The Mediterranean light hits differently at Léoube. It slides across schist-studded hillsides, glimmers in the silvery leaves of olive trees, and shimmers back from the sea that frames the vines. This is Provence, but not the manicured, postcard version. Here, the wild edges are left to thrive. Lavender and fennel weave into the landscape, dragonflies skim the air, and butterflies drift on the salt breeze. It feels timeless, not because it stands still, but because it refuses to rush – adapting, aligning, and living with the rhythms of nature.

I spent two days here, staying in Bormes-les-Mimosas and exploring the Château Léoube estate. From the moment Jérôme Pernot, Léoube’s Managing Director, invited me into the vintage Land Rover, I knew this wasn’t going to be a polished tasting-room visit. If I wanted to truly understand the soul of Léoube, I needed to live it – and so we embarked on what could only be described as a ‘vineyard safari’, bouncing across dusty tracks past olive groves and fig trees, the September air thick with the scent of thyme and fennel.

Jérôme drove with easy confidence, stopping to point out lavender growing untamed adjacent to the vineyard, or a cork oak where bark would one day be harvested for bottle stoppers. “We nurture nature, because that’s where everything begins. Healthy soils, healthy vines, balanced wines,” he said, almost casually.

That word – nurture – became the heartbeat of my time at Léoube

Context is important here. When the Bamfords arrived in Provence in 1997, they came in search of a family home by the sea. What they found came attached to a fragile landscape: 560 hectares of coastline, forest, and fallow vineyards. Radically, they chose to restore the land before touching the house.

For over a decade, the focus was on soils, wetlands, and forests, not cellars or sales. Vines were replanted only when the land was ready. That decision tells you almost everything about Léoube. It is not about yield or convention, but stewardship. The family’s “B” sits beside a cross in the Léoube logo, reflecting both the chapel on the grounds and their sense of guardianship. They see themselves less as owners than caretakers, working so that future generations inherit something stronger than what was found.

The vineyards themselves tell this story of patience

Walking the vineyard paths with Jérôme, I saw how geology shapes philosophy. The estate rests on mica schist, 800-million-year-old seabed slate that sparkles in the sun and is full of salinity that gives Léoube wines their distinctive mineral edge. As I rubbed the glittering stone, I could almost taste its sparkle in the wines.

That salinity is Léoube’s fingerprint: subtle, mineral, impossible to fake. It’s the taste of sea air, fragile soils, and vines rooted in resilience. The coastal microclimate tempers the heat, protecting vines from frost and hail, while sea breezes reduce mildew and cool the nights. Only four estates in Provence reach the sea, and this connection gives Léoube both distinction and resilience in the face of climate change.

Yet even when tasting some of this incredible wine alongside Romain Ott, Léoube’s head winemaker and a fourth-generation vigneron, it became clear that even here, climate change shows itself subtly (for now). Harvests are creeping earlier each year. Romain is pragmatic: “We work with nature. We don’t demand too much from it. Some years it gives more, some years less – but it always gives something. The important thing is adaptability and acceptance.”

This patient approach defines Léoube. Preparing a new plot can take up to 10 years. Old vines are never ripped up and replaced straight away. Instead, the soil is allowed to rest, then sown with crops such as radish to oxygenate and replenish it, flowers to restore nutrients, and cereals to stabilise it. Wildflowers return, pollinators thrive. Only then are new vines planted, and another four years pass before the first harvest.

In a world chasing quick returns, this patience feels radical. It’s sustainability in its truest sense: working for the next generation, not the next quarter.

If the soil is the estate’s body, then the people are its lifeblood. And even here, patience is present

Walking among the rows, the sense of care and craftsmanship was palpable. Each terrace is positioned differently to stagger ripening, so the team can harvest by hand at exactly the right moment without rushing or relying on machines. Every vine is pruned, trained, and picked by hand. Every grape is checked multiple times. In conventional vineyards, machines dominate and time is measured in yield per hectare. Here, vineyard workers dedicate over 500 hours per hectare per year, compared to nearer 200 in most estates.

Unlike many conventional vineyards, Léoube doesn’t rely on anonymous agency labour. Instead, regular local teams return year after year, carrying continuity of artisan skill and memory. The difference is profound. Knowledge isn’t lost each season – it’s passed down. Harvest ends not with an invoice, but with celebrations. In this way, Léoube preserves traditions that most of the industry has traded for efficiency. As Jérôme told me, “It’s about people, planet, and purpose. That’s what gives resilience.”

And just as rare is the level of priority placed on biodiversity

Over three-quarters of Léoube’s 560 hectares remain wild, forming part of the protected Cap Bénat. Vines and olive groves sit within forests, orchards, meadows, and coastline, creating a living mosaic. Sheep graze through the spring, acting as natural lawnmowers and fertilisers. A key memory for me was the scent in the air – sharp with wild thyme and fennel, rising from the sun-baked earth as we brushed past. Streambeds lay bare, cracked and waiting for the first rains of autumn.

Sandy, who has worked at Léoube for 18 years and now leads sustainability, sees the estate as a living body. “We see the estate like our bodies. There is a place for everything, and we want to nurture it, to keep it in balance,” she told me. Her conviction carried the weight of experience: sustainability here isn’t a project with an end date, but a daily practice of care, attention, and adaptation.

Even the olive harvest is done by hand, fruit gently raked onto nets. Olive wood is repurposed into kitchenware, wild leaves inspire cosmetic research, and cork oak is harvested by skilled artisans to be transformed into sustainable building insulation. In the boutique, you can feel the smooth, honeyed grain of olive wood beneath your fingers – a reminder of how even pruning has purpose here. They support associations in researching the forest, experimenting with possibilities beyond wine. Nothing is wasted; everything has meaning. It is sustainability lived, not labelled.

In recent years, Léoube has gone further still. Bio-waste from Café Léoube is now transformed into compost through a partnership with Les Alchimistes – 2,000kg of scraps produced 1,500kg of compost in the first year alone. Surplus grape skins have found new lives as hand-stitched grape-leather wine lists and Bamford skincare serums. Even olive pomace becomes soap. Waste recovery across the estate reached 60% in 2024, a 30% increase on the previous year. This is circularity in practice.

Though rooted in tradition, Léoube dares to experiment

In a region bound by strict appellation rules, they’ve planted Cabernet Franc and Sauvignon Blanc, producing a “Super Provence” collection including a structured red and elevated white, which have both beauty and depth.
Tasting with Romain felt like quiet theatre: the swirl of colour, the lift of salinity, the balance of restraint. Even discarded grapes were offered to taste – too sweet for wine, yet delicious in themselves.

The experimentation extends beyond wine. Léoube has crafted gins, fruit syrups, de-alcoholised wines and beers. Ginger thriving in the market garden inspired the next seasonal syrup. Innovation here isn’t about novelty, but curiosity – a willingness to try, taste, and learn.

If the vineyards embody patience, Café Léoube embodies immediacy

Food comes directly from soil and sea, prepared with precision, eaten metres from where it grew or swam.

One afternoon I watched as the team deboned a freshly caught fish, their movements seamless, choreographed like a dance. Another meal centred on raw vegetables from the garden, served with warm focaccia, Léoube olive oil, anchovy tapenade, and hummus. Deceptively simple, it captured everything about this place: honest, rooted, guided by quality over complexity. Food waste is composted back into the soil, closing the circle.

Later, sipping a glass of sparkling white as the sun sank into the Mediterranean, I understood how inseparable the wines are from their place. Salt lingered on my lips from the sea and the wine alike. It was hard to choose a favourite, but Secret white, Collector rosé, and Sparkling de Léoube each captured something essential about Léoube: freshness, elegance, and quiet curiosity.

Even the boutique reflects Léoube’s ethos. Alongside wines and olive oils are jams, tapenades, honey, and kitchen items carved from olive bark – each carrying a piece of the estate’s story. Shopping here feels less like consumption, more participation in a philosophy.

And beyond the estate, Provence itself extends the experience. In nearby Bormes-les-Mimosas, pastel houses climb the hillside, mimosa scents the air, and artists line cobbled streets. At dawn from the Eden Rose Hotel, where I stayed, the coast unfurled below like a painting – vineyards, forest, and sea bathed in gold.

It’s impossible to ignore how saturated the word “sustainability” has become. Too often, it’s a marketing claim rather than a lived reality.

Léoube is different. Certified organic for decades, they practised restraint before it was fashionable. HVE certification recognises years of quiet work. A dedicated biodiversity team rivals their vineyard staff. Their B-Corp application feels less like ambition than an acknowledgement of what already exists.

This is what “nurturing nature” means. It isn’t rhetoric – it’s reality. Soil, vines, people, and community held together in balance.

On my final day, Jérôme asked how I would describe Léoube in three words. It felt impossible, reductive, almost unfair. But I thought of what I’d seen, tasted, and felt. For me, the words are honesty, adaptability, and nurture (If I could add more: family, commitment, and balance).

Because Léoube isn’t just another wine estate, we have plenty of those. It’s a philosophy lived daily in vines and soils, in people and patience. True luxury here lies not in excess, but in restraint, responsibility, and memory.
And long after the last glass is drained, what lingers isn’t just the taste of the wine – it’s the feeling of having been nurtured by the place itself.

W: Leoube

Written by Emma Blunt for Luxuria Lifestyle International