The idea of going somewhere specifically to do work is kind of stressful for me, but really the flight to Aix-en-Provence always changes my mind. On the left, mountains float like clouds above the blue land, and the puffs of smoke from power stations in the valleys look so insignificant seen beside them. I think perhaps there's nothing lovelier than the descent into a Provençal airport, with the blue of the mediterranean and the orange glow of warm land. In the Marseille Airport's low cost carrier terminal, everything smells immediately of soap and sweat and honey. The bus pulls in five minutes from Aix's centre, and it's possible the Cours Mirabeau at dusk on a Sunday is the happiest street in the world.