WHEN you’re brushing up your French, here’s one word to skip in Aix-en-Provence: vitesse. It means speed, and you won’t find much of it in the sun-drenched and easygoing hometown of Paul Cézanne and Émile Zola. Like a portrait of laid-back leisure, museumgoers and market shoppers amble through lanes where venerable fountains cast their lazy spray. Locals in soft white robes relax in the town’s celebrated spas, which are fed by natural hot springs first exploited by the Romans. And come dusk, everyone fills the cafe terraces to sip pastis or a local rosé before heading off to enjoy three-hour dinners of slow-cooked daube de boeuf Provençale. Better, then, to add the word lenteur, or slowness, to your vocabulary.