‘I’ve been to Provence before, but not quite this far to the east. We did the lavender trail in July once, but that was in the Luberon. It was the first time I’d heard it referred to as blue gold. A trip to Les Agnels Distillerie de Lavande included a tour of the processing plant and fields. The depth of the colour is imprinted on my memory as if it was yesterday. It was an endless glow of deep, purply-blue extending out over a vast plain, with the smoky-grey mountains on the horizon. It was unbelievable.’

He smiles to himself. ‘The artists’ trail, they call it. The colours and light of Provence and the Côte d’Azur inspired so many – Picasso, Matisse, Chagall, Van Gogh. It was a pilgrimage.’

I turn to look at Nico, studying his side profile intently. It’s obvious that driving this car gives him great pleasure. Maybe it triggers old memories, I can’t tell, but he looks content, carefree even, as he continues talking.

‘Figanières itself is a small, picturesque, medieval village sitting on a hillside ridge, but it’s high enough for the surrounding views to be spectacular. Personally, I think this area has it all. Fine weather, timeless architecture and natural beauty. Who could ask for anything more?’

The landscape is already beginning to change again as the incline levels out. We’re now passing endless orchards of evergreen olive trees and the leaves flashing past the window are like a waving stripe of soft, muted green. A ribboned scarf of colour floating in the breeze. It’s much brighter now, without the tall trees towering over us and closing in on the road.

‘My mother always complained the twists and bends of the snaking roads made her sick to her stomach. But really she was an impatient traveller, like a child who is only interested in how soon they will arrive at the destination. That was a great pity, because the scenery is spectacular and deserves to be savoured.’

‘I suppose the forest is full of boar and deer?’

‘Yes. Predominantly red deer, the smaller roe deer and wild boar. But a little walk will send foxes, hares and rabbits scampering for cover. Occasionally, there is an accident when one of the larger beasts is in chase and vaults across the road. The boar tend to amble along the verges grazing, as if they are waiting for the right time to cross, but a collision with either a boar or deer could be catastrophic.’

A few kilometres further on, the view changes once more and now dense, Mediterranean shrub land with steep, rocky cliffs rises up. To our left, though, tantalising glimpses of turquoise blue sea, way in the distance, meet a cobalt-blue sky on the horizon and seem to blend into one. The magical vista comes and goes in gaps between large runs of shrubbery.