In an episode of the beloved BBC comedy Blackadder, the eponymous character connives to get his idiot sidekick Baldrick elected to parliament. Among Baldrick’s rivals for the seat of Dunny-on-the-Wold is an oppressively jovial figure identified as Ivor Biggun, representing the Standing At The Back Dressed Stupidly And Looking Stupid Party. The gag might have bewildered non-British viewers: it was a weary commentary on the phenomenon of the novelty candidate, a perennial pestilence upon UK politics. In coming weeks, the world will learn more than it wants or needs to about one such character.
Nigel Farage, leader of Reform UK – the party presently topping British polls – announced this week, in his usual tones of petulant self-pity, that he would resign his seat of Clacton to run for it again via a by-election, apparently hoping to deflect attention from his unorthodox finances.
Every other major party has correctly declined to participate in the circus. As things stand, Farage’s main rivals include Laurence Fox – an actor who leads the Reclaim Party and would otherwise only appear in a seaside town such as Clacton while playing the hind legs of a pantomime horse in an end-of-the-pier production of Dick Whittington – and a man with a bin on his head.
Count Binface – the creation of comedian Jonathan Harvey – is the most prominent current heir to Britain’s wretched tradition of novelty candidates. If we’re looking for someone to blame, we might choose Bill Boaks – a Second World War naval officer who was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross at Dunkirk, then from the 1950s onwards made a nuisance of himself in 28 elections and by-elections. Boaks was morbidly obsessed with road safety and campaigned on a self-built armoured bicycle; other stunts included stopping his placard-bedecked car in the middle of motorways.
Boaks’s tactics were noted by David Sutch, a hapless rock singer who reinvented himself as Screaming Lord Sutch and founded the Official Monster Raving Loony Party (OMRLP) in 1982. Its subsequent escapades have done nothing to disprove the ironclad law that anybody who advertises themselves as “loony” (see also “zany”, “kooky”, “barmy”, “madcap” or “mental”) is an excruciating bore. The OMRLP is still plodding obstinately along, doubtless greatly delighting the sort of person whose office wall bears a sign saying, “You don’t have to be crazy to work here – but it helps!”
The OMRLP also intends to field a candidate in Clacton, possibly their current leader, Howling Laud Hope, who – like Count Binface – contested the recent Makerfield by-election that returned presumptive prime minister Andy Burnham to parliament (Hope polled 45 votes; Binface 95). Burnham also found himself obliged to accept the congratulations of another candidate in a fox costume: a few weeks earlier, the same person, wildlife campaigner Rob Pownall, ran for Scotland’s parliament dressed as a gannet.
There is obviously nothing wrong with making jokes about politics. But Binface and other novelty candidates contrive to make politics a joke. They are trivial attention-seekers, making witless japes. In so doing, they reinforce the notion that this is all a lark and that none of it really matters. Any such debasement of discourse only abets cynical populists like Nigel Farage, who profit from citizens internalising the idea that politics is unserious.
In the peculiar case of Clacton – a party leader running against a slate entirely composed of novelty candidates – voters have the opportunity to exact a splendid vengeance upon these pests. Electing Binface and burdening him with the responsibilities of being an MP would be an instructive cold shower. It might even work out. In 2002, the people of Hartlepool elected the mascot of local football team Hartlepool United, H’Angus The Monkey, as their mayor. The 28-year-old call centre operative inside the ape suit, Stuart Drummond, turned out to be a pretty good leader: Hartlepool re-elected him twice more.
Mueller is a Monocle contributing editor and the host of Monocle Radio’s ‘The Foreign Desk’. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
Further reading: Who is Andy Burnham? The man hoping to be the UK’s seventh prime minister in 10 years
Best for resort wear
Kalita, Spain
Kalita Al Swaidi has been designing elegant resort wear for her eponymous fashion label for nearly 10 years, dividing her time between bustling capitals such as London, her home city, and the island of Bali, where her collections are produced. More recently, Al Swaidi made Ibiza her permanent base, seeking a gentler pace for her professional and personal lives. Now fully settled into island life, she meets monocle on a sunny afternoon near Sant Joan de Labritja on the north of the island. She is strolling barefoot across a dusty path, having just finished picking herbs and vegetables from the nearby finca – a small regenerative farm run by one of her friends. This is a place that she returns to often, both to work and to unwind. “It cancels out the noise and reminds me of what matters,” she says.
Her recent collections, which are built on a principle of elegance without excess, reflect this sense of clarity: think floor-skimming kaftans, breezy shirts, feather-light jumpsuits made from lightweight silks and natural-dyed cottons. “You wear these clothes,” she adds. “They don’t wear you.”
Born in London to a Texan mother and an Iraqi father, Al Swaidi grew up surrounded by vibrant colours and textures. “Middle Eastern fabrics, sequins, patterns – my parents had a strong sense of style,” she says, recalling how clothes became her language at a young age. “They helped me to feel as though I had arrived. They gave me a presence.”
In her early twenties, she quickly gained recognition as a lingerie designer but was still feeling unmoored. During a solo trip to Greece a few years later, however, the idea for her brand began to take shape. She remembers seeing a woman on the beach, barefoot and wrapped in linen, her hair wild from the sea. “She looked incredible without trying – natural, free and not styled in any way,” says Al Swaidi. That image and everything that it represented became the inspiration for her debut collection for Kalita, which was quickly picked up by renowned retailers such as London-based Matches Fashion.
It was the same pursuit of freedom that drew Al Swaidi to Ibiza: she had been visiting the island since her twenties and had always been captivated by its layered history, open spirit and unpolished corners. “It was rougher then, less about brands and more about character,” she says, as we sit down for dinner with her friends – a group of entrepreneurs and creatives who have also chosen to decamp here. Much has changed since Ibiza’s countercultural 1970s heyday but artists, musicians and designers are still drawn to this corner of the Mediterranean. “There are tribes,” she says. “The mystics, the makers, the old hippies: people building things slowly and consciously. That’s who I connect with.”
Al Swaidi’s days follow a rhythm shaped by nature and intuition. Morning swims in Los Enamorados cove, hikes through pine forests, meals with plenty of vegetables and olive oil – here, summer is a state of being. Ibiza is her muse and her new lifestyle informs her collections. A recent range called Journey pays homage to moonlight swimming and watching shooting stars at the rugged beach of Pou des Lleó. “The island’s energy can be grounding,” she says. “If you’re off course, it puts you back on track.”
Al Swaidi recently pared back her label’s production to focus on smaller runs and made-to-measure orders, with pieces still handcrafted in Bali. This summer the collection will be available at a few specialist retailers, including Ibiza’s Agora, a boutique dedicated to slow fashion inside the Six Senses hotel.
“I don’t want to grow the business for the sake of it,” says Al Swaidi. “Instead, I want to make things that feel right. Style should be freeing.”
kalita.co
Al Swaidi’s Ibiza shopping tips
Agora at Six Senses hotel
The place I go to when I need a hit of all that is sustainable and beautiful.
Carrer Camí de sa Torre 71, Ibiza 07810
Luna Menta
A gem of a shop that’s hidden at the base of the Old Town.
Carrer de Manuel Sorà 18, Ibiza 07800
El Chiringuito at Salinas beach
Everything you hope to find at a good beach shop is here.
Camí des Cavallet, 07818, Ibiza
Best for footwear
Akvo, France
It’s highly likely that the sandals you wear to nip down to the beach are made from PVC or one of the other synthetic materials plaguing the footwear market. Belgian-Canadian designer Daphne Wattiez wanted to offer an elegant alternative. After years of research, she debuted her sustainable footwear brand, Akvo, just in time for the arrival of sunny days in the northern hemisphere. “I realised that when people were shopping for sandals, they only
really had two options: it was either pvc flip-flops or, at the higher end, leather,” says Wattiez, from her showroom-cum-office in Paris’s seventh arrondissement. “We want to revisit very universal, classic styles, marrying artisanal craftsmanship and bio-sourced materials.”
The result is a collection of easy-going unisex styles, including flip-flops, pool slides and cross-over sandals made using a trio of co-certified, bio-based parts: a natural latex rubber outer sole, a sugarcane-foam foot bed and hemp-and-Tencel-blend straps.
“Usually, you would go to your shoemaker with your sketch, asking them to work with whichever material that they think is most suitable,” she says. “In my case, the materials are a big part of the added value, so I had to do [three years] of research and test it all myself.”
For instance, the natural fibres that she chose for the straps were selected for both strength and softness, and consist of two-thirds hemp for durability and one-third Tencel (a common silk replacement). Woven in a small atelier in Italy, they are designed to stretch gently over time, moulding to the wearer’s foot, much like denim.
After finally settling on the components, Wattiez scoured the Mediterranean to find a manufacturing partner who was willing to experiment with materials other than leather and synthetics. “You need to find a person who is open-minded but also has the know-how,” she says. Her search eventually led her south of Porto, where she discovered an artisan workshop, which now hand-assembles all of her collections.
Working with someone from Europe’s sunnier, southern side was equally important, since the spirit of the Mediterranean is a big influence on the brand, from the sun-soaked colour palettes of terracotta and yellow to the Roman numerals stamped on the foot beds of every pair of Akvo shoes.
But to call Akvo a label of eco-friendly beach shoes wouldn’t do Wattiez’s ambitions full justice. She believes that the sandals, with their sturdy rubber soles, are just as suited to urban environments as they are to the beach. Keep an eye out for them: you’ll probably spot just as many handwoven slides on the streets of Athens or Rome as you will on the Croisette.
akvoshop.com
Best for linen
God’s True Cashmere, Italy
Designer Sat Hari Khalsa and actor Brad Pitt launched God’s True Cashmere in 2019 with a simple mission: to create the perfect shirt using the material. Khalsa journeyed across Italy in search of manufacturers that could craft a shirt made from pure cashmere – she has zero tolerance when it comes to elastane or other synthetics – and hand-carved gemstone snap buttons.
With their beautifully draped silhouettes and extra-soft textures intended to mimic the feeling of a “loving embrace”, the results set new standards in the luxury market. Prestigious retailers such as Selfridges in London and Antonia in Milan soon invested in the label and its collections expanded to include cotton-cashmere denim and cosy blankets.
This summer the brand is expanding its scope to include linen, which, says Khalsa, has significant health benefits. She is a firm believer in adopting a holistic approach to life and that includes the fabrics that we put on our skin. “Linen is a natural fabric, it’s sustainable and it’s antibacterial,” she says. “In the army, they used to wrap up wounded soldiers in linen sheets because it would help to heal them. It’s so calming.”
The summer-clothing market is flooded with extremely lightweight linen pieces – the kinds that crease after a few minutes of wear. Khalsa was determined to make a far more elevated proposal. “We wanted to give it our own twist and use heavier linen, so that it hangs and drapes in a different way,” she says. She also points out the collection’s vibrant colour palettes, from breezy banana-yellow tunics to the azure stripes on shorts.
The collection is produced from start to finish in Italy, where Khalsa, who is based in Los Angeles, spends weeks visiting the brand’s manufacturing partners. “We want to work with artisans who share the same values as us,” she adds. “If you look for them, these people
are out there and when given the opportunity, they are very excited to create to such a high level. But it takes patience to get to know your partners – and kindness too. We’re a small company so I always have to approach manufacturers and explain that we might not be producing in the thousands but we will create these small, beautiful collections and we’ll take care of every step of the way. The answer is usually a resounding yes.”
The close-knit relationships that Khalsa and Pitt have nurtured have helped to bring to life one of the most luxurious linen ranges of the season, with pieces that are guaranteed to last for years to come. We’ll be wearing the range’s blue Amalfi shorts for sundowners on the beach.
godstruecashmere.com
It has been quite the Nato Summit in Ankara over the past two days. US president Donald Trump renewed his interest in grabbing Greenland and went on to direct some particularly harsh words Spain’s way. Goodwill between much of the 32-member North Atlantic alliance and the US is at an all-time low. Amid the chaos though, the unflappable figure of Giorgia Meloni stands out. Not so long ago, the Italian prime minister was projecting an image of herself as a natural “bridge” between the EU and its ally on the other side of the pond. With that idea apparently lying in tatters, there now seems to be a focus on renewing Italy’s position as a natural link between Europe’s southern flank and Africa.
How times change. Trump had nothing but warm words for Meloni after her decisive election victory in late 2022 and she was the only EU leader invited to his second inauguration ceremony. This year, however, relations have nosedived.
The two leaders have been at loggerheads since June. During the G7 summit in Évian-Les-Bains in France, Trump accused Meloni of “begging” to have her photo taken with him. She then took to social media to deny the allegations, asking Trump to spend more time focusing on the enemies of the West. Just days before Ankara, Trump posted an image of Meloni gazing into his eyes with the caption “Restraining Order Needed”. This time around, Meloni held her tongue (and thumb).
Is Giorgia Meloni done with the US? Unlikely. Despite her change of language towards Trump, she has left the heavy lifting to foreign minister Antonio Tajani and defence minister, Guido Crosetto. In truth, a spat with Trump – even if the reality is more complex – plays well for Meloni at home. In Italy conflict with Iran is unpopular and a poll published by the Italian Institute for International Political Studies (ISPI) and Ipsos at the end of June found that 51 per cent of Italians no longer found the US a reliable ally (38 per cent also thought that Italy needed to be more autonomous).
Meloni will be eyeing up two pivotal political events. The first is the US mid-term elections in November, when Trump looks likely to lose control of at least one of the houses of Congress. The president won’t be a lame-duck – but his wings might be clipped. The second is Italy’s own election next year, in which Meloni will be hoping for a decisive victory. Appearing too chummy with Trump isn’t a good look. Meloni, a keen operator who lost an important referendum in March, knows that perception is more important than ever.
Ed Stocker is Monocle’s Europe editor at large, based in Milan. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
If cities and societies really run on whispers, subtleties and secrets – as opposed to regulations and timetables – then clubs are the epitome of a certain civic spirit. Once seen as fusty or old hat, members clubs have been rethought and are finding fresh relevance everywhere from London townhouses and swimming clubs in Rio to private tennis courts in Bangkok.
Sports clubs are enjoying a particularly active moment. And it’s a good thing, too, because it’s in these athletic circles that the three most vital things that a person should master are codified and celebrated: competition, quality and conviviality.
Another hallmark of such clubs are rules (often quaintly written in club literature as “laws” but we all know what we think of those) and clubs work best when those rules are mostly followed or stylishly pushed. After all, clubs are allowed to be silly because they’re accountable only to their members and not the expectations of anyone else. Making your own rules? How civilised.
It’s a bland post-Covid truism to say that good business is conducted in person – better business is done at the club (this time we’ll do mine, next time we’ll do yours, thank you.) What kind of loony would lean on Zoom when they could discuss the deal over tennis and drinks? Far more enjoyable to review the blueprints or finesse advertorial language in the changing room, sauna or bar than some airless office or high-street café that – after the interminable hours presumptuously defrayed by a round of americanos – would like its table back, please. No such harassment at the club, where conviviality should be contagious. Do you know of a city that couldn’t do with an epidemic of cordiality?
And the other great thing about clubs is that they tend to annoy all the right people. They’re exclusive, there are gates, you have to be a member, clearly. Any Tom, Dick or Harriet can come for a swim, a round, a rub-down – but they need to know someone. Like in life, it’s good to know people. Then, once you’re in? There’s the boss of so-and-so, she’s the head of such-and-such, blah-blah is looking for a new creative director, financial officer, personnel guru. Clubs, too, then, are networks tingling with life and in themselves a lesson: it pays to join the club.
Robert Bound is a contributing editor at Monocle. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
Agriculture might not be the first thing that comes to mind when sampling the delights of Berlin. It’s a sprawling metropolis, cross-hatched by boulevards and large cement buildings. Yet tucked between the city’s warehouses, apartment blocks and train lines is one of Europe’s largest collections of urban allotments.
For well over a century, Berliners have used allotments – kleingärten or schrebergarten in German – to spend time outside and grow fruit, vegetables and herbs. This land was especially crucial during times of war and instability, when shop shelves were often empty and fresh produce commanded extremely high prices. At roughly 24 sq m per plot, the allotments were large enough to help provide food security for many families.
Today, Berlin has 870 community gardens with roughly 70,000 allotment plots. Though the majority of Berliners no longer depend on them for food, they are increasingly popular for hobbyist farmers; wait times for an allotment can reach eight years. The plots preserve a “cultural memory of urban cultivation” and reinforce the idea that “food production belongs in the city”, says Dr Monika Egerer, a professor of urban productive ecosystems at the Technical University of Munich.
Egerer views allotments’ modern value less as a matter of production volume and more about keeping culinary heritage alive. “Kleingärten aren’t feeding cities quantitatively at scale,” she says. “But qualitatively, they’re very significant. They maintain practical knowledge of cultivation, preserve local and heirloom varieties, and sustain a culture of seasonal eating and food literacy that’s increasingly rare in industrial food systems.”
In recent years, many of the city’s most ambitious dining rooms have started connecting their kitchens with allotments. Chefs have built direct relationships with small growers across Berlin, designing menus around what the land can provide. Dubbed “brutal lokal” by Berlin restaurant Nobelhart & Schmutzig, the movement’s central principle is strict enough to warrant the name: nothing reaches a diner’s plate that couldn’t be grown, raised or foraged in Berlin or the fields around it.
For Vadim Otto Ursus, the founder of acclaimed restaurant Otto, brutal lokal improves both the food and the dining experience. “Local ingredients taste of your surroundings. They give you a sense of time and place,” he says. “It’s one of the best ways to get to know a culture.” Working closely with small suppliers, he adds, also opens up ingredients that commercial supply chains don’t offer: seeds, sprouts and vegetables picked unripe or overripe.
To help support small farmers, a number of Berlin kitchens have joined charity Die Gemeinschaft (the community). Founded in 2017 by Nobelhart & Schmutzig and fellow Michelin-starred eatery Horváth, Die Gemeinschaft brings together a network of German farmers, food producers and restaurants in a bid to create a “better food system” that uses regionally grown food and promotes equitable working conditions. The charity currently has 145 members across Germany.
“[Berlin] is an incredibly green city and people genuinely want to know where their food comes from”, says Nikodemus Berger, the head chef at Michelin-starred vegan restaurant and Die Gemeinschaft member Bonvivant. The focus on sourcing food from the region has, he believes, helped the city define its identity within the fine-dining scene. “We don’t need to import everything to do fine dining anymore,” Berger continues. “We take pride in showing what the region can do. Vegetables harvested in Brandenburg in the morning and arriving by midday simply taste better, crisper and more intense.”
Few places embody the kleingärten spirit as literally as Café Botanico in Neukölln, where a 1,000 sq m permaculture garden supplies the restaurant with herbs, vegetables and edible flowers. Its founder, Martin Höfft, didn’t set out to run a restaurant. “I’m a geographer and permaculture gardener,” he says. He kept an allotment of his own for years and admits that Café Botanico “was essentially built to market my herbs because I had more than I could eat and I needed money to come in to pay for the garden’s rent”.
Unlike the city’s Michelin-starred brutal lokal restaurants, Café Botanico is not a fine-dining establishment – and that’s entirely by design. Offering high-quality, garden-grown food at mid-range prices, the restaurant is metres from where the ingredients are picked, allowing the plot-to-plate journey to become part of the meal. During service, the grounds – which were an allotment prior to Höfft’s arrival – stay open to anyone who wants a mid-meal wander.
Growing your own food, Höfft says, takes “more thought, more patience, more creativity”. Dishes have to be built around whatever the season delivers. But that constraint is exactly what many Berlin chefs have come to value. When winter leaves Berger, Bonvivant’s head chef, with little but cabbage and root vegetables, he turns to fermentation and preservation, using koji, pickles and aged vegetable garums to build variety from a thin harvest. With fewer ingredients on hand, he becomes more inventive. “If you have access to everything all year round, you get lazy,” he says. “Seasonality forces us, in a very positive way, to dig deeper into our technical toolkit.”
Peak summer in the UAE has long been treated as a season of strategic skedaddling. People’s apartments are shuttered, automated out-of-office messages are switched on, restaurants are suddenly easy to book and anyone with a foreign passport or well-timed Schengen visa won’t hesitate to use them. And yet it was on just such a recently sweltering evening in Abu Dhabi when sensible people might otherwise be hightailing it for the airport that a full house squeezed into Saikindō – the sleek Japanese listening bar at the Four Seasons Hotel on Maryah Island – for the launch of Monocle’s Quality of Life special.
Joining team Monocle to raise a glass or three was a lively and engaged crowd of ambassadors, chief executives, cultural operators, editors, developers, airline bosses, local entrepreneurs and even a few familiar faces. The group had real reason to celebrate. Our summer double issue (available now on shelves and online) includes Monocle’s annual Quality of Life Survey, a testament to smart urban initiations in cities around the world, which has captured the attention of international news outlets.
From the Abu Dhabi weekender in November last year following the launch of the Abu Dhabi 101 guide to recent Monocle Radio broadcasts across the emirates during a volatile period for the Gulf, Monocle has been steadily deepening its presence in the UAE. Our summer issue features a smart collaboration with the Abu Dhabi Department for Culture and Tourism, acknowledging that while the capital is an established destination for spending money, it is an increasingly enticing place to spend time – particularly the city’s ever-expanding cultural hub.
Abu Dhabi is often framed through what it has built and is building, whether that be museums, universities, airports, residential islands or civic infrastructure – but what kind of city is emerging?
The Monocle party offered a useful snapshot in the guestlist alone. Executives and diplomats such as Her Excellency Nouf Al-Bushlaibi of Adnoc, Aldar CEO Saoud Khoury, the EU ambassador to the UAE, Swiss ambassador Arthur Mattli, Italian ambassador Lorenzo Fanara and representatives from the UAE’s ministry of foreign affairs mingled with Abu Dhabi Airports CEO Carsten Noerland and journalists including CNN anchor Becky Anderson and The National’s editor in chief, Mina al-Oraibi.
The varied attendees demonstrate Monocle’s growing footprint is about making a serious contribution to a city which takes the intersection of culture, infrastructure, aviation, diplomacy and design seriously.
As the party drew to a close, the room still had the hum of a soirée in full swing. Perhaps the attendees were keen to delay their return to torrid temperatures outside. Or perhaps, if the mood by the bar was anything to go by, Abu Dhabi needed an excuse to celebrate – and the launch of Monocle’s July/August issue was just the ticket.
Despite US president Donald Trump’s threats, world leaders landing in Ankara for the Nato Summit today will be certain of the alliance’s gravest danger: Vladimir Putin. But that doesn’t mean that they’re afraid. In fact, Europe is keener than ever to sit down with the Russian premier. Ukraine, despite heavy bombings on the eve of the summit, has scarcely been in a stronger negotiating position. And Washington, which has excluded European leaders from talks with the Kremlin, is now distracted by the conflict in the Middle East.
Putin’s diplomatic playbook is Machiavellian and talks will not be easy. Two weeks before Russia invaded Ukraine, for example, Emmanuel Macron visited Moscow to dissuade Putin. True to character, Putin pulled a trick from his KGB hat and sat Macron six metres away across a long table. The image quickly became the subject of memes: one depicted the leaders on a seesaw; another showed figure skaters on top of the table. My favourite was that of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper, with Jesus and his 12 disciples filling the vast gulf between the two leaders.
Four years on, that distance has grown wider. Macron has said that it is important for Europe to restore communication channels with Russia – not only to end the war but also to claim its place as mediator in a conflict that has direct security implications for Nato countries. So who can talk to the bully?
Gerhard Schröder is Putin’s man in the race. The former German chancellor, a known Putin confidant long described as a Russian “stooge”, has been nominated by the Russian president to lead talks. Schröder pushed for Russian gas pipelines, championed ties with Moscow – even out of office – and was rewarded with lucrative jobs in Russian oil giants Rosneft and Gazprom. Though he criticised Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, he opposed what he described as “the demonisation” of Russia. Schröder is an obvious choice for Putin, which also makes him an unlikely candidate for the allies.
Kaja Kallas, the EU’s foreign policy chief, said that Putin “would be sitting on both sides” of the negotiating table if Schröder were anointed mediator. The former Estonian prime minister pitched herself as the perfect intermediary. “I think I could see through the traps that Russia is presenting,” she said.
Her policy is guided by Estonian fears of being invaded and her family’s past experiences. Early one morning in the late 1940s, Soviet soldiers rounded up thousands of people in occupied Estonia, including her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, and sent them to Siberia in a cattle wagon. Her family survived but “not everyone fared so well – thousands lost their lives in Siberia”, Kallas later wrote.
However, her outspoken criticism of Putin and her efforts to build consensus for sanctions and billions in aid to Ukraine also put her at a disadvantage. She is seen as a Russia hawk, not a neutral observer.
Enter Angela Merkel, the former long-serving German chancellor endearingly referred to as Mutti (mother), who says that Trump alone should not be negotiating with Russia. She was among the leaders who negotiated the Minsk agreement with Russia after Crimea’s annexation in 2014 and has experience in dealing with Putin. But the Russian leader violated the Minsk agreement when he invaded Ukraine, which makes it hard to believe in Mutti’s persuasive powers a second time around.
Merkel has also famously been bullied by Putin. Despite her well-documented fear of dogs, Putin brought in his big black Labrador, Koni, to a meeting between the pair in Sochi in 2007. Merkel recounted the experience in her memoir. “Was he just trying to see how a person in distress would react? Was it a small show of force? I just thought: ‘Stay calm, focus on the photographers, this will pass.’”
Photos of Finland’s dapper president, Alexander Stubb, playing golf with Trump have earned him a reputation for being close to the US president. Some have referred to him as a “Trump-whisperer”, a useful description at a time when ties between the US and European allies are under unprecedented strain. If Trump were to get upset with Europeans trying to displace him and take the lead in talks between Ukraine and Russia, Stubb’s personal rapport could come in handy. But Finland’s recent accession to Nato has probably made him a less acceptable intermediary to Putin.
That leaves us with António Costa, the sexagenarian president of the European Council. Costa is the former prime minister of Portugal and of Indian descent. He is called the Gandhi of Lisbon thanks to his transformation of districts battling drug trafficking and high crime. The man responsible for building consensus between the often-sparring EU members might be the wildcard.
In late January, hours after the EU and India inked their free-trade deal, I sat down with Costa for a briefing. He said that Europe must talk to Putin, not to disrupt the American process but to have its own.
Time is of the essence and Europe must hurry. Despite all the names floating around Brussels bars and, no doubt, in Ankara’s meeting rooms, the big names will also have their eyes set on the task. Macron hasn’t offered to hold the talks himself but neither has he ruled it out. Russian foreign-affairs minister Sergei Lavrov spoke plainly on the matter. “If you want to call and discuss something seriously, then call. Putin will always pick up the phone.”
The question is not whether Putin will pick up but whether he is ready to cross the length of that famous table and make peace. The Europeans will do better if they project unity. They have the numbers and can each take a chair. After all, it is a very long table.
On a recent visit to Daikoku-yu Onsen (hot spring bath) in Tokyo, I noticed a doorway left ajar in the back corner of the room. A rather relaxed-looking woman exited with a smile beaming across her face. Naturally, I wanted whatever she had. I made my way through the bathhouse steam until I encountered another tub, lowered myself in and began to tingle. Perhaps it was a special mineral-rich water? But I didn’t really question it until my fingers began to involuntarily curl towards my palm.
Now, there are certain truths we know to be self-evident: look both ways before crossing the road, don’t stick a fork into a socket and never mix electricity with water. And yet I had inadvertently discovered the denkiburo. Denki means electricity, buro is bath.
Electricity transformed daily life during the late Taishō and early Shōwa periods in Japan. Alongside lighting, radios and transportation, electricity was also thought to have benefits for the body. The therapeutic effects of electrical stimulation were already in vogue when inventor Kiyoshi Fujimoto saw an opportunity to combine it with Japan’s beloved bathing rituals.
Fujimoto launched the first electric bath in Osaka, and while they never became as universal as a hot bath or cold plunge, the denkiburo is now a common fixture in sentos (Japanese bathhouses), particularly as a novel selling point in the Kansai region. The feeling is akin to pins and needles, the intensity of which depends on voltage and personal preference. It might not be particularly reassuring, however, to hear that denkiburo are unregulated.
The bath itself is outfitted with two or more electrode plates of opposite polarity, generating a small electric current that shocks the body, allowing the muscles to contract and release. This promotes circulation and lymphatic movement as well as loosening tense muscles. If you have cold feet, shoulder stiffness or lower back pain, it might be worth getting into the tub.
When my father was a student in Kyoto, he and his friends swore by the denkiburo – they had their own name for it, which I won’t divulge but derives from the shrieks you would hear from the otherwise quiet ojisan (middle-aged men) upon entering. Despite the occasional yelp, the men and women of his generation persist, convinced of the health benefits. Young people, however, tend to be concerned that the denkiburo poses some sort of risk (who’d have thought?). As for me, I have some training to do before I can emerge from the electric bath with the nonchalance of the woman at Daikoku-yu. But I’m willing to put in the practice. After all, this might just be the next trend that takes over your favoured sauna or onsen. See you in the tub.
Pria Koll is a Tokyo-based writer. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
Do you have a steady, dependable, perhaps even a bit too predictable circuit? Or are you the type who likes to mix it up? Perhaps you reverse your morning walk or run (supposedly it’s good for your brain), or just venture out and see where the next 45 minutes take you? When I’m up in St Moritz, there’s a circuit around the lake and if I feel like extending things by 20 minutes I can hang a left into the forest, take in another lake and then pick up the usual path.
In Zürich, it’s down to the lake, along the shore, up into the forest, back down through the village for a coffee and then another kilometre back to the apartment. It took a while to establish the right route in Lisbon but thankfully we’re in a flat stretch of the city and Campo Grande, with the occasional spin around Alvalade, does the trick. If you digested our June issue, you’ll know that coffee is an important morning motivator and the maker of neighbourhoods. On Friday, I flew to Toronto and, first thing on Saturday morning, it was over the bridge at Old Mill, up through Baby Point and along Annette Street to the Organic Press Café for a very good flat white and a little perch in the sun. Right after, I managed to secure a walk-in spot at The Baby Point Barbershop for a speedy beard trim, made my way down to Bloor Street to pick up the weekend newspapers (Lachlan, Rupert, you need to start doing a Europe print run of The Wall Street Journal’s weekend edition please!) and then back to mom’s.
As circuits go, the Toronto version is the most interesting – in part because it overlaps with my old walk to school and in part because it has the most range. Through Baby Point it’s all manicured lawns and elegant homes, along Bloor Street it’s a jumble of retail and Ukrainian banks, and back towards mom’s everything carries a familiar name – Brûlé Gardens, Brûlé Terrace, Étienne Brûlé Park. And remarkably, so far none renamed or cancelled.
Two hours later, we embarked on a circuit of a different kind. After years of promised visits and aborted plans, a sturdy Cessna Caravan bounced us down a runway at Billy Bishop Toronto City Airport en route The Ojibway Club at Pointe au Baril. After a sharp left turn around the towers of downtown Toronto, pilots Joel and Conor (combined age 45) made a straight line for Georgian Bay. Around 50 minutes later, the boys delicately put the Caravan down in front of the club and shortly after we were tying up and exchanging greetings with our hostess for the weekend.
In another column I will tell you all about my 40-year friendship with Christine but today I’ll just say that she (and her full family, bonkers hounds included) hosted us for what is likely to be the best 36 hours of the year. The setting (very Swedish), the architecture, the crowd (WASPy old Toronto), the boat trips and the endless summer eve was about as good as life gets under the Canadian flags fluttering across the archipelago. The next day our circuit was southbound back to downtown Toronto, dinner at the tasty Taberna LX and then back across the Atlantic with mom for the official start of the summer season here at our bathing club in Zürich. Not quite The Ojibway Club but a similar food group.
Looking forward to seeing you next Saturday at our summer party in Merano.
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Monocle has always been loud about its love for Tokyo. However, though it has been a regular fixture of our annual Quality of Life Survey, which assesses cities based on their liveability, it hadn’t topped our charts since 2017 – until now. We checked in with our Tokyo bureau chief, Fiona Wilson, for an on-the-ground view of life in the Japanese capital and the quality of life that it offers.
Check out the full list of charting cities here.
Let’s start with the important things. Can you get a decent meal after 22.00 in Tokyo?
Easily. Lots of options are open 24 hours. Izakayas, ramen joints and yakitori counters stay open well into the early-morning hours, especially in Shibuya, Shinjuku, Shinbashi, Ikebukuro and other hubs.
And when you emerge from a restaurant, are the streets safe, busy and lively, even late at night?
Yes. Tokyo consistently ranks as one of the world’s safest capitals. Bars stay open until about 02.00 but some keep going after that and it’s very common to see people walking alone in the early hours.
What about your journey home? Is public transport clean, affordable and efficient?
Tokyo’s 23 special districts are served by one of the world’s most extensive and punctual public transportation networks. About 84 per cent of the area inside Loop Road No 7 (encompassing central Tokyo) is within a 10-minute walk of a train station, while an efficient bus system connects the rest of the city. Trains, buses and stations are meticulously cleaned daily. Graffiti and litter are virtually non-existent. Fares are distance-based and start at ¥170 (€0.90).
What about cyclists? What is Tokyo’s bike culture like?
It’s good and improving too. Many locals rely on everyday city bikes to get to grocery shops, train stations or schools. Mamachari (“mum’s bike”) are ubiquitous on Tokyo’s streets, often fitted with front and rear child seats for the school run. Though dedicated cycling infrastructure is limited, neighbourhoods are generally calm and shared harmoniously between pedestrians, cyclists and motorists. Tokyo has a public bike-sharing network, Docomo Bike Share, which is available in 16 out of 23 wards (all e-bikes).
After a late night of revelling, we all need a more easygoing day. Are shops open on Sundays?
Yes, Tokyo’s commercial districts are bustling. If smaller neighbourhood spots do close, they generally observe rest days from Mondays to Wednesdays. In the city’s many shopping districts, bookshops, supermarkets, designer boutiques and department stores coexist on the same block. But some neighbourhoods specialise – Kappabashi is known for its kitchen equipment, for example.
How about the park culture?
Tokyo has plenty of lush, manicured gardens. Seasonal events such as hanami and autumn foliage attract a lot of people to its parks. The major ones feel like attractions in their own right, whether it’s Ueno Park with its world-class museums, Yoyogi Park bordering Meiji Shrine or Shinjuku Gyoen, which has an admission fee of ¥500 (€2.70).
Is there a good city newspaper?
Tokyo doesn’t have an equivalent of London’s The Standard or Le Parisien because the press is consolidated nationally rather than locally. The Tokyo Shimbun is the most prominent city newspaper, though it’s not central to the public discourse. The dominance of Japan’s “Big Five” national newspapers – including the Yomiuri Shimbun and The Asahi Shimbun, each with circulations that dwarf Western counterparts – often overshadows the value of having a more local paper. For the English-reading population, bimonthly Tokyo Weekender is good. It has 20,000 print readers, plus 300,000 monthly digital readers. Each of the 23 wards publishes its own free kuho bulletin, covering neighbourhood notices.
Is the housing attractive, abundant and well made?
Housing in Tokyo is highly attractive for its safety and convenience, though units tend to be more compact than in Western cities. There are plentiful options throughout the city. The market favours newer builds, with older homes frequently demolished. Everything is made to the world’s strictest earthquake engineering standards.
How welcoming is Tokyo to newcomers?
Tokyoites are very polite and famously helpful on a one-to-one level. This personal warmth is mirrored by the city’s hyper-supportive infrastructure and public safety. But everyday admin (such as banking or renting an apartment) requires navigating a lot of bureaucracy and a language barrier, which can be daunting. While not speaking Japanese can make true social integration challenging for expats, society here is deeply rooted in mutual respect. Moving past surface-level conversations is entirely possible, though it requires dedication to learning the language and an awareness of social cues and cultural norms.
Is the public school system a success?
Japan has maintained a high level of equity across its public education system. Funding, the curriculum and teacher rotations are strictly centralised, keeping quality consistent regardless of how wealthy a neighbourhood is. Beyond academics, schools excel at fostering a sense of community responsibility. The enrolment rate for upper secondary school (beyond mandatory education) stands at an impressive 98 per cent.
And what’s the tax system like?
Its top marginal tax rate of 55.95 per cent impedes Tokyo’s ability to compete with low-tax Asian rivals such as Singapore or Hong Kong but its exceptional public infrastructure and subsidised health care provide a much higher quality-of-life ROI than high-tax Western cities such as New York or London.
Does the city have ambition? How does it talk about itself?
Tokyo’s ambition is calculated, infrastructural and long term. The city imagines its future in terms of resilience and order. The Tokyo Metropolitan Government’s Tokyo 2050 strategy lays out a 30-point technocratic vision of telework adoption targets, congestion reduction and even commercial flying cars. The Japanese capital’s confidence stems from the fact that it’s already a global leader in safety, efficiency and infrastructure.
