Mediterranean Garden Inspiration for Phoenix: What I Learned in Italy and France

“La perfection est dans les détails, mais la perfection n’est pas un détail.”

-Leonardo da Vinci

What?
That’s exactly what we asked our tour guide. I promise — it’s much easier to guess the meaning when you see it rather than hear it in French. Perfection is in the details, but perfection is not a detail. And yes, I know: why is a French quote appearing on my very Anglophile page?

Because one of the best pieces of advice I received after moving to Phoenix was to look at plants from climates similar to ours for inspiration. People suggested Australia and South Africa. I just haven’t made it that far yet. But I have been to the Mediterranean — and on our very first stop in Messina, Sicily, we were greeted by hillsides covered in prickly pear cacti. It felt strangely like home.

The Mediterranean really does offer excellent inspiration. While it’s not England, it’s at least a close neighbor. England simply doesn’t have anything resembling a Phoenix climate, and the Mediterranean is about as close as Europe gets. Yes, summers there come with sparkling azure waters, but on land it is hot and dry. Sound familiar?

Rome – Acanthus and a Familiar Feeling

Our first stop was Rome, where we visited the Botanical Gardens and found this fellow:

After some research, I learned it was acanthus. Years ago I grew a lupine called “The Governor,” and while this isn’t the same, it has a similar presence. My research says acanthus can work in Phoenix — a perennial that dies back in summer and thrives the rest of the year. It is, however, “a bully,” so the three I ordered are safely in containers. Hopefully this early heat wave gives them enough time to settle in before the real heat arrives.

Taormina — Bougainvillea Temptation

In Taormina, Sicily, there was a lot to love (when I wasn’t eating arancini), but the vivid shots of bougainvillea were unforgettable.

Bougainvillea does very well in Phoenix. I tried last year, but mine scorched. Maybe they need to be planted in fall. And the thorns — no joke. The sepals (the bright “petals” that aren’t petals) fall constantly. Our neighbor’s bougainvillea peeks over the wall and we still find sepals in the pool. So bougainvillea might not be for me.

And then we reached Portofino.

This bougainvillea made me rethink everything. I briefly imagined the front of my house swathed in purple. But keeping it this neat seems like a full‑time job. I suspect these homeowners have people for that.

Antibes — Cacti, Art, and the Details That Matter

We had one day in France, and it was lovely. We docked in Cannes and visited Antibes, where our guide shared the da Vinci quote. He pointed out tiny details — carved wooden doorknobs, stone mosaics in the street — everyday necessities turned beautiful. It made me wonder: if they put this much care into doorknobs, what do they do with plants?

This was along the road to Antibes:

I haven’t analyzed every plant in the photo yet, but I couldn’t miss the cacti. And the surprising part? They didn’t bother me. The softer plantings around them made all the difference. It was the first time I saw cacti as part of a designed landscape rather than something I was stuck with.

We also noticed two statues in Antibes. The first, titled “Blind,” made us laugh — a man so absorbed in his phone he might as well have a bucket on his head.

The second statue was my favorite — the way the motion was captured felt almost weightless.

I never knew I liked garden art, but now I’m wondering if a small piece might belong in my own garden someday. On a much smaller scale, of course.

Finally, in St‑Paul‑de‑Vence, I noticed the kind of detail our guide had been talking about. For example, where I live, the street does not look like this:

I don’t anticipate doing this to the driveway, but I will remember the idea of perfection in detail.

A Final Inspiration — Star Jasmine

The last picture I took in France — and my favorite — was this:

As with the bougainvillea in Italy, the gardens in France climb the walls. Verticality turns a garden from a carpet into a room. The white flowering vine here is star jasmine, and it’s another excellent candidate for Phoenix. It needs afternoon shade, but I’ve seen it at several nurseries, and it has a beautiful fragrance. It just might land in my Hygge Garden.

We’ve been hard at work here at home, and the beginnings are small — but they’re beginnings. Next week, we’ll be back in Phoenix and sharing our updates.

If perfection really is in the details, I might be in trouble — but maybe those details can come from a pillow, a rug, a unique birdbath… places I never expected.

Once more unto the breach,
🌿 Ruby

P.S. from Humphrey