In Provence, one has the feeling of entering a contest, waiting to see what the next prize is. First I see something magnificent, and now something even more so ... something even more beautiful now. Something cannot be so beautiful, so perfect, it is too much ;). Another place I stumbled on by luck during my week in Provençal: Saint Rémy de Provence. Upon arrival and because of the time, it was full of people, with cameras in hand, immortalizing each picturesque corner of this charming city. To find the hidden soul of this small town, take the streets, listening to the people, walk, enjoy the architecture, its history, and suddenly discover a poem, a poet, a visionary , a new language, some flags that you hadn't encountered previously, different aromas, another country. Saint Rémy is Frederi Mistral, is Mireio is Nostradamus, pure Occitan. In Saint Rémy feel the Occitania and understand the wonderful culture of medieval times, the troubadours, the langue d'oc, that have been forgotten, crushed by the yoke of the Frankish kings and their desire to annex the country ahead of its time and incorporate it into his kingdom. The forgotten history of France, is reborn in every corner of this charming villa. Also known as the resting place of Van Gogh, of which nearly 150 canvases came after his "exile" of Arles. Craft stores at every step, cute bistros, beautiful restaurants, Provencal facades, Occitan streets, a perfect cocktail to intoxicate the senses. No wonder Van Gogh was "moved", such beauty stuns. I begin to understand that how Provence is so exquisitely French Mediterranean.