Waking up early in the Luberon Valley, there’s always something in the air—perhaps it’s the crisp breeze slipping through the bedroom window or the golden light filtering over the hills—but this morning, it’s hunger that stirs me. Not just any hunger but a profound, almost primal craving for brioche. I know this urge too well, and it’s always accompanied by the promise of a Café Crème—warm, frothy, the elixir of slow Provençal mornings.

Living here in the Luberon means you can’t take these moments lightly. You rise with a purpose, one hand already reaching for your camera while the other dreams of buttery pastries. Today’s mission? Villars, one of those picturesque Luberon villages that time—and perhaps tourists—seem to have forgotten. Tucked quietly north of Apt, Villars feels like a well-kept secret, a place that people pass through only if they’re lucky enough to know it exists.

The drive is a meditative 20 minutes. The road snakes past ochre cliffs and cherry orchards that have seen centuries of history, before finally delivering me to the village’s doorstep. The morning is cool, with a sky so blue it’s almost audacious, the kind of sky that deserves to be captured by the lenses of my Leica Q3 and Q3 43. Every photographer knows that light like this doesn’t last, so the brioche will have to wait a little longer.

Villars isn’t the kind of place that throws its beauty at you. It makes you work for it, the way a cat makes you earn its affection. The narrow streets are dotted with pastel-shuttered houses, their faded colors hinting at a Provençal pride that’s quiet but enduring. There's an old lavoir near the village entrance, now a makeshift bus stop, but once a central hub where locals would gather to wash clothes and catch up on gossip. Today, it stands as a relic, one of those charming yet forgotten details of village life.

The first thing I notice is the calm. Villars doesn’t try to impress—it simply exists, content in its beauty. There’s also a church here, Saint Jacques le Mineur, a modest 19th-century building with a pointed steeple stretching towards the sky. And a fountain—the pièce de résistance of many a French village—trickles lazily, oblivious to the passage of time. I wander, Leica in hand, seeking out those tiny details that make Villars unique: a weathered door, the way light spills across a cobblestone path, the contrast of a terracotta pot against a pale blue shutter.

Composition is everything in these moments. With my Q3, I play with the lines of the village, letting the natural geometry of narrow streets and rooftops guide the frame. The Q3 43, meanwhile, gives me that extra reach, pulling details from a distance—like the distant Vaucluse plateau—that I would otherwise miss. Together, these cameras feel like an extension of my own vision, allowing me to capture Villars in all its understated glory.

And then, finally, the craving wins out. I head toward the lone boulangerie, tucked into a village corner. This is Villars’ only commercial outlet, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in charm. The smell of fresh bread wafts out, and I cannot resist. The brioche is soft, golden, and warm—everything I dreamed it would be. With my Café Crème in hand, I sit at a small table outside Bar des Amis, the morning sun fully illuminating the village. It’s a moment of simple perfection.

Villars may not have the grandiosity of other Provençal destinations—no Michelin-starred restaurants or sprawling vineyards here—but that’s precisely its charm. It’s a place for those who appreciate the quiet beauty of village life, for those who find joy in simplicity. The population hovers around 750 souls, each likely aware of how lucky they are to live in such a haven. Amenities are few: a church, the bakery, a couple of modest cafés. But there are hiking trails galore, including the GR9 and GR6, perfect for anyone who wants to dive deeper into the region’s natural beauty.

After breakfast, I take one last stroll through the village, camera in hand, capturing the morning light before it fades. The colors of Villars—its pastel walls, the deep greens of vineyards in the distance—seem richer somehow, more vibrant, as if the village knows it’s being admired.

As I drive back home, the sky still impossibly blue, I can’t help but feel that Villars has given me more than I could have expected. It’s a place that asks nothing of you yet offers everything if you want to look. And for a photographer or for anyone seeking that elusive quiet beauty, there’s no better reward. Even my newly acquainted furry friend, who prefers to rest his snout through and on his old green gate, could only be bothered to lick my hand and return to his blanket in the sun.

I hope this much shorter-than-usual post finds you well and in the mood for some colour and sunshine. If you have a moment, please leave me your thoughts in the comments box below the last image on this page.

There is also a new gallery page on the site labeled the Leica Q3 43 gallery. Navigate there through the site menu if you wish to see photos taken on a recent adventure to the Italian Riviera as well as location’s along the way.

Live well!

M.