About a year ago, my family decided to move from a quiet rural village in northern France to Provence — specifically, to a village just outside Aix-en-Provence — so that my children could attend a bilingual school. It turns out, it was one of the best decisions we’ve ever made.
As expectations go, Provence had a lot to live up to. Apart from Paris, it’s one of France’s biggest tourist magnets — and with good reason. When people hear “Provence,” they picture romantic evenings, bustling markets, golden light spilling across lavender fields, glasses of rosé, old stone houses, and an air of effortless beauty.
And after a year of living here, I can tell you: most of that is true.
The reality is every bit as charming as the postcards — but, as always, it comes with its own little surprises.
The Traffic
Coming from the rural north, the first shock was the traffic. It turns out that in Provence, everyone drives — everywhere. Getting from one place to another can take an age, and if you haven’t found a parking spot in Aix before lunchtime, you might as well give up and go for a long coffee instead.
The Light, the Market, the Music
Every morning, as I walk into the heart of Aix-en-Provence for work, I pause. I don’t always plan to — it just happens. The morning light hits the stone façades, the plane-trees cast patterned shadows, and for a second I feel like I’m walking through a painting I once hung in my mind. Even after a year, it takes my breath away.
And then there’s the soundtrack. In Aix, there’s a market nearly every day — yes, even in winter. On Place Richelme you’ll find the fruit & veg market open every day from about 8 am till early afternoon. On peak market days (Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday) the city really hums. Street artists set up behind the stalls, jazz riffs drift between olives and goat’s cheese, and the whole place becomes part café terrace, part open-air theatre.
When I stood there the first time, basket in hand, I realised that something as mundane as grocery shopping could feel romantic. I realised that “moving to Provence” wasn’t just a holiday idea come alive — it was daily life unfolding in all its textured, sensory glory.
The Rhythm
The biggest difference I’ve noticed between life here and life in the north is the pace. In Provence, everything feels like it’s running ten minutes late — and somehow, that’s exactly how it should be.
People take their time. Conversations stretch. Lunch breaks are long enough to actually eat. It used to frustrate me; now I find it soothing.
There’s a rhythm here — dictated by heat, light, and the sound of cicadas — that teaches you to match your heartbeat to the place you live in. It’s a kind of therapy you don’t realise you’re getting until one day you’re sitting on a terrace, coffee in hand, and you notice you haven’t checked your watch in hours.
The Cost of Living
Of course, Provence doesn’t come cheap. The beauty tax is real. Rent is higher, and so is coffee. (Though, in fairness, the coffee comes with sunlight and charm, which I’ve decided counts as value added.)
Aix-en-Provence, in particular, has perfected the art of being casually expensive — as if the city knows it’s beautiful and has stopped apologising for it.
But you learn to adapt. You buy your fruit from the market, your wine from the local cave, and your cheese from someone who knows your name. You spend more, yes, but you also spend better.
The People
Provençaux are, on the whole, wonderfully warm — but in a quieter, subtler way than the stereotype might suggest. They won’t gush, but they’ll remember you. They’ll ask about your children, your house, your dog. The small courtesies here aren’t performed; they’re woven into everyday life.
It’s a region where people take pride in their roots, but they’re also endlessly curious about outsiders who choose to stay. Once they decide you’re serious about Provence, they’ll fold you into their world like you’ve always been part of it.