After I read and thoroughly enjoyed Peter Mayle’s Provence (1991) and Toujours Provence (1992), I turned my attention to other readings, not knowing that a few years later (1999) , Mayle had completed a trilogy with Encore Provence, written after he and his wife had left their home in the south of France, and moved to southern California for few years. This delightful account of how they readjusted from California back to Provençal life lives up to the spirit and cultural observations of the first two books, plus has the added dimension of some interesting histories—for example of the city of Marseille and the nearby Château d’If, the olive oil and pâté de foie gras industries, and the lavender fields and perfume factories of Haute Provence. Mayle begins with a few comparisons of the fast-paced California life and the “rampant informality” of Americans to the slower gait of the Provençals as well as the typically French trait of discretion. “The French, it seems to me, strike a happy balance between intimacy and reserve” (9). Mayle notes that in Provence, “Life has not accelerated, but still dawdles along keeping time with the seasons. The markets still sell real food that has escaped the modern passions for sterilizing and shrink-wrapping. The countryside is still wild, and unscarred by golf courses, themes parks, or condominiums colonies. It is still possible to listen to silence,” Mayle assures us. “Unlike so many other beautiful parts of the world, which progress and ease of access have made noisy, predictable, and bland, Provence has managed to retain its individual flavor and personality” (84). He adds, however, that the residents of Provence have a few built-in prejudices, not only regarding foreigners, but also their own countrymen from Paris. “Despite being French, [Parisians] are regarded as foreign, and therefore, to be treated with suspicion and ridicule” (70). He also rebuts with good-humored sarcasm, an article by New York Times food critic who wrote that, alas, the old Provence of good, fresh food, no longer exists. Mayle gives his own lists of the best markets, wines, olive oil, honey, bread, pastries, goat cheese, etc., still available in the area well as comfortable and affordable accommodations in private houses, restaurants, etc., “To say that you can’t eat well here is nonsense,” he persists. “To say that you need to devote some time and effort to do it quite true. But that, so I’ve always believed, is part of the appreciation and true enjoyment of good food” (52). He mentions numerous amusing quirks about the Provençal people. For example, they still tolerate the old “Turkish” toilets—i.e., nothing more than a hole in the floor—even to the point of constructing sparkling brand new ones in that style. As with everything else about which they may be asked, the usual Provençal response is simply a shrug. Finally, Mayle recalls that he was blamed after the publication of his first two books for the influx of foreigners overrunning and ruining the ambiance of this charming part of France. He assures readers again that eleven years later, not much has really changed there. “Provence is still beautiful. Vast areas of it are still wild and empty. . . . The old men still play their endless games of boules, The markets are as colorful and abundant as ever. There is room to breath. The air is clean” (226). And, as always, there is no one more than Mayle who inspires me to plan an extended trip through Provence one day.