After a round that required a variety of shots, I could have lingered for hours in the clubhouse, built in an old olive mill. Not your typical 19th hole, it features a superb wine list with dozens of local vintages as well as a menu with moules frites (mussels in garlic and butter with French fries) and chocolate fondue.

Another key component of the trip is the method of transport itself, a luxury barge that has been converted from a commercial vessel to a pleasure cruiser with nine guest cabins, lounge, dining room, full bar and sun deck—a very civilized location for enjoying coffee in the morning, a book in the afternoon, and a cognac and cigar after dinner.

The barge made for a first-class journey, and perhaps no leg was more enjoyable than the one that first took us through the lock of Beaucaire, where the water slowly lifted us almost inconceivably 45 feet, then to Arles. As we approached the city, stately church spires and stone city walls came into view.

There is more to Arles than Van Gogh, and we spent the following day on a ranch in the Camargue, a low-lying region near the Mediterranean Sea where cows and horses flourish, and where local cowboys nurture a special breed of bulls used in a sport where competitors enter an arena and attempt to snatch ribbons attached to the bovines’ horns. As I listened to descriptions of this recreation, I could not discern which was more unbelievable: that grown men with no form of protection actually think taunting large bulls in such close quarters is a good idea, or that there actually are cowboys in France.

At the walled city of Aigues-Mortes, we had one round remaining, at Golf de la Grand Motte, a Florida-style layout designed by Robert Trent Jones Sr.

But the tee time was not until the afternoon, so I headed into town. After finding an outdoor café in the square, I ordered a coffee and did nothing but watch: workers watering the pots of flowers outside the restaurants just opening. Waiters in white coats setting up tables. Butchers putting fresh chickens in rotisseries outside their shops, then hanging different cuts of beef and veal, as well as the freshly cleaned rabbits, on their walls. A restaurateur laying out fresh seafood on ice, while another started paella, the rice, shellfish, saffron and onions sizzling in a massive pan.

As the chairs and tables began to fill up, I ordered another coffee while the smell of fresh bread enveloped me every time a customer opened the door to the bakery next door.

After an hour, I realize it is almost time for my golf game. But I am not at all sure I really want to leave.