace and ramparts. In the Camargue, the white horses walk into the water. The mistral blows in runs, and when it drops, the whole country smells of thyme.