Which of these European heavy hitters is for you - Provence or Tuscany?

By Mal Chenu

This one is like choosing your favourite child. But as someone who springs from indomitable Gallic stock, I must defend the lineage and declare j'aime la Provence. The sparkling Cote d'Azur - aka the French Riviera - attracts pretty people and their mega-yachts to name-drop-worthy playgrounds such as Nice, St Tropez and Cannes. Marseille alone has 21 beaches, replete with hidden coves and blissful stretches of sand created by the amazing Calanques. These narrow, steep-walled inlets are beyond beautiful and you can explore the Massif des Calanques between Marseille and Cassis on foot or by boat.

To the east, closer to the Italian border and closing in on Tuscany but still nonetheless upmarket, there are even more idyllic locales, including Plage Paloma at Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, so beloved by Pablo Picasso. Menton and Eze, and the island of Porquerolles (to name but a few) are further examples of the unending, spectacular seaside offerings along this sumptuous coast.

If you can drag yourself inland (spoiler: you can't, so maybe start your Provence adventure here instead), you and your camera lens will be absorbed by the endless fields of photogenic lavender. One of Provence's many signature summer splendours, these heady purple pastures are sensory serenity.

Contemporaneous with happy, radiant sunflowers, the lavender eventually gives way to the equally sunny yellow mimosas of winter, and the luminous red poppies of spring, which so inspired Monet and Van Gogh. Even the weeds are art-inspiring in Provence. Tuscan art by comparison is sooo last Renaissance.

These flowers - and others - are highly prized by the perfumeries of Grasse, Provence's most redolent highlight. Grasse is the perfume capital of the world and produces more than two-thirds of France's eau de parfume and eau de toilette. Follow your nez to the sweet-smelling splendours of Galimard, Molinard and Fragonard, as well as the International Perfume Museum. You can even create your own scent, from flower picking to bottling. Provence is not just prettier than Tuscany, it is more fragrant, too. And when it comes to aromas, Provencal cuisine can't be beat. You can gobble a bowl of bouillabaisse, the seafood stew with saffron in Marseille, where it was invented. Or round up a salade nicoise in Nice. Other Provencal-created goodies include tapenade, aioli and rouille, and the region's growers' markets are filled with these.

You will need to wash all this down with a local vin, and this will be a light, fruity, dry rosé. Provence produces about 75 per cent of France's pink tipple and is particularly fabulous around the cultural capital of the region, Aix-en-Provence, an enthralling mix of art, architecture and labyrinthine streets.

I have run out of space to rave further, except to say: Viva la Provence!

By Amy Cooper

On the rolling green surface, these two Mediterranean idylls have much in common: both share the blame for a global epidemic of backyard terracotta, rustic paint shades, and midlife tree-change memoirs in which enlightenment is achieved by renovating a crumbling villa/farmhouse, finding out where food comes from and learning basic life skills from colourful locals. It's a genre that makes me want to hit my own head with a hardback of A Year in Provence, which I reckon is the worst of the lot. It doesn't even have any sex. At least the colourful local in Under the Tuscan Sun is Marcello, the author's hot rebound fling, played in the movie by Italian stallion Raoul Bova.

Which brings me to why Tuscany's take on bucolic countryside, picturesque villages, sunset-hued villas, olive groves, vineyards and medieval architecture trumps the French version. It's more full-blooded, from ciao to wow. Tuscany's beauty has a grandiose, sensual magnificence that makes Provence look pallid. It's the two-storey-high naked splendour of Michelangelo's David (hotter even than Raoul); Botticelli's voluptuous goddess of love in his masterpiece The Birth of Venus, and the dizzying drama of Vasari's The Last Judgement fresco lining the largest masonry dome ever built, atop the Duomo Santa Maria del Fiore.

Florence, home to all these wonders, was the birthplace of the Renaissance and UNESCO estimates the Tuscan capital houses 60 per cent of Europe's greatest art. The city brims with creations from Leonardo da Vinci, Titian, Giotto, Caravaggio and fellow geniuses from history's golden era of creativity. Beyond it there's also Pisa and its Leaning Tower; the medieval hill town San Gimignano's extravaganza of turrets and bell towers, and Siena, where the cathedral's floor is a mosaic masterpiece created over two centuries by 40 artists.

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For Tuscany's sensory overload we can thank the Medicis, the flamboyant Florentine dynasty who bankrolled the Renaissance, injecting their own operatic antics along the way. One Medici was stabbed to death on Florence's cathedral floor, some were poisoned by each other, and a Medici matriarch apparently taught the French how to cook.

Tuscany's tastes are as vivid as its history, from porcini to prosciutto, truffles to tomatoes. And it wouldn't be my half of the page without a tribute to Tuscan tipples. The Chianti region's vine-cloaked hills yield Italy's most famous red vino, and my favourite cocktail was invented in Florence by Count Camillo Negroni, a typically Tuscan swashbuckling adventurer who asked the bartender to booze up his Americano with gin, creating the Negroni. You can still sip one on the same spot today, in Caffe Giacosa. Big, bold and sexy, it's pure Tuscany in a glass - and way better than a beer in Provence.