This magazine is called The Escapist for a simple reason. When we plan a holiday, close our suitcase, put passport in pocket and head for the door, there’s usually a part of us that aches to get away from our usual routines, have the chance to see things afresh and feel different – to escape. Well, if that’s you, I think that we can help.

For this outing of our annual travel magazine, we dispatched writers to destinations far off the tourist trail, as well as to an old favourite that can be discovered anew if you just wait until its summer swell of visitors has abated. We also told our design editor to hit the road (in the nicest possible way).

As they returned to Midori House with tales of their adventures, it was nice to see how their excursions had left them a little giddy with joy, how they all wanted to show you pictures of the extraordinary places that they had been to and the people whose stories they had heard. Just a few days in a good hotel or a remote lodge, walking a trail to a lonely beach, can have this effect on any of us.

I’ll be honest: I began wondering why I hadn’t dispatched myself on one of these life-affirming missions. We sent Sophie Monaghan-Coombs, who runs Monocle’s culture pages, to the African island of Príncipe, a former Portuguese colony that sits 240km off the coast of Gabon. It took her almost three days to reach this tropical outpost from London but her report reveals why it’s worth making the trek.

Simpler to get to was Florence but our reporter Grace Charlton found a city of quiet restaurants and easy-to-explore neighbourhoods that is, in its own way, just as surprising as any remote island. In Japan, our Asia bureau chief, Fiona Wilson, made the journey from Tokyo to the Gora Kadan Fuji ryokan, stepping into a world of perfection, precision and beauty that transported her from the everyday to somewhere close to heaven.

Sometimes you just need the guidance of someone who can see things afresh to make you realise what you are missing. Liam Aldous’s report on Tangier unpacks the city in a way that immediately had me plotting a visit. Meanwhile, in Bulgaria, Chiara Rimella explored Sofia and discovered a place where young hospitality players and brand owners are busy making a hometown that they want to live in, not waiting for city hall or some global player to do the work for them.

Even if you aren’t straying far from home for the next few months, I hope that you will enjoy hearing from some key hospitality players in our interview series and discovering everything from the latest in pet travel to why there’s a luxury hotel boom in Baghdad. Come on, let’s escape while we can.

Tap here to buy your copy of The Escapist.

1.
One hour in…
The Abrahamic Family House
Abu Dhabi

The trade show was packing up and the Monocle Radio team was dismantling our pop-up studio, coiling cables like snake handlers. I was, all agreed, superfluous. “Let’s meet again for dinner,” they said. So I slipped away and into the back seat of an Abu Dhabi rideshare. I’d done the calculations and, traffic permitting, I’d have one hour to take in the Abrahamic Family House on Saadiyat Island before it closed. It was somewhere that I’d long hankered to see.

Designed by British-Ghanaian architect David Adjaye, the Abrahamic Family House contains three places of worship: a mosque, a synagogue and a church. Opened in 2023, it encourages interfaith dialogue by, in part, focusing on a simple shared connection: Islam, Christianity and Judaism all revere Abraham as a spiritual figure. There was a security checkpoint to negotiate but within minutes I was wandering around Adjaye’s masterpiece. All three places of worship are given equal weight and stature (each rises to 30 metres); the use of the same simple materials binds them together.

In the church, with its soaring ceilings, two South Asians were lost in prayer; in the synagogue there were also two worshippers. In the mosque, I saw just one man kneeling, his white robe dappled by light rippling through the mashrabiya screen. I am someone of limited and rusty faith but here there was something spiritual that overwhelmed a little and made emotions soar.

As closing time approached and a cat found a place in the cool of the welcome centre to doze, I tried to take it all in one last time – to fix it in my mind as a mental keepsake. A lot can happen in an hour.
abrahamicfamilyhouse.ae

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2.
A morning at…
Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian
Lisbon

If you only have a morning in Lisbon, the Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian is your best bet. It was started by the eponymous Armenian philanthropist in 1956 to make space for one of Portugal’s most impressive art collations and to improve quality of life through art, science and charitable work.

While the Gulbenkian Museum reopens in July 2026, after a much-anticipated revamp, the real hidden gem of this complex is the gardens. A late-1960s milestone of modernist landscape design, it’s an urban oasis where the verdant green plays against the coolness of the brutalist buildings. The carefully landscaped lawns offer quiet corners and shade – much needed in the Portuguese capital’s warm mornings. These gardens serve as a true public living room, with locals spreading a blanket by the lake, watching a performance in the open-air amphitheatre or wandering along the paths in between meetings.

Once you reach the wooden canopy designed by Japanese architect Kengo Kuma in 2024, you have arrived at the Centro de Arte Moderna (CAM). Head in to explore the Portuguese modern art collection before breaking for lunch at CAM’s Table, where stunning views bring nature and architecture together once again.
gulbenkian.pt

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3.
A day in…
Rabat
Morrocco

Rabat is often overlooked by tourists in favour of Marrakech, Tangier or the blue waters of Essaouira. But there are few sights like that of the capital’s morning lights reflected in the Bou Regreg river after you touch down at Rabat-Salé airport. First, check in to the new 200-key Four Seasons At Kasr Al Bahr. Set in an 18th-century former royal residence in the Océan neighbourhood, the hotel was designed by Roger Nazarian.

From here, a short taxi ride along the coast takes you to the Kasbah des Oudayas. Inside this citadel – with whitewashed walls and engraved doors painted deep blue – is the Café des Oudayas. Formerly the Café Maure, this historic bolthole offers a fine view of the sea to go with your mint tea and Moroccan pastries, including delicious sugar-dusted “gazelle horns” with fragrant orange blossom.

Next door is the Oudayas Museum, inside the former pavilions of the sultan Moulay Ismaïl. The space underwent renovations a few years ago and now houses the National Museum of Jewellery. It features Amazigh jewels, tbourida (traditional Moroccan equestrian art) and other examples of the country’s crafts and heritage.

Take a late lunch in the Hassan neighbourhood. Next to the beautiful art deco Saint-Pierre Cathedral is Ty Potes, a quaint restaurant on the ground floor of a 1930s building. It serves simple but delicious French-inspired dishes with seasonal ingredients, such as the Eliana toast with goat’s cheese, honey and caramelised nuts.

Next, there’s the nearby Mohammed VI Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. Opened 10 years ago, it was the first large-scale national museum to be built after the country gained independence and has since become one of the continent’s most important contemporary-art spaces. Built in a Moorish-revival style by architect Karim Chakor, its white façade is adorned with double arches and intricate motifs.

Take a detour to the Jardin d’Essais Botaniques, especially the Andalusian Gardens. Later, the sunset over Rabat is best admired from the Corniche Qbibate, a tranquil promenade by the shore of the Atlantic. You’ll be on time to dine at the new Flamme restaurant within the Four Seasons. If there’s time for a final nightcap, the hotel also hosts the moodily lit, Laila Lounge in the oldest part of the building.

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4.
A weekend in…
Taipei
Taiwan

With just two days to soak up this busy city, you’ll need to be disciplined about your timings. Base yourself at OrigInn Space, a design-forward hotel in a century-old shophouse with rooms that mix terrazzo floors and contemporary Taiwanese craft. The capital wakes up slowly and doesn’t hit its stride until mid-morning. Start with brunch at Shih Chia Big Rice Ball, a 65-year-old stalwart known for savoury sticky-rice balls packed with pork and vegetables. Then meander along Dihua Street, Taipei’s oldest commercial thoroughfare.

Continue past Beimen North Gate Square, once a main entry into the fortified city. From here, stroll to the Red House in Ximen. Built in 1908 as a market hall, the octagonal landmark hosts tours, exhibitions and a warren of studios and souvenir shops that showcase local designers. Step outside and you’ll be in Taipei’s nightlife district among a cluster of cafés, galleries and bars.

Grab dinner nearby at Niu Dian Beef Noodles for clean, spicy broths and tender cuts of tendon. Finish the day at Yongfu Ice Cream, an 80-year mainstay that creates light, sorbet-like scoops in flavours such as taro, longan and preserved plum.

On day two, wander your way to Nanmen Market. The rebuilt complex stays true to its roots: a mix of produce stalls, butchers, dried-goods vendors and a food court. A short walk away, the National Taiwan Museum’s permanent exhibitions are an elegant primer on Taiwan’s nature and cultures, in a restored neoclassical hall.

Pause at the Taiwan Provincial City God Temple, which was rebuilt in 1945 to honour Taipei’s traditional guardian deity. Incense curls through painted beams and worshippers come to petition the City God for protection. Next is the Presidential Office Building, home of Taiwan’s government. Completed in 1919, it has survived every chapter of the island’s modern history and offers guided tours.

Reserve dinner at Huang Long Zhuang, a local institution known for plump handmade soup dumplings. Service is brisk and the cooking unfussy and reliable. As evening falls, head through Liberty Square to the National Theater and Concert Hall at Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall. Performances here show how Taipei uses its grandest plaza as a cultural commons rather than a monument. End at Taihu Gyoza Bar, in restored 19th-century government dormitories, with reliably cold beers and crisp pan-fried dumplings.

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5.
Three days in…
Rio de Janeiro
Brazil

You’ll need a good base for a three-day exploration and location is everything if you don’t want to spend hours in taxis. The iconic Copacabana Palace is never bad but there’s also the Rio branch of the Fasano group. To feel like a Carioca on day one, start with swimwear shopping. For men, keep it simple with a pair of cheeky Sungas from the Blueman shop at Shopping Leblon. Women should try Haight (by Marcella Franklin and Philippe Perdigão) in the same complex.

Now you’re dressed for it, head to Ipanema for a cold maté tea or a caipirinha (it’s never too early) from one of the many kiosks by the beach. Now relax. For lunch, try one of the classics: Braseiro da Gávea restaurant or a feijoada (the national dish of Brazil) at Academia da Cachaça. After a lazy meal and exploring the bohemian Gávea neighbourhood, take in the sunset at Bar Urca – and make sure to sample their exquisite shrimp pastel (pastry) with a cold glass of chopp (beer).

Day two should start with a tropical juice at one of the branches of BB Lanches, which also serves sandwiches and açaí, if you’re peckish. Rio isn’t all about beaches – it’s also a paradise for fans of Brazilian modernist architecture. In 2025 the Capanema Palace in Downtown reopened for public visits. Built in the 1930s and 1940s by architect Lúcio Costa, it’s a must-visit.

Fans of Brazilian music should visit Tropicália in Botafogo. If you want the latest releases from Evinha, Caetano Veloso or Marcos Valle, this is the spot for it. It’s also not far from the best newsstand Banca Cinza, which stocks everything from independent zines to the city’s main newspaper, O Globo. While you’re in Botafogo, stop for a cocktail at Quartinho Bar. For dinner, Lasai in the same neighbourhood is considered one of the top restaurants in Brazil. Proof that Rio can do laid-back but chic, the Basque-inspired restaurant is run by Rafa Costa e Silva and his wife, Malena Cardiel.

Make a gentle start to day three with shopping at the city’s best and most traditional bookshop, Livraria da Travessa in Ipanema (there are other branches). Now for a leisurely walk in the Jardim Botânico district. In the gardens, you’ll spy toucans and if you’re thirsty stop for a drink at the scenic Parque Lage. Next, see which exhibitions are on at the Banco do Brasil Cultural Center (CCBB) downtown or peruse the selection of arthouse films at the Estação Net Botafogo cinema.

Rio is one of the few cities in the world where people will clap the sunset. So enjoy your last evening at Arpoador, a peninsula between Ipanema and Copacabana beaches, to see what all the fuss is about.

Perched patiently on a bar stool, a black cat is silently negotiating a spot of lunch from Ray Charly’s smoky grill. The cheeky feline is wedged between locals tucking into chicken-and-foie-gras sandwiches but isn’t raising any eyebrows until a passing tourist squeals at the social-media opportunity, takes a picture and vanishes. In Tangier, people tend to see what they want to. To some, the city is a place of eccentricity and exile, of exported goods, imported ills and exoticism on the Med. To others, it’s home – and everyone needs their lunch. Residents’ default mode seems to be to carry on as though they have seen it all before.

That said, if you haven’t visited, the sartorial codes of the Tanjawis (locals) and tourists offer a lively primer for what to expect. People in boxy djellabas stroll alongside those in slim-fit tracksuits. Many here are second-generation Moroccans returning for family visits or holidays. There are tarboosh hats and baseball caps, hijabs and bouffant hairstyles. Children peek playfully around the corners of old buildings while wrinkled elders smoke cigarettes on terraces, the image only slightly spoiled by the presence of smartphones playing tinny symphonies.

But let’s get orientated. The Rue Siaghine is a good place to start: it snakes its way up into the city from the old customs gate, Porte de la Douane. It’s a well-trodden path, shaped by Phoenicians, Romans and, in later centuries, various rival European powers. Depending on who you ask, Tangier (or Tánger or Tanjah – even the name changes depending on the speaker) has long been buffeted by different perspectives on its place in the world.

Between 1923 and 1956, the so-called “international zone” saw the city jointly administered by no fewer than nine countries (France, Spain, the UK, Portugal, Italy, Belgium, the Netherlands, Sweden and the US). The strange yet strategic arrangement was overseen by the Moroccan sultan. Tangier sat at the vanguard of Mediterranean espionage and statecraft. Many outsiders arrived hoping to lose themselves in the tight maze of streets and markets. One of them, William S Burroughs, holed up in the Hotel El-Muniria to write his 1959 novel Naked Lunch, the paranoid plot of which features duplicitous agents of Interzone Incorporated. A stream of (often oddball) authors followed and Tangier was recently designated a Creative City of Literature by Unesco. Yet another accolade for people to disagree about.

As a host for other powers and a place onto which people were keen to project their own image, it became a city whose architecture, language and culture occupied a bewildering in-between space, drawing both from the rest of Morocco and Europe. Some locals in their thirties and forties tell Monocle about how they used to switch on their TVs in the 2000s and watch the extravagances of Spanish TV channel Telecinco (controlled by Italy’s Berlusconi family) or Andalucía’s Canal Sur. At the time, Morocco’s national broadcasters still hadn’t bothered to direct their signals to Tangier in the country’s north. As such, Spanish accidentally became the language of entertainment, shaping the fashion tastes and aspirations of an entire generation that looked northward. Today, though, Tanjawis are increasingly tiring of their story being told from the outside looking in.

“We try not to cling to nostalgia,” says Kenza Bennani, the founder and creative director of ready-to-wear kaftan brand New Tangier, sitting in its showroom. Tonight she is hosting a get-together for friends, all of whom seem to be confidently reimagining their city. “The popular idea of Morocco always seemed to miss the mark when it came to expressing who we really are,” she says, placing plates of boquerones (anchovies) and Moroccan pastries on the table, before pouring the first of the night’s many negroni sbagliatos. “All of that orientalism and exoticism helped to romanticise Tangier for some but the younger generation born here no longer feels the need to live up to imported fever dreams. Reflection has resulted in a new way of seeing the city and where we want to go.”

The evening’s chatter isn’t idle. The sentiment circling the sofas is backed by stories of imminent openings and works in progress. Graphic and interactive designer Malak Khattabi is nearing completion of her creative residency, Telegraph Studio. She describes the acquisition of the Tetris-block-like building in the Kasbah as “a small but proud act of resistance” to the waves of overseas capital that have washed over the city centre. Creative director and curator Hicham Bouzid stops by with Amina Mourid. The pair co-founded a think tank-turned-art and urban regeneration venture, Think Tangier, in 2016 after working together in Marrakech. Planned as a one-year experiment, it’s now about to celebrate its 10th anniversary with a future-focused symposium and a new café soon to join its cultural space and gallery, Kiosk. Monocle also meets art publicist Zora El Hajji and jewellery designer Lamiae Skalli, both of whom are opening new restaurants in the coming months.

“What’s beautiful about Tangier is that we build each other up,” says Bennani. “Seeing the city’s changing face as a long-distance race, rather than a sprint, keeps us anchored, not competitive.” Having studied in Spain and worked in the film and TV industries, Bennani built her brand from her mother’s living room until she had enough money to hire in-house seamstresses for her atelier. She now counts high-profile Moroccan artists as clients. “I’m someone who grew up in colour: I can’t see fashion in terms of black and white. Like everyone else here tonight, I found my own way by rebuilding production chains on my own terms and repaving the path to success.”

In 2026, Morocco will have its first pavilion at the Venice Biennale, a milestone that coincides with France’s pavilion being represented by French-Moroccan artist Yto Barrada. The artists and delegation members will wear bespoke garments designed by Bennani, she tells us.

The next day, Skalli invites Monocle to meet at Alma, a restaurant that she runs with her husband, Seif Kousmate, who is also a celebrated photographer. “When we opened in 2022, customers kept asking us where the owners were from, incredulous that such a contemporary, Mediterranean-style eatery came from Moroccans,” says Skalli. “It’s important that they see more models of homegrown success,” she says.

The couple are working on their second restaurant, Soli, in the Medina. It’s a venture that aims to expand people’s perceptions of Moroccan cuisine. “So many restaurants in the old part of the city have French owners who simplify menus based on what they think tourists want,” she says, pointing to the standard offering of only six options of shlayed (assorted salads and vegetables that accompany bigger dishes). “At home, we eat up to 20 varieties. These are the small stories that we want to share.” The new space will open once the refurbishment of a dilapidated textile workshop is complete; this will be followed by a coffee shop next door, then a Moroccan pantry selling everything from spices to cheese. “It’s all about inviting people to have a happy Moroccan experience, not just immersing them in an outdated postcard image.”

Shortly after leaving Skalli, we drive through the hills just outside the city proper in an area that locals call “California” to visit The Mothership. Set over three hectares, the former home of Scottish painter James McBey was taken over by artist Barrada and her husband, Sean Gullette, more than 20 years ago. Today it collaborates with art collectives and artisans through a sought-after art residency. Sprightly US-Moroccan Mounia Yasmine recently became the project’s manager. Today she leads us through the garden with her beloved pooch Mimosa in tow.

The focus here is on textiles. Interiors are colourful and cluttered, and we spy a giant raft-shaped treehouse outside, atop a gnarled and wide-leaved fig. A dye garden is being protected from the donkey by faithful gardener Ba Mjido. The view across the Strait offers a glimpse of the Spanish coastline, lightly blurred by a flicker of sea mist. “Though she spends most of her time abroad, Yto has a strong connection to her hometown,” says Yasmine, who is impressed by Tangier’s expansion, which she says has increased threefold in size since she was a child here. “Artists are leading efforts to ensure that historic gems aren’t lost.” In 2004, Barrada rescued the Cinema Rif, reviving it as the Cinémathèque de Tanger. The arthouse picture house includes a café, an exhibition space and a film archive.

Tangier has its share of elaborate estates and extravagant villas, many of which were built for diplomats and dignitaries or housed spies and foreign correspondents. The repair or otherwise of these magnificent structures has always followed the city’s tides of influence. Today several cultural institutions are stepping in too. UK designer Jasper Conran purchased Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Bergé’s private home in 2019, which is now the 12-key Villa Mabrouka. His re-glorification effort involved scouring the globe for original pieces from the late designer’s scattered estate. Curious visitors can see the stunning gardens by making a booking at the restaurant but a strict no-photography policy keeps high-profile hotel guests’ privacy intact. Another palatial mansion on the other side of town is Villa Harris, which was bequeathed to the city by a British journalist and is a museum of modern art.

Murmurs about the city’s future often focus on 2030, when Tangier will host part of the joint Spain-Portugal-Morocco football World Cup. When Monocle visits, the 75,000-seat Ibn Batouta Stadium’s upgrade has just been completed on schedule, just in time for the African Cup of Nations, which Morocco is hosting until January 2026. All of this investment in stadiums, their surrounding roads and tourist-related infrastructure, however, is fuelling frustration. In September 2025 an unprecedented nationwide wave of youth-led protests resulted in a wave of arrests. Some welcome budget allocations towards health and education have ensued but the conversation will continue.

In Tangier, the development that has tongues wagging the most is the modernisation of the old port, which has made way for a new marina that will soon fill up with yachts, residents of sea-view apartments and luxury retail. Backed by Emirati developer Eagle Hills, the project’s full cost hasn’t been made public but, as it nears completion, it’s clear that work still needs to be done to win over sceptical residents. On the other side of the Plage Municipale, there are more concrete-hoisting cranes stacking the skyline with hastily erected high-rises that show another, slightly less charming, vision of the future.

That projection of Tangier is mercifully far away as we arrive at Kiosk, where Bouzid and Mourid are joined by younger members of their team (Kamal Daghmoumi, 23, and Amine Houari, 25) to discuss the implications of a recent tourism-board grant that will help fund a café. “It took a while but the authorities finally understand and appreciate what we’re doing,” says Bouzid. “Many of our events and urban installations invite large swaths of society.” One upcoming project, for instance, consists of building seating areas for workers in a neglected industrial zone. “We’re always encouraging younger audiences to rewrite, recalibrate and celebrate their heritage, which is how we embrace new narratives,” he says. “This is good for Morocco. It’s great for Tangier.”

Later that night, on the terrace of the Cinémathèque de Tanger, the conversation continues – and, as always, so do polite disagreements. There are familiar faces and several new ones too. Some have arrived from a screen-printing workshop at the Tangier Print Club, another of Bouzid and Mourid’s initiatives. “The creative scene hasn’t been this alive for a long time,” says Bouzid, the aperitivi adding some gusto to conversations in the humid night air. “The good news is that today the people leading this era of exciting change are all Moroccans.”

To travel to Florence is to accept that you are walking a well-trodden path, one that has been prominent on the map since the 18th century, when the Grand Tour was considered an educational rite of passage. The home of the Renaissance, the Medici banking family and luxury fashion house Ferragamo, it draws a crowd that appreciates art history and chianti in equal measure.

From her scallop shell, Botticelli’s gold-haired Venus beckons about 8,000 people to the Uffizi Gallery every day. Michelangelo’s David watches over the city – from the full-scale replica in Piazza della Signoria to the fridge-magnet versions sold at kiosks and souvenir shops – while the original can be found at the Galleria dell’Accademia. Churches and basilicas are adorned with works by Giotto, Ghirlandaio and Masaccio.

Few cities possess the cultural heft of Florence. There’s a reason why Stendhal syndrome – or culture shock, as it’s sometimes known – was first diagnosed here. More than 10 million tourists pass through the city every year, far outnumbering its population of 362,000. Though it’s tempting to shirk the crowded museums and streets of the old town, to do so entirely would be to miss the point. After all, who’s above admiring the canonical works of the High Renaissance maestros? But a little black book of contacts is also a necessity: many residents understandably feel the urge to guard their favourite addresses.

Florentine twins Marina Serena and Cesare Achille Cacciapuoti have created an antidote to the proliferation of restaurants, cafés and shops designed to cater to tourists. In their annual magazine and on their website Italy Segreta, the duo vet places that are run by locals and publish stories dedicated to all things Bel Paese – from food and hospitality to the cultural mores of Italian society.

“Since we cannot control travel, globalisation or the economy, we tell stories about the places that we want to support and bring to the world an Italy that we feel represented by,” says Marina when Monocle meets her at the company’s top-floor office in the heart of the city. From our perch, Filippo Brunelleschi’s 15th-century duomo is so close that it feels as though you could reach out and touch its terracotta tiles.

“If we bring business to residents, it creates a virtuous cycle with more places that also cater to the people of Florence, rather than gelato stands and souvenir shops,” says Cesare, with his miniature schnauzer, Mina (named after the Italian singer), by his side. “If visitors come to Italy without knowing what’s authentic, they end up in places that promote the wrong idea of the country. We’re gatekeepers not of our address books but of reality, of locality.”

Another guiding principle of Italy Segreta is to champion a new cohort of creatives and entrepreneurs, be it the people featured in the pages of the magazine or the photographers and writers who bring the stories to life. “Italy is conceptualised as being old,” says Marina. Cesare agrees. “We need to give space to the younger generations to do things that are up to the standard of what was done in the past,” he says. “Take Italian design. It’s internationally recognised but mostly for what was created in the 1970s.”

A discerning approach to travel makes sense in Florence, where an abundance of humdrum recommendations can be tricky to sift through. It’s an ethos to which Canadian-born banker Pierre Ferland subscribes. In 2024 he c0-opened This Time Tomorrow, an eight-suite hotel in the residential neighbourhood of Le Cure. “I travel so much for work that when I arrive in a city for a short break I just want to be told what I can’t miss,” he says as he gives Monocle a tour of the rooms, which feature restored frescoes and artworks including a 17th-century tapestry.

Before guests arrive, they are encouraged to complete a questionnaire that will help This Time Tomorrow’s affable resident curator, Eric Veroliemeulen, to tailor an itinerary, with restaurant bookings, private winery tours and more. “If a guest is interested in art, I’ll introduce them to a local sculptor or maybe organise a tour of the Uffizi with the head of the art history department at the British Institute of Florence,” says Veroliemeulen. Originally from the Netherlands, he moved to Florence 15 years ago to work in hospitality. “Cutting through the noise – that’s the real meaning of curation,” says Ferland.

The next morning, Monocle heads to the Palazzo Strozzi before the museum’s opening hours to meet its director general, Arturo Galansino. On display until late January is an exhibition dedicated to Fra Angelico, the 15th-century Dominican friar who painted biblical scenes with a devotion and lightness of touch that continues to intrigue to this day. “This show isn’t once in a lifetime, it’s once in history,” he says as we gaze at the gilded wings of an angel that has flown down from heaven to deliver the Annunciation to Mary.

As part of the show, Galansino led a campaign to restore 28 of Fra Angelico’s works and reunited altarpieces that hadn’t been exhibited together since they were disassembled centuries ago. “Some of these loans have never been seen and will never be loaned again,” he says. “If you did a regular Old Masters show in Florence, no one would come because there are too many in town. You need to create something unbelievable, unprecedented and unrepeatable to stand out.”

Since taking charge of the museum 10 years ago, Galansino has helped to shape Florence’s contemporary art scene too – no small feat in a city that tends to prefer romanticising the past over looking to the future. “The city has been imprisoned by the Renaissance legacy,” he says. “People used to think that Florence had nothing to do with contemporary art.” In recent years, the Palazzo Strozzi has hosted exhibitions including a retrospective on US abstract expressionist Helen Frankenthaler, as well as inviting Anselm Kiefer, Anish Kapoor and Tracey Emin to exhibit site-specific installations in the museum’s courtyard. “The risk is that this city becomes a Disneyland of the Renaissance. We’re trying to bring a new gaze on culture.”

Soon, the doors open to the public and a crowd quietly streams in. A friar in a puffer jacket, with an audio guide gripped tightly to his ear, stands in contemplation in front of an altarpiece depicting Christ’s descent from his cross.

After we leave the Palazzo Strozzi, we wend our way towards the Arno and stop by Todo Modo, a bookshop, café and enoteca run by husband-and-wife duo Maddalena Fossombroni and Pietro Torrigiani. Since Todo Modo was founded in 2014, the business has evolved to include an annual book fair called Testo, a publishing imprint, a radio station and a kiosk near Fiesole, a residential area in northeastern Florence. “We felt that there was a need for a place where residents could meet and discuss books,” says Fossombroni. Her husband agrees. “We’re Florentine by birth and could see the people who we grew up with leaving the city,” he adds. “Now we have created a little community. We hand out postcards to our customers and last summer we received more than 100 back from across the globe.”

As we cross the river on the Ponte alla Carraia, a lone rower passes beneath us. From the bridge, you can see the grand palazzi that line the Arno, near the Chiesa di San Salvatore in Ognissanti, where Botticelli is buried. As a rule of thumb, it’s best to avoid bottlenecks at either end of the Ponte Vecchio, where gold shops draw crowds in search of glittering souvenirs. An exception is if you’re crossing via the Vasari Corridor, the elevated passageway that links Palazzo Vecchio to Palazzo Pitti via the Uffizi – once the commute of Cosimo I de’ Medici in the 16th century. (Yes, really.)

On the Oltrarno side of Florence, there’s a bohemian sensibility with wood-panelled trattorias lining Borgo San Iacopo and workshops specialising in brass or picture framing mingling with art galleries. In the square facing Santo Spirito, old men in cowboy hats sketch the white-washed, curlicued façade of the Augustinian church that gives the piazza its name.

We make a detour through the Boboli Gardens, where we spot a resident reading a copy of daily newspaper Il Foglio while reclining on a deckchair that has been artfully positioned in a patch of sun; gardeners, meanwhile, tend to the lemon trees that surround a stone statue of Neptune. From the vantage point of the elevated gardens, the city’s geographical limits can be seen as buildings give way to rolling hills. Here, the charm of Florence is on full display, the city’s gentle character captured by its ochre-hued streets and church spires. Chaotic Rome and secretive Milan, with its closed-off courtyards, feel an eternity away.

In the nearby San Frediano neighbourhood, we stop at Cucina, a restaurant run by architects-turned-restaurateurs Simonetta Fiamminghi and Giuseppe Bartolini. “Our food is the food of our grandmothers, of memory,” says Fiamminghi. She is returning from the market, carrying crates of produce to the kitchen. Bartolini hands us an espresso and begins to explain what food and architecture have in common. “We represent on the table a landscape of farms and wineries,” he says. “The process of combining ingredients to transform and make a new thing is what you do in design – it’s all about material and form. But perfection is not our goal. What we do is home cooking and food is our opportunity to offer love.” Tucked away on a street lined with Liberty-style townhouses, Cucina is one of Florence’s best-kept secrets – run for locals by locals.

A few blocks south is the former convent of San Francesco di Paola, repurposed as a series of apartments that are home to an international mix of people who now call Florence home. In the property’s communal garden, we meet German-born art-gallery director and author Felicitas Ehrhardt, whose doctoral thesis examined the history of the former monastery of San Francesco di Paola, named after the 15th-century saint. “I first came to Florence after university, when I worked at the Goethe-Institut,” she says, her hair pulled back in a French twist. “I kept returning. It’s difficult to leave when you’re surrounded by so much beauty.”

In the summer, when fireflies light up the long grass, Ehrhardt and her neighbours arrange outdoor film screenings. Every year, the residents gather to pick olives from the property’s small grove to make oil. “Some places have true anima and soul, a power of place,” she says. Ehrhardt admits that it can be hard to live in the present when surrounded by so much history but adds, “You can’t live in the past. It can become baggage. You have to liberate yourself and create something new.”

Before departing, Monocle braves the queues at the Uffizi to stop by Botticelli’s “The Birth of Venus”. Whatever the time of day, admirers can be found in front of the whimsical 540-year-old painting. The Greek goddess covers herself with her hair, as a female figure rushes to wrap her in a floral cloak. Venus gazes back, an expression of knowing serenity amid the chaos caused by her beauty.

Read next: The Monocle Concierge’s curated guide: Insider tips for Florence, Lake Como, Rio, Seattle, Hokkaido, and Vienna

When we land at Príncipe’s tiny airport, a sign declares that we have arrived “at the centre of the world”. This African island sits just one degree north of the equator, about 250km off the coast of Gabon, and is the smaller partner in the sovereign state of São Tomé and Príncipe. Getting here takes time. Our journey from London requires three flights and takes the best part of as many days.

The final leg is a 35-minute hop (weather permitting) from São Tomé on a 20-seat propeller plane. As you come in to land, the rich colours of Príncipe’s landscape cannot fail to grab you. The forest canopy is a tapestry of different shades of green – from the pale, feathery fronds of coconut trees to lime-green alocasia (“elephant ears”) and the spinach-coloured tops of towering oaks.

Finally disembarking into Príncipe’s bright sunshine and sticky air feels like touching down in a hidden paradise. But it is one facing a turning point in its history as Mark Shuttleworth – the South African entrepreneur who has steered much of Príncipe’s nascent and environmentally considerate tourism industry in the past 15 years – is now looking to sell up. The decision raises questions about the future of the island and who will now be responsible for safeguarding its nature and the livelihoods of its inhabitants.

Along Príncipe’s coast, strips of ivory sand are caught between turquoise water on one side and trees and tangled plant roots on the other. It is these pockets of beach, which occur like commas punctuating the island’s edge, that lend it a feeling of paradise. Shuttleworth, who made his fortune in software, quickly sensed this idyllic spirit on his first visit in 2010.

The same year, Shuttleworth founded ecotourism and agroforestry business HBD Príncipe, after he intervened in a proposal being weighed up by the national government to allow more than 1,000 hectares of land to be cleared for palm-oil plantations. Instead, his venture aimed to protect the island’s beauty and biodiversity. According to HBD Príncipe’s Dutch CEO, Egbert Bloemsma, its aims are threefold: to help create a strong economy, preserve nature and enable the population of 9,830 to flourish. “That’s not easy,” says Bloemsma.

The hotel arm of the enterprise, Príncipe Collection, accounts for about 90 per cent of the business. It operates a hotel on São Tomé and three on Príncipe, with a fourth set to open in May 2026. Though Príncipe Collection has always worked with the same French architect and interior designer, Didier Lefort, the hotels aren’t uniform. Two – Roça Sundy and the soon-to-open Belo Monte – make use of former Portuguese colonial buildings on concession land granted to HBD Príncipe by the regional government. The beachside Sundy Praia and Bom Bom hotels, meanwhile, offer villas and bungalows nestled in the jungle.

Travellers who venture here are mostly couples or small groups looking for a balance of respite and adventure. Sundy Praia is the most luxurious outpost in the portfolio. Here, there are 15 villas with one, two or three rooms (two villas are set around small, private pools). Rooms are elegant, unfussy and bright because of their tent-like, white roofs. Inside, neutral upholstery is paired with natural fibres and finishes: wooden floors and furniture, wicker lampshades and subtly striped calico drapes. The mosquito net is a gauzy gold curtain that bathes the bed in a soft amber light in the morning. Then there’s the calming sound of the ocean outside – every so often a gentle roar washes over the villas.

The hotel’s restaurant is a dramatic, arched wooden structure that gives you the impression of being in the upturned hull of a ship. Yet the bow and the stern are open to the elements – it’s clear that the design takes a backseat in favour of the resplendence of what’s outside. From the kitchen come dishes that make the most of the island’s produce and reveal the Portuguese head chef’s playful approach to the menu. The amuse-bouches might include green-pepper gazpacho, fresh falafel or sorbet; the main course is usually fish, served as part of a stew (moqueca) or cooked in local micocó herbs.

At Sundy Praia, small mona monkeys take single bites out of mangoes then drop the fruits through the canopy; we hear them bouncing off the roof of the hotel reception. It’s a sign of the island’s abundance. The geographic position and fertile ground of Príncipe make it a breathtaking travel destination but also hint at some of its complicated history.

Príncipe was uninhabited before the Portuguese arrived in the 15th century. Along with São Tomé, it became a fertile homestead, of sorts, on which the colonisers could grow crops. The Portuguese introduced sugar cane, before testing out cotton, coffee and cacao cultivation. It was the first place in Africa to grow cacao – the hot climate, frequent rainfall and shady jungle provided the ideal environment. It quickly became the most significant cash crop here during Portugal’s 500-year stay. The Portuguese brought slaves here from their other colonies – countries such as Cape Verde, Angola and Mozambique – to work on the plantations.

Since São Tomé and Príncipe gained independence in 1975, many of the grand colonial buildings that pepper Príncipe have been left to crumble. Across the island, plants wind their way around these edifices, creeping through window cracks and bursting out of roofs. “Our nature is very hungry,” says Monocle’s guide Karlos Semedo. While the flora might be insatiable, Príncipe’s fauna is, generally, of a gentler persuasion.

As well as the monkeys, the island is known for its birds – more than 80 species – and three types of turtles. Between August and October, humpback whales can be seen in the ocean. A huge swath of the island is the protected Obô Natural Park of Príncipe, full of hiking routes, waterfalls and quiet swimming spots. But it’s not necessary to take these trails to spot the island’s birds – the boundaries between nature and human life are blurry here. Of the endemic species, it is the three kinds of kingfisher and their startlingly bright plumage that are the most satisfying to spot. The chest of the blue-breasted kingfisher is an icy aquamarine, almost the exact shade seen painted across town on the exterior of small houses or the walls of restaurants.

During afternoons in the island’s capital, Santo António, young children – oversized backpacks bumping against their legs – walk one another home from class. In Marcelo da Veiga Square (named after the island’s beloved poet), highschoolers lounge on benches, taking advantage of the park’s free wi-fi to play on their phones. Elsewhere, the sounds of the West African charts ring out from barber’s shops and roadside bars – Angolan singer Lurhany, Cote d’Ivoire’s Mathey and Nigerian megastar Asake. Príncipe’s unofficial motto is “leve leve” (slowly, slowly). It is painted on murals, oft invoked and provides anyone with a ready excuse for not showing up on time.

Leve leve extends to how visitors are encouraged to spend their time on the island. At Príncipe Collection hotels, several excursions are available. Among other activities, during our stay we tour a cacao plantation and chocolate factory; wake up at 05.00 to go birdwatching and stay out late at night to observe – utterly mesmerised – a green turtle nest on the beach. The loose schedules, organised by Santomean experiences manager Vander do Espírito Santo, leave you time to lie on the beach or by the pool and, really, there is enough natural beauty to stare at wherever you look.

To move around the island, we take the single-track road that winds its way through Príncipe’s mountainous terrain. The traffic, consisting mostly of Sanya motorbikes and Toyota four-wheel drives, travels on smooth tarmac in central areas and slow-going bumpy stones elsewhere – providing an “African massage”, says one driver.

HBD Príncipe’s approach to expansion might also be described as leve leve. The island, at 142 sq km, is a little smaller than Washington DC (177 sq km). The population, however, is about 0.013 per cent the size of Washington’s. This is a small place, without the infrastructure or aspiration to accept streams of tourists. The hotel group currently has 77 rooms and this is projected to grow to between 120 and 160 in the coming years. That would be a step up but still a modest number and one that would make the enterprise economically independent.

“We have had the vision for the sustainable social and economic development of Príncipe since the beginning,” says HBD’s sustainability director, Emma Tuzinkiewicz, who relocated to the island from New York in 2021. As well as recycling and reuse schemes, included in the room rate of the hotels is a €25 per person “conservation and communities contribution” per night, which goes towards local projects.

It is split equally between the Fundação Príncipe NGO and projects led by HBD Príncipe. These include programmes that support schools and cover flights for students with scholarships to study abroad. “When someone said ‘sustainable tourism’ or ‘ ecotourism’, people used to think just about the environmental part,” says Tuzinkiewicz. “But sustainability also encompasses a social component – communities.”

Despite the positivity that abounds from HBD staff about their work, the company is not without critics. In recent months, the island’s political opposition and some citizens raised complaints about the company’s “neocolonial” intentions for the island. After five centuries of brutal rule by a foreign power, it is galling for some that Príncipe’s largest private employer belongs to an outsider, with many other expats in key positions.

Since Bloemsma became CEO in 2023, he has tried to make changes to mitigate this, halving the number of expats in the management team and filling the roles with locals. But in a letter sent to the Príncipe government in October 2025, Shuttleworth stated his intention to find a buyer for the company. Like the dark clouds that loom above the island just before the rain breaks, questions hang over the future of Príncipe. “We really hope that we will be able to find somebody who can carry on Mark’s legacy,” says Bloemsma. “Someone who will care as much as Mark not just about the development of the islands but also their sustainable development.”

While the tropical paradise feels far-flung, Príncipe is not cocooned from the problems of the past nor the complications of the present. Its immense natural beauty is largely unspoiled and the leve leve of island time has so far trumped development. With the sale of HBD Príncipe, there is a risk that this might change but there is also the possibility of a future in which everyone on the island feels equally responsible for its custodianship. For such a small place, there is a lot happening in Príncipe and plenty to inspire you to visit. Well, you are, after all, at the centre of the world.

Flying to Australia from almost anywhere can be daunting: it’s about 20 hours from Europe, 13 from the US and 10 from northern Asia. But the journey has its rewards. One of the world’s most diverse countries, it is home to coral reefs, expansive woodlands, red deserts, snowcapped mountains and lush rainforests – and some interesting inhabitants.

The continent’s scale makes experiencing it all a challenge. South of Sydney, however, there’s an opportunity to glimpse much of what Australia has to offer in a single, swift journey. Cutting through Illawarra, Shoalhaven and the Southern Highlands, you’ll spy dramatic coastlines, peaceful estuaries and rugged mountain ranges.

The richness of these landscapes is reflected in the stories of the Aboriginal people – the Dharawal, Yuin and Gundungurra – who long lived off the abundance of food around the lakes, waterways and ocean. Later, European settlers used the same natural bounty to establish powerful industries, from coal and timber.

This unique combination of geographies is best explored by hitting the open road – namely the Grand Pacific Drive, which starts in Sydney and tracks south. Combined with a stretch of the Hume Highway, it makes a neat 500km loop, weaving through small country towns and beachside cities, where family-run shops and independent wineries dot the landscape.

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Sydney to Illawarra

The six-lane road that takes drivers from Sydney onto the Grand Pacific Drive starts by cutting through the Royal National Park at the New South Wales capital’s southern edge. Here, the road dips and walls of eucalyptus trees rise, signalling your departure from the city. A sign directs you onto the 140km coastal route: a brown background with a landscape stylised with streaks of blue (representing the ocean), yellow (the coast) and green (nature). It’s a fairly accurate representation of the Illawarra, a flattish strip tucked between the escarpment and ocean.

Here, suburbs and villages such as Wombarra, Coledale and Thirroul punctuate the coast leading to the regional centre of Wollongong. Pubs sit on steep cliffs beside mass-made post-Second World War Fibrolite (or “Fibro”) beach houses, from which rolling surf breaks are visible. In Austinmer, large swimming pools hewn from coastal rock are flanked by Norfolk pine trees; in Coalcliff, another rock pool offers unrivalled views of the escarpment.

Access to these communities is via the Sea Cliff Bridge and the adjoining Lawrence Hargrave Drive Bridge – two roads that cling to the rock face. The views are well known, even to Aussies who have never visited, as the backdrop to seemingly every car advert on TV. Make a pit stop at any café and you immediately feel that, though we are within 75km of Sydney, there’s a much stronger sense of community here. “How are you doing?” calls one person to another as Monocle passes the Moore Street General Store. “Good,” comes the reply. “Is it your birthday? I drove past and saw you carrying a big bouquet of flowers.”

It’s the sort of atmosphere that pulled designer Orlando Hayes back to the region after a stint in Sydney. “You couldn’t pay me to return to the city,” says Hayes. The appeal, he says, is the laidback lifestyle – but this disguises the reality that, for much of the early 20th century, these were hard-working blue-collar towns. For decades, the local economy was driven by the Australian Iron and Steel plant, which opened in 1928 and was powered by coal mined in the region. Efforts have since been made to diversify. A state government plan has identified precincts for housing and job growth, with money being pumped into tourism, education, business and healthcare.

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Shoalhaven

A little further south, our next stop is Shoalhaven, 150km from Sydney. We spend the night at Paperbark Camp, which offers pared-back, tent-like accommodation and an excellent dinner at Gunyah (an Aboriginal word meaning “meeting place”). The restaurant is designed by Sydney architects Nettleton Tribe and is built high off the ground to take advantage of the sea breeze and the rustle of leaves amid the treetops.

Shoalhaven is very different to Illawarra: the land is flat, the population is sparser and the pace of life slower, with the coastal portion of the Grand Pacific Drive terminating here and cutting inland at the town of Shoalhaven Heads. The beaches are a little wilder and so is the range of activities on offer. Monocle stops at Summercloud Bay in Booderee National Park and chats with a surfer. People also fish off the rocks here. “Nothing’s biting,” one of them tells Monocle. That’s perhaps a good thing for the surfer, as white sharks often prowl these waters.

“It’s a stunning bay, lined by sandstone cliffs, with white-sand beaches and more than 60 dive sites,” says Lara Boag, who runs the diving outfit Woebegone in Shoalhaven’s Jervis Bay with her husband, Dylan. When we visit, they’re getting ready to lead a snorkelling excursion and making repairs to their boat in preparation for the summer crowds. “Throughout the year we have these major seasons with different marine life,” says Boag. “So it’s never the same. We have whales, seals and sharks at various times of the year.”

In addition to the coastline, Shoalhaven also has an estuarine landscape created by its eponymous river, which supplies some of the region’s best seafood. It’s reflected at the mouth of the Crookhaven river at Greenwell Point, where you’ll find several oyster farms. Perhaps the best known is the small, family-owned Jim Wild’s, which was established in 1979. Visitors are greeted with an enormous fibreglass oyster shell. The farm is named after the national champion shucker, whose daughter Sally McLean has followed in his footsteps and has won the Australian women’s title five times (most recently in 2025).

Jim Wild’s offers Sydney rock and Pacific varieties, depending on the season, and visitors can eat the fresh oysters on the waterfront deck. “We have pristine waters with the right conditions for oysters, so people come here for that,” says McLean, who, having moved away after finishing school, returned to Greenwell Point in 2012 to run the business. “But they also come just to say, ‘G’day.’”

The area’s cultural clout is equally strong. Bundanon art museum is one of Australia’s nine National Collecting Institutions, responsible for preserving and sharing the country’s heritage, and the only regional outfit. It was established in 1993 after artist couple Arthur and Yvonne Boyd gifted their property in Shoalhaven to the Australian people. “In the 1970s they came to see friends who lived in the area and they were just blown away by the landscape,” says the museum’s CEO, Rachel Kent. “So they said to their friends, ‘If any land comes up for sale, tell us.’”

Eventually, a plot became available – and then another. The Boyds soon assembled a patchwork of properties. Kent’s responsibility now is to maintain both the creative legacy and the environment. “One of the things that Arthur always said is, ‘No one man can own a landscape,’” she says. “It was this idea that Bundanon was not theirs for keeping but rather that it should be shared with everyone.”

In addition to presenting exhibitions and housing art, the organisation runs artist retreats, as well as educational and cultural programmes with facilities spread over two sites. The first is at Arthur’s former homestead and studio, while the other campus, which sits at a bend in the Shoalhaven river, has a 32-bed dormitory completed in 1999 to the design of a team including Pritzker-winning Australian architect Glenn Murcutt.

This is complemented by a subterranean art museum and collections store, partially buried in the landscape to protect the works from fire and flood. There’s also The Bridge, which houses the creative learning centre for schools, a visitor information centre, accommodation and a café. “These buildings are about being in conversation with the landscape,” says Kent of the structures, which were completed in 2022 to the design of Melbourne-based architect Kerstin Thompson.

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The Southern Highlands to Sydney

A straight shot inland from the Shoalhaven is the Southern Highlands region. To reach it, you can take any number of routes that cut through agricultural landscapes and Morton National Park. Monocle passes Fitzroy Falls, an 81-metre drop accessed via a gentle bushwalk. Nearby is Kangaroo Valley, which is known for its lush, green landscapes, rolling hills and charming homesteads.

Its flagship structure is Hampden Bridge. Built in 1898, it’s Australia’s last surviving wooden suspension bridge, with its gothic sandstone towers offering picturesque views of the Kangaroo river – a superb setting for spontaneous swims. That’s where Monocle meets Ellen Green and Tim Jayatilaka. “It’s the most magical place on earth,” says Green, whose family has long holidayed in the area. “The community makes it special. Even just meeting people down at the pub.”

This bonhomie comes to the fore at Osborn House. “There’s a strong sense of community in the Southern Highlands,” says the hotel’s general manager, Caitlin Walter. “Visit any shop or restaurant and you’ll feel as though you were being welcomed into someone’s home.” Established in 1892, it features 15 unique guestrooms and a cluster of 12 cabins, with views of Morton National Park. “It’s why everyone should visit the region, even just for a few days. If you want to see Australia, this is the best place to come. The bush and countryside are amazing.”

While it’s tempting to stay on the grounds of Osborn House – which has a century-old botanical garden, a 25-metre swimming pool, steam room, sauna and spa facilities – it’s worth paying a visit to the regional hub of Bowral, where you can browse a smattering of antique shops and smaller galleries. It’s a polished counterpoint to the more bohemian cafés and businesses that can be found in Illawarra – proof that the region’s retail, hospitality and culture are as varied as the landscapes.

This is something that’s further illustrated by one last major landscape shift that’s visible on the return leg to Sydney. Visitors can pass through the remnant of a rainforest that once stretched across the region. Stopping off at Budderoo National Park, you can find walks that snake beneath the verdant canopy. By the time you reach Sydney’s outskirts, the 500km loop comes full circle with the rarest of Australian delights: diversity delivered without the tyranny of distance.

Read next: How to explore Australia’s Great Southern

Most of us have – at least once – imagined our hometown or another city as a person. What are they like? Old or young? Male or female? Impeccably groomed and besuited or scruffy and bohemian? Do they wake up early and jog or dance until dawn? Or all of the above?

The game is irresistible in a place such as Sofia. For a start, the character’s name is already chosen. Some residents refer to Bulgaria’s capital as “she” or “her” in casual conversation. When Monocle sits down with Kristin Radoilova for some smoked salmon and omelette at her restaurant, Sabale, she has a few thoughts on the matter. “If Sofia were a person, she would be dressed in an aristocratic coat and own a few rentals around town,” says Radoilova. “She has seen a lot – and suffered a lot – but has managed to stay sweet.”

The tough times include years of Communist rule, which lasted from the 1940s to the fall of the Berlin Wall. But Sofia doesn’t bear many scars: walk down its stately streets and you’re more likely to be reminded of Vienna or Munich than a bleak post-Soviet city. The skyline is still punctuated by the spires and onion-shaped domes of the Orthodox churches wedged between art nouveau palaces and well-tended theatres. At first glance, the impression is one of turn-of-the-century splendour.

But political and social turmoil can lurk behind even the most scenic façades. Bulgaria has seen a lot of it since the end of the Soviet era. Most people we speak to remember the 1990s transition to democracy as an Eastern European version of the Wild West and a time of mass exodus from the country. The long fight against corruption continues amid fast-changing governments but if the city has reasons to be optimistic, it’s thanks to people such as Radoilova who are taking matters into their own hands.

Radoilova quit a corporate job in advertising three years ago to start a bakery specialising in cinnamon rolls. She did so without any prior experience; there was no one else in the city making the kind of sweet treats that she loved. “A year later I thought, ‘What else do we need in Sofia?’” she says. “The answer was a breakfast place serving the best ingredients in a minimalist interior.”

The result is Sabale, set in a former tea warehouse. Radoilova sources most of the produce used in its breakfast classics from independent Bulgarian farms. Rather than dwell on the drawbacks of being in the country, she likes to focus on the advantages. “It’s very easy to make your dreams come true here,” she says. “If I wanted to open a spot like this in Amsterdam or Copenhagen, there would be hundreds of similar places. In Sofia, you can be the first. It feels almost like a blank slate: you can do whatever you want.”

That’s especially true of Sabale’s surroundings – the former Jewish quarter, just north of the cumulus-shaped St Alexander Nevsky Cathedral. Residents have taken to referring to it simply as the “Kvartal” (Bulgarian for “the neighbourhood”). Here, the buildings are a little shorter and scruffier than in other parts of Sofia, and the streets are leafier. It’s a place that lends itself to strolling.

Yordan Zhechev is behind some of the Kvartal’s most appealing outposts and, though he denies it, is at least partly responsible for its upward trajectory. “I just don’t like saying no to stuff,” he tells Monocle from inside ZH Jazz Room, which was his first outpost in the area. “I like doing things that I have never done before and seeing what happens.” Using funds raised during his previous career in advertising, he launched the listening room and café in 2020. It quickly became popular and today we’re lucky to find room on its velvet armchairs. A Miles Davis record plays as Zhechev pours us a salep, a sweet Turkish drink made from orchid root and milk. He offers us some chocolate truffles by La Fève, a Bulgarian brand in which he has invested (he’s also, it turns out, a partner at Sabale).

As we talk, the list of Zhechev’s neighbourhood projects seems to grow and grow. He has helped to open nearby bakery &Bread (the happy consequence of the founders’ lockdown passion for sourdough) and the Sezon grocery shop opposite. His newest location is Mahala, an airy bookshop that he created with translator Maria Zlateva in 2023. A sense of spontaneity is what he appreciates about this neighbourhood and Sofia as a whole: though a festival has been launched in the Kvartal to celebrate all of its businesses, the area still feels as though it eschews excessive planning. “What I love about this place is that you can call anyone at any time and ask, ‘Do you want to do this?’” he says. “And the chances are that they’ll say yes.”

According to Zlateva, Mahala was born almost on a whim. “One of us said, ‘Why don’t we start a bookshop?’ and that’s how it started, without thinking too much about it,” she says. On the shelves are translated books by Bulgarian authors and English-language titles, hinting at a growing community of expats in Sofia.

Dmitrii Efanov, who we meet as he walks his dog, is one such newcomer. The Russian graphic designer left St Petersburg when the full-scale invasion of Ukraine began in 2022 and is happy with his choice. “I think that the coming decade will be that of the Balkans,” he says. “People will be happy not to be in Western Europe. It’s very chill and super-safe here.”

A balance between busyness and calm – the cultural calendar of a European capital but the size of a second city at about 1.3 million inhabitants – is the reason why many creatives are staying or returning here, rather than seeking higher wages further west. Since 2020, the annual number of Bulgarian returnees has surpassed that of those leaving. Fashion consultant, buyer, designer and curator Julian Daynov is one of them: though he still keeps a foot in Berlin and Athens, he fell back in love with his home city and is now an evangelist for it. “I’m from a generation of Bulgarians who thought that they had to leave the country as soon as they were of age to build their own life,” he says, his long, dark hair slicked back in a bun.

“We grew up with the scars of Communist Bulgaria, where we were limited in our choices and visions. We knew that there was a big world beyond the borders and wanted to see it.” Daynov left in 2003 and lived in Germany, Switzerland, the UK, the US, Denmark and Greece, working for companies from Saks Fifth Avenue to Prada, before he started to come back on production trips to Bulgarian factories. “I saw many of my peers who had lived abroad returning, building their businesses and families here.”

For Daynov, Sofia’s appeal lies in the fact that it’s “sort of an underdog city”. “That’s what makes a place interesting: when there’s so much that’s still undiscovered and you have the possibility to shape it. It’s liberating to experiment.” There’s also an element of delayed recognition. “People have a lot of pride about the country, its history and nature. It’s paired with the idea of turning this into something cooler, greater and bigger. It’s very Bulgarian to want to prove something to the world. Being suppressed for years, living behind the Iron Curtain, we didn’t have an equal start but we can make it through.”

The Communist years remain a big part of Bulgaria’s cultural conversation, says Dimitrina Ivanova, the culture editor of Dnevnik newspaper. “In the Balkans, we have a specific relationship with the past. There’s a darkness in us that’s reflected in Bulgarian movies and literature.” Tonight, she’s rushing to catch screenings that are part of the Cinelibri film festival in the National Palace of Culture, a hulking reminder of the Soviet years. “Last weekend we had the Sofia Art Fair, with contemporary galleries from all over the world,” she says. “We had a big jazz festival in the summer – totally free. Sofia is a really cosy town but there’s lots happening at the same time.”

As for a glimpse of the future, a stay at Dot Sofia is a good way to understand where the city’s high-end hospitality scene is heading. Clad in russet-hued Corten steel punctured by tiny dots, the hotel was designed by Bulgarian firm I/O and sits like a spaceship in the oldest part of the city – a long-neglected area west of the Kvartal, close to the Women’s Market. Its owner, Pancho Georgiev, is a management consultant who was born in Bulgaria, grew up in Switzerland and is now based in Dubai. He comes back to his home country almost every month and admits that he took a punt on the site.

“My Bulgarian friends asked me, ‘Are you crazy?’” he says over a glass of Bulgarian dimyat wine at Komat, the hotel’s restaurant, which is run by returnee chef Todor Grublev. Georgiev’s desire to create the kind of place that he enjoys elsewhere is coupled with a sense of responsibility towards his hometown. “I thought, why not create a place where we can host people and contribute something to the city at the same time?”

Gallerist Vesselina Sarieva joined the project to look after two exhibitions per year while directing its broader programme. Sarieva has made it her mission to elevate her country’s art scene. Inspired by a visit to Berlin and its Long Night of Museums, she created a similar festival in her hometown of Plovdiv, started a foundation to educate the public on national art history and presented Bulgarian artists at international fairs.

“Development doesn’t come if you’re the only one who develops; it comes when everyone around you does too,” she says, her features framed by the boldest of micro-fringes and a sharp bob. Disappointed by the institutional cultural system, she had already moved to Sofia and started a contemporary art gallery here when Georgiev came calling. “He told me that a new age was coming,” she says. “Pancho and this building helped me to believe that we can do things. Now enthusiastic Bulgarians are coming back and they ask me, ‘What have you been doing all these years?’ And I say, ‘I was here, waiting for you to return.’ I was waiting for this to happen.”

“People tend to think of Mount Fuji as symmetrical and always covered in snow,” says Ryutaro Hashimoto, the CEO of Japanese hotel business Gora Kadan. “But it can look completely different, depending on the season or the time of day. It changes minute by minute.” Hashimoto’s new opening, Gora Kadan Fuji, is a stunning 42-room hotel in Shizuoka that looks directly onto Japan’s highest peak.

Even a single night here is enough to reveal Fujisan’s many faces. Red at sunrise and a forbidding silhouette in the dark, it can look curiously unfamiliar from different angles, particularly before it has had its seasonal dusting of snow. During a stay at Gora Kadan Fuji, it can be hard to take your eyes off the mountain, which feels alive as the light shifts and the colours change.

Mount Fuji became a World Heritage site in 2013. This includes not just the mountain but a wider area that takes in Shinto shrines, lakes, springs, waterfalls and pine groves. Not that the Japanese need to be told that their tallest mountain is important. They have been worshipping and viewing it for centuries. It’s hard to overstate how powerful a symbol this active volcano is for the country: it’s everywhere, reproduced in myriad representations.

Rising to almost 4,000 metres of conical perfection, it towers over the Kanto plain, where Tokyo sits, and is visible for miles. Along with cherry blossoms and red shrine gates, Mount Fuji has long been a visual shorthand for Japan. Travellers are thrilled when they catch a glimpse of it from a plane, a Tokyo skyscraper or the bullet train to Kyoto.

The mountain has been painted, drawn and printed countless times, both in classical art and on a million fridge magnets. This includes Hokusai’s celebrated ukiyo-e work “The Great Wave Off Kanagawa”, part of his popular series Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji (look below the foaming curl of the wave and there it is). That image, surely the most famous in Japanese art, is also on the ¥1,000 note. Meanwhile, Naoki Ishikawa, Japan’s great mountaineer-photographer, has been capturing Fuji in mesmerising detail since he was 19.

Now legions of tourists are following. Some can’t resist the urge to climb it, even though an ascent is no afternoon stroll – much to the irritation of local rescuers. Most visitors, though, are happy simply to look at Fuji and capture its languid slopes from a safe distance.

Monocle’s trip starts at Tokyo Station. We take a 42-minute Shinkansen ride to Mishima, a small town in Shizuoka, southwest of Mount Fuji, which is famous for its mineral water. From there, we drive up to Kawaguchiko, one of the lakes that make up the Fujigoko (Fuji Five Lakes) around the mountain’s base. It’s not far but we have already moved into the neighbouring prefecture of Yamanashi.

If you want a classic view of Fuji, this is where you should come. Oishi Park on the edge of the lake offers uninterrupted views of the mountain across the water. The lake is enormous, fringed by hotels, restaurants and museums, including one that’s dedicated to the work of kimono-dyeing artist Itchiku Kubota and another that’s devoted to antique European music boxes and mechanical instruments.

The food to eat in this part of Yamanashi, particularly on a cold day, is a steaming bowl of hoto noodles. These chunky, flat noodles were said to have fuelled samurai before they went into battle. Today you can come to Hotou Fudou’s popular Kawaguchiko restaurant and sit on tatami mats under hefty wooden beams, as an iron pot is brought to your table, overflowing with fresh vegetables bubbling in a miso-based broth.

We pass another Hotou Fudou branch on the outskirts of Fujiyoshida, a nearby town that’s known for textile manufacturing. This one, which looks like a cloud outside and a cave inside, was designed by Takeshi Hosaka and has become a local landmark.

From Kawaguchiko, we head towards Lake Yamanaka, making a stop at one of the stations on the Subashiri trail, a popular route up the mountain. Serious climbers do this on foot but the gate can also be reached by a winding drive that snakes to almost 2,000 metres above sea level. Clouds can sometimes obliterate the view but it’s still a muchloved hiking trail and is teeming with wildlife.

The final stop before the hotel is Fuji Sengen Shrine, one of many in the area dedicated to the mountain and the deity within. Climbers customarily purify themselves here with cold water before beginning their ascent and Shinto priests perform rituals and ceremonies to keep the gods happy and climbers safe. This shrine, thought to date back to 807 CE, is a starting point for the Subashiri route. It was damaged by the volcano’s last great eruption in 1707 and rebuilt in 1718.

The ubiquity of shrines around the base of (and on) Mount Fuji is a reminder that it is more than a backdrop: in Japan, it has huge spiritual significance. Climbing it used to be the preserve of mountain-worshipping Shugendo ascetics. According to Shinto lore, mythical princess Konohanasakuya is enshrined in the mountain. Believers hope that this goddess can keep volcanic activity at bay; known as the “blossom princess”, she is also associated with cherry blossoms, the ultimate Japanese symbol of life’s transience.

And so to Gora Kadan Fuji, a new build with staggering views. You can see why Hashimoto wanted to build here. Gora Kadan Fuji comes with serious pedigree. The original Gora Kadan hotel, which opened in 1948 in the small town of Gora in Hakone – a cool-clime retreat not far from Tokyo – incorporated the summer villa of a member of the imperial family. That hotel, which was acquired by Wasaburo Sato in the 1950s, was renovated in 1989 by architect Kiyoshi Takeyama, who preserved the old building and added a six-metre-high, 120-metre-long colonnade. It made sense that the hotel’s special brand of hospitality should have another location.

The place that Gora Kadan eventually chose is in Oyama in Shizuoka, on a 50,000 sq m site, 800 metres above sea level, which looks out west to the mountain with nothing but forest in between. Once the team had located the underground hot spring that they were hoping for – 1,500 metres down – construction began in earnest. In the heady days of Japan’s economic bubble, the temptation might have been to build a bruising block with as many rooms as possible but Gora Kadan wanted something less monumental: 39 rooms and three separate guest villas (one with a private swimming pool). Architect Ikuo Ogitsu did everything to make the building as unobtrusive as possible from the outside.

Guests enter through the discreet main gate to be greeted by staff wearing kimonos (even the general manager, Tomoyuki Miyagawa, spends much of his day in traditional garb), at this point unaware of what will greet them as they turn the corner: a gasp-inducing, up-close view of Mount Fuji that few would have had the privilege to see before. Everything is designed around this panoramic vista: the lobby lounge with its open fire, library, swimming pool, hot-spring baths and restaurant. Can there be a more inspiring way to start the day than having breakfast on an open terrace overlooking Mount Fuji?

Ogitsu’s design blends polished concrete and wood. A corridor, inspired by the colonnade at the Hakone hotel, is flanked by towering cypress columns, its light filtered through shoji paper screens. There is art everywhere; photographer-turned-architect Hiroshi Sugimoto is represented with two framed works.

Gora Kadan Fuji asks nothing more of its visitors than that they relax. A dip in the hot spring, indoors or outside, might be followed by a swim in the pool or a massage in the spa. The bath lounge has newspapers and books about Japanese art and Mount Fuji. Guests take off their shoes at the entrance to their room; inside, there are tatami floors, low beds and handmade lanterns. The walls are finished in the traditional way with juraku mud plaster and the ceilings are lined with cedar planks. Some of the suites have their own outdoor hot-spring baths, while others have indoor tubs with hot, alkaline water gushing from the taps.

Energetic guests who crave more than relaxation can be connected to local guides who will accompany them on a hike. The golf course next door, meanwhile, boasts scenic fairways, just 12km from the mountain. Food is a big part of Gora Kadan Fuji’s appeal (and another reason not to leave the grounds during a stay). Sushi is served at an outpost of the highly regarded Sushi Sho, while teppanyaki is overseen by Kanda, a three-Michelin-star restaurant in Toranomon.

Monocle opted for a counter seat at the kappo restaurant. It’s a pleasure to watch chef Yuki Nakata at work. A veteran of the Hakone hotel, Nakata is so dedicated to his craft that he travels near and far to forge relationships with producers and source the best ingredients. The menu changes as the seasons move but dishes on our visit include gingko nuts on pine needles, vinegared vegetables with persimmon and white miso soup with Matsuba snow crab dumplings. There is an impressive wine cellar but this delicate cuisine calls out for one of the local sakés on the menu, such as Yukige or Isojiman, both from Shizuoka.

Gora Kadan’s style is easy-going but supremely attentive. There are both young local staff and seasoned hospitality veterans who take the role of the okami that you would find in a good ryokan.

Another Gora Kadan will open in Kyoto in 2030 and there are tentative plans to open overseas. That elusive international location will have to fit the Gora Kadan criteria. “We want to find a place where the Japanese ryokan philosophy feels natural, rather than transplanted,” says Hashimoto. “Cultural integrity is difficult but it’s important and also very exciting.”

He isn’t interested in scaling up for its own sake or opening too many hotels. “I’m trying to create meaningful places where architecture, landscape and atmosphere feel in harmony,” he adds. “I see my role less as a matter of running a hotel than about cultural responsibility – working out how the quietness, precision and respectful nature of Japanese hospitality can work for a new generation of travellers.”

About the Comfortjet
Provenance: Ostrava, Czech Republic
Price: €37m
Key route: 850km
Top speed: 230km/h
Capacity: 555 people

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It’s a frosty morning at Prague’s Hlavni Nadrazi, the city’s main station, where passengers are awaiting the arrival of the Comfortjet. Manufactured by Siemens Mobility and the Skoda Group, this is Czech national carrier Ceske Drahy’s new long-distance train, which is now plying the Berliner line and is set to extend its services all the way to Copenhagen via Hamburg from May.

The nine-carriage train that Monocle is about to board has 555 seats filled by a wide range of passengers, from business travellers to backpackers taking advantage of the lack of baggage-weight restrictions. Among them is university professor Wei-Leun Fang, who is heading to a conference in Dresden to give a speech about semiconductors. He flew in from Taiwan and made a stopover in Prague to meet his collaborators at the Czech Technical University. “I prefer the train,” he says. “It’s more relaxed and you can see the landscape.”

As the shiny Comfortjet glides in, passengers board its blue carriages. The travel time from Prague to Copenhagen will drop from 14 to 11 hours, with two connections departing daily from both cities. Our journey today will end in Berlin, as the tracks between the German capital and Hamburg are currently being prepared for the high-speed link. For now, the train reaches speeds of 160km/h and, after the upgrades, 230km/h (Comfortjet’s maximum) will be the standard on this German segment.

As we leave Prague, the view outside changes to that of snow-covered fields. We sip Mattoni mineral water; despite the early hour, draught beer and riesling are popular purchases at the bar. In the first-class carriages, these are delivered straight to your seat, which is equipped with a wireless charger and power sockets. Passengers move between sections of the train with ease. “We don’t have to worry about changing the composition any more,” says train conductor Dominik Kabrle. “The nine carriages of Comfortjet will always work together.”

While the train speeds along the Elbe in Bohemian Switzerland, Monocle heads to the dining car. Hearty dishes such as sirloin steak with dumplings and venison ragout are on the menu. The dining car remains a prime spot for chance encounters. We sit with Sydney-based production designer Steven Jones-Evans, who has combined a shoot in Prague with a trip to Berlin. Unlike in Australia, long-distance train routes in densely populated Europe benefit the population along the way. From next year, the Comfortjet will stop at 19 stations and open up lesser-known destinations in the region – a reason for everyone from business travellers to weekend holidaymakers to step onboard.

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