As the US celebrates its 250th birthday, an architectural playbook is being deployed in Washington. It’s one that we’ve seen before. A few months after the 1936 Berlin Olympics, Adolf Hitler and architect Albert Speer revealed a masterplan to reconceive Berlin, even renaming it “Germania”. The plan was political and spatial, to represent the new metropole of a vast global empire. Its cornerstone investments? An enormous gathering hall, named The Volkshalle, linked by a grand boulevard via a 100-metre-tall Triumphal Arch, the largest ever to be proposed.
Denizens of Washington might find this historical account eerily familiar. US president Donald Trump proposed erecting a 76-metre triumphal arch that straddles the capital’s Potomac River last year. But there’s more: a new ballroom in the East Wing of the White House, the Mar-a-Lagoifying of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool and even the renaming of the Kennedy Center. All appear to be visible acts of the president rebranding the US capital as an imperial power centre. It is a battle enacted through narrative, the built environment and its architectural spaces. To understand Trump’s agenda, we must understand this architectural playbook.
The first play is disparagement and erasure. The Trump administration posits its work as a necessary act of renewing degraded places and infrastructure. This is a classic exercise that uses deprecating characterisations to justify reconstruction: the East Wing, for example, has always been seen by Trump as decrepit, while downtowns are garbage, Palestine could be a new riviera and other countries are “shitholes”. This language of sanitising cities is a common refrain among burgeoning dictators.
The second play is the construction of monuments. The spectre of the Trumpian arch will certainly not be the last effort aimed at feeding the ego of the US’s most vainglorious commander-in-chief. That it must be the largest ever, or 250ft (76 metres) tall to commemorate the 250th anniversary, only reveals the conceptual vacuity of monuments writ large. But this one feels particularly empty.
The danger of Trump’s arch is that once built, it will be almost impossible to remove – hence its real purpose. The monument can turn insecurity into permanence, frailty into symbolism. This is architecture’s gravest flirtation – the idea of generational immortality. And so the monument works as a weapon, not a commemoration; it disguises its historical raison d’être. The dependence on historical forms and styles to allude to permanence is no accident. Its effect is to fade into the background, as if it has always been there. Taken together, the intent is to profess a false historical record and entomb an image of immutability.
The final tactic is to construct in a historically inaccurate architectural style. Much has been written about Trump’s gaudy, gold-wrapped monuments and policies; the so-called “traditional” classicism. But we should inquire as to why it is in this style. Architects such as Speer used classical architecture as means through which to channel the ideology of autocracy. With Trump, the agenda tends to be anti-modern and anti-design.
If left unchallenged, the destruction, renaming and rebuilding of public architecture around one man’s image and tastes could reshape the national narrative. Imagine the violence, ICE detentions and occupations of this era being recast as monuments of strength and success. To resist, we must recover a democratic understanding of architecture: as a shared structure through which the public can recognise itself.
As the US celebrates its 250th anniversary, we must consider not what the nation should build but what its buildings should ask of us. Perhaps we should look less to arches or gilded rooms and more to the infrastructure of common life: the places of worship, labour halls, train stations, libraries, schools, parks and, yes, memorials where all Americans can find common ground. Such monuments have nothing to do with praising power and everything to do with enacting citizenship.
Michael Murphy is an architect, lead designer of The National Memorial for Peace & Justice and the author of ‘Our World in Ten Buildings’.
On hot summer afternoons, Mediterranean cities go quiet. The streets are emptied by heat so intense that even the shadows seem to move slowly. The climate has inspired regional traditions such as the Spanish siesta, which is as much about respite from oppressive temperatures as it is about resting.
The same logic once informed architecture too, giving buildings cooling physical features including shutters that allow in light while keeping the heat out. Today, in our glass-sealed, climate-controlled structures, it’s easy to forget that both our daily rhythms and our architecture used to work with the weather, not against it. As the effects of climate change intensify, we need to reconsider more humble forms of temperature control. Here are five shutter designs that are well worth revisiting.
1.
‘Persiane alla genovese’, Italy
In the busy alleys of Genoa, the persiane alla genovese protect from the heat while also enhancing privacy. These shutters consist of louvred panels divided into two parts, which are opened in sequence: the bottom at dawn and the rest near dusk. The lower part is called gelosia (“jealousy” in Italian), a nod to the idea of protecting what’s inside from the gaze of the street. The shutters are painted green, making the streetscape look balanced and uniform. From inside, you can look out when either the top or bottom is open, while passersby on the exterior side see only a coherent landscape of green windows.
2.
‘Jalousies’, France
The French had a similar idea and came up with jalousie shutters. The name also comes from the word for “jealousy” but, unlike the Italian persiane, these shutters are more voyeuristic and have a greater focus on looking out without being seen. Those inside are able to peer through the gaps, with the slats deflecting any gaze from the street.
Jalousies first appeared in Marseille, where they were often painted white or in a sun-faded sage. Both were practical selections, with the white reflecting the sunlight and green hues hiding dust from the eye. By the 19th century, they appeared across Parisian façades too – more for atmosphere than climate control, but the soft light they create has become a symbol of romantic French interiors.
3.
Bahama shutters, Caribbean
Bahama shutters, also known as Bermuda shutters, developed in response to hurricanes in tropical climates. Designed to open and close vertically as opposed to horizontally, they are hinged from the top of the window and function more like fixed canopies, casting deep shadows while allowing the aperture to remain open through downpours, their angled slats deflecting rain and helping to control light and airflow. Once made from lightweight materials such as bamboo and palm fronds, today they come in more robust materials such as aluminium or wood.
4.
‘Muxrabija’, Malta
A timber box latticed with geometric patterns, the muxrabija was introduced to Malta during Arab rule in the ninth century. These structures, which protrude from buildings, were originally used as ventilation screens and tools to create a sense of privacy. Their dense geometric pattern reflects Islamic aesthetics and clever design, filtering sunlight and allowing those inside to observe the street without being seen. The muxrabija is typically carved from pine or cedar, while dark-green and brown colours help to blend with the shadows inside. This shutter doesn’t open or close but, in essence, forms a breathing façade that is fully integrated into the skin of the building.
5.
Stone screen, Greece
Before louvres and hinges, there were stones. In ancient Greece, from about 800 BCE to the Hellenistic period, there were either no windows or aperures were sealed with semi transluscent materials, such as thinly cut marble. The marble wasn’t adjustable but would let in light while blocking wind, dust or rain.
Today, we have replaced many traditional shutters with plastic shells and loud motors – but could we learn something from the simplicity of this ancient design? Perhaps there is an opportunity to revive the idea of slow, seasonal architecture with shutters that are put up as the climate demands and are made from materials that speak to the locale in which they are found.
Tucked away in a vast pine forest in southwestern Finland, Paimio Sanatorium stands as a masterpiece of modernism and the career-defining work of Alvar and Aino Aalto. Completed in 1933, the building was designed as a tuberculosis sanatorium but it soon became a project that propelled Finnish architecture onto the global stage. Over the subsequent decades, the complex transitioned into a general hospital before eventually being left vacant in the mid-2010s to face an uncertain future as nothing more than a decaying architectural relic.
To secure a sustainable future for the estate, the Paimio Sanatorium Foundation commissioned Norwegian architecture practice Snøhetta to develop a visionary masterplan. The concept, unveiled last week, transforms the massive property into a multi-faceted resort blending premium hospitality, wellness and culture. To ensure long-term financial self-sufficiency, the plan relies on three distinct operational pillars. The former patients’ rooms will be converted into a high-end hotel, while the grounds and communal areas will remain open to day visitors, students and local residents. Finally, the plan leverages the site’s isolated, highly secure environment to position itself as a host of soft diplomacy summits for global leaders.
The modesty of Snøhetta’s architectural approach has earned widespread praise from conservationists, who applaud the fact that the studio resisted the urge to leave a loud, contemporary stamp on the protected landmark. “A building of this magnitude required us to put Snøhetta second and Aalto first,” says Snøhetta’s co-founder Kjetil Trædal Thorsen. “It was about distilling Aalto’s spirit and using it to keep the building relevant in today’s world.”
The physical interventions required to support this repurposing are being handled with immense care alongside local studios ALA Architects and Mustonen Architects. In the surgery wing, a later addition, the non-original interiors will be removed to make way for an exhibition hall and auditorium capable of hosting up to 700 people. Inside the patient wing, characterized by its slim lines and curved balconies, the original rooms will be turned into retreat spaces built for rest. Ten of these rooms will be restored to their exact 1933 state, complete with custom Aalto-designed ceramic wash basins and historical details, while the remaining rooms will either be combined into larger suites or fitted with modern, wooden bathroom pods. Externally, the heavy glass enclosures that were added during the building’s hospital era will be stripped away to reopen the sun balconies, celebrating the indoor-outdoor threshold spaces that characterised the Aaltos’ design.
Beneath these wings, a lower-level spa equipped with hot tubs, cold plunges and traditional Finnish saunas will offer guests direct access to the surrounding forest. “You have to approach a building like this with utmost care and precision, as there are stringent protection stipulations,” says Tommi Lindh, director of the Alvar Aalto Foundation. “That said, changes are inevitable as the building’s original purpose [to house and treat patients with tuberculosis] has become unnecessary. The Aaltos always knew this and I am sure they would love to see their work find a new life that reflects the needs of today’s society.”
With the first phase of the masterplan now public, the foundation is moving into commercial development and feasibility testing, shares. “We will start meeting with premium hotel operators and investors to secure the necessary funding to bring the resort to life,” says Mirkku Kullberg, Paimio Sanatorium Foundation’s chair of the board. The ambitious revitalisation requires an estimated €30m in private investment on top of a €10m grant provided by the Finnish government. Momentum is expected to build quickly as the sanatorium awaits the decision, due at the end of July, that could potentially inscribe it to the Unesco World Heritage List as part of the broader Aalto Works series.
The project is expected to act as a powerful economic catalyst, triggering an influx of visitors and development to the region. But its effect goes beyond that. “Aalto was a cosmopolitan in the truest sense of the word, and we want this place to reflect that spirit and his internationalist ideals,” says Kullberg. Hence why the successful execution of this masterplan represents a massive opportunity for brand Finland and the country’s international standing. By blending cultural heritage with premium wellness tourism, Paimio is poised to become a landmark within the growing Nordic hospitality market. “People shouldn’t underestimate just how attractive a destination the Nordics are from a tourism perspective,” adds Thorsen. “With most of Europe struggling with 40C heatwaves, our summers are pleasant, the air is pure and nature is everywhere.”
Yet the stakes extend beyond regional economics as the upcoming Unesco designation is directly tied to the building finding an active, protected use. Because Paimio stands as a central component of a 13-site serial nomination, the success of this financial and architectural model is vital – a failure at Paimio could put Finland’s entire Unesco series in jeopardy. But that is unlikely considering Snøhetta’s track record. This is, after all, the Architects of the Year from the 2023 Monocle Design Awards that we’re talking about.
When you think about the best birthday parties that you have been to, their success inevitably comes down to a gracious host who effortlessly brings together disparate social circles, while making everyone feel welcome. Such a host tends not to plan events that alienate large swaths of the attendees, nor kick off the festivities by insulting half the guests.
But this is no normal birthday party: it’s Donald Trump’s United States on the brink of its 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence on 4 July 1776. That means a guest list of more than 340 million Americans, many of whom feel conflicted by a deep love for their country and a serious concern about the direction in which it’s moving.
Polling by Pew Research last month found that 59 per cent of respondents felt that the country’s best years were behind it, with only 29 per cent saying that they were satisfied by the way things are going in the US today. More than half of adults said that they think the economy will be weaker, the US less important in the world and the country more politically divided by 2050.
The lofty founding goals of liberty, equality and the pursuit of happiness seem far from people’s minds, especially as many struggle to put food on the table or gas in their cars after Trump’s tariff regime and the Iran conflict pushed up the cost of living. So how has Trump addressed these concerns and promoted birthday celebrations that bring together all Americans and encourage a wave of positivity about the future?
Well, there was going to be a concert series on the National Mall but when many of the acts pulled out fearing that it was going to be overly partisan, Trump huffily cancelled the whole thing and organised a political rally on the site for 4 July instead. On 24 June, Trump launched the Great American State Fair, which has hidden huge parts of the National Mall behind tall fencing so that people willing to bear the heat can ride an underwhelming Ferris wheel and visit booths set up by the states that didn’t boycott it.
Trump’s transport secretary, Sean Duffy, kicked off proceedings by calling the musicians who pulled out “libtards”. Though Trump himself wasn’t quite so derogative, he failed to address any concerns, instead insisting that “we’re the hottest country anywhere in the world”.
Despite the Declaration of Independence being adopted in Philadelphia, Trump is avoiding the Democrat-run city. Tomorrow, he will travel to Mount Rushmore in Republican-run South Dakota, where he will give a speech in front of four great presidents carved into the rock face (created against the wishes of the landowning Lakota Sioux and by a man with ties to the Ku Klux Klan). He will return to the capital for his 4 July rally, followed by an extravaganza of fireworks on the Mall – which is just about the only thing that Washingtonians agree might be quite jolly. For the most part though, Trump is eschewing all the rules of good hosting. A birthday celebration is one of the few times when families and friends across generations can come together, putting aside differences for a common cause.
After the waves of political violence and deep polarisation that have unsettled the country, a common cause of celebration is exactly what the US needs right now. Most Americans are united on the values they hold dear: a recent NBC poll showed that family and freedom were most important to citizens, regardless of their political leanings. Focusing on what unites Americans rather than divides them would have cemented feelings of inclusion across a political and geographical landscape that should be celebrated for its diversity rather than harangued for it.
But rest assured that joyful, patriotic events will take place across the US: people will crowd under bunting for small town parades, neighbours will gather at street parties. Excellent food – another staple of a great party – will be thrown on grills in backyards throughout the nation. The country will hold its own party, leaving Trump to celebrate himself in Dakota and DC.
Charlotte McDonald-Gibson is a Washington-based journalist. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
Further reading:
– What can be gleaned from Washington’s Reflecting Pool on the week of the US’s 250th birthday?
– TMZ goes to Washington: Can the Hill survive the Hollywood treatment?
– Want to make a restaurant succeed in Washington? Invite the Maga crowd
After years of setbacks, redesigns and supply-chain headaches, Australia’s flag carrier has unveiled the route and aircraft that is set to connect the country’s biggest cities to Europe. At Airbus’s facility in Toulouse, Qantas presented its first ultra-long-range Airbus A350-1000ULR, which will traverse the 22-hour non-stop flight path between Sydney and London from October 2027.
It’s a small niche in the global aviation market but the launch solves one of the industry’s persistent challenges: how to directly link Australia’s east coast with Europe. The specially modified Airbus A350s – the first of which is due to be delivered in April next year – is a feat of engineering, with an additional fuel tank that allows it to stay in the air for an extended period.
According to the airline, fuel consumption is broadly comparable to a one-stop journey between Sydney and London. “The challenge is not speed, it’s range,” said Patrick du Ché, Airbus’s head of flight and integration tests, when Monocle visited the company’s facility last week. “To fly longer distances, we need to have much more fuel.” Traditionally, that would mean carrying fewer passengers. Thanks to extensive weight-saving measures throughout the cabin and airframe, however, the Project Sunrise aircraft is about 40 tonnes lighter than a standard A350. Some of the fuel savings also come from eliminating an intermediate landing and takeoff.
The economics depend heavily on premium travellers. Of the aircraft’s 238 seats, 98 are in first, business or premium economy. That means 41 per cent of the cabin is dedicated to higher-yield passengers, a significantly larger proportion than on most long-haul aircraft. “The premium share is much higher than usual,” says Qantas Group chief executive officer and managing director Vanessa Hudson. The cabin layout leaves little doubt about where Qantas sees demand coming from, with the aircraft itself designed around a simple problem: how to keep passengers comfortable for almost a full day in the air.
For that, Qantas turned to Australian designer David Caon and researchers from the University of Sydney. Their work produced what the airline calls a Wellbeing Zone, a dedicated area where passengers can stretch, move around and hydrate during the flight. Research suggested that movement mattered just as much as comfort. “Passengers wanted more space,” said Caon. “Not just a better seat but somewhere else to go.” The designer has also removed overhead bins from parts of the premium cabin, creating a more spacious interior. Weight reduction drove countless design decisions. According to Caon, discussions often came down to a matter of grams.
Comfort extends beyond the furniture. Peter Cistulli, professor of sleep medicine at the University of Sydney, has spent years studying how passengers cope with ultra-long-haul travel. “The traditional model is to feed people and get them to sleep,” he said. “That doesn’t work on a 22-hour flight.” Instead, Project Sunrise uses lighting, meal timing and nutrition to help shift passengers’ body clocks towards their destination time zone. Spicier food and caffeine promote alertness while lighter, protein-based meals are served before rest periods.
As airspace closures, geopolitical tensions and operational disruptions become more common, range is becoming increasingly more important. It means that there’s value in the programme beyond passenger comfort, with the technologies developed for Project Sunrise likely to find their way into future aircraft programmes. “It keeps us innovating,” says Benoît de Saint-Exupéry, Airbus’s executive vice-president of sales for commercial aircraft. “We can use the same technologies elsewhere, including in freighters and future A350 developments.” After decades of speculation about non-stop services linking Australia’s east coast and Europe, the technology to do so has finally arrived – and will surely keep evolving.
More than 10,000 professionals are gathering in Barcelona this week for the World Congress of Architects, marking the official start of its designation as the 2026 UIA-Unesco World Capital of Architecture. They are sure to feel at home because the entire city currently feels like an immersive building site. Currently, there are 10 transformational macro-projects slowly taking form within a 100 sq km radius. The city hasn’t metamorphosed in this manner since the map-altering build-up for the 1992 Olympics. But as panel discussions, exhibitions and visiting experts home in on highfalutin ideas and chest-thump about the power of the built environment to augment quality of life, will anyone be considering what so much construction means for the people living in the irksome interim?
We all know the drill: the steel-grinding noise pollution, endless traffic disruptions, all that building-site dust. But with this year’s far-reaching theme, “Becoming. Architectures for a planet in transition”, it’s also time to assess the balance sheet of all this harmonised upheaval.
Barcelona prides itself on being a bold champion of urbanism. The 1859 Plan Cerdà recalibrated the design of city blocks. More recently, the 12 painstaking years that it took to redevelop Plaça de les Glòries sent a busy traffic interchange underground to create a 1,000-tree park. As far as policy lodestars go, this is a city that really wants to be a functional urban utopia. And it won’t be rushed toward any ribbon cutting, either. A city never reaches completion but with so many works set at a constant simmer, it often feels like the wellbeing of today has been relegated by the faint promise of a far-flung tomorrow.
Earlier this month, Barcelona came to a standstill to celebrate the completion of the Sagrada Familia’s Torre de Jesus. There were fireworks, a synchronised lightshow, an orchestra, even a celestial apparition of Antoni Gaudí himself appeared in a drone swarm that was programmed to nod in poignant approval. The festivities were framed as a coming-of-age moment for the city; not to mention a boon for the Basílica’s neighbours, who have been living beside a construction site since 1882.
As the city’s oldest, newest and now tallest skyscraper, the Sagrada Familia stands as a totem for Barcelona’s wider organising principle, blending future-focused thinking with epic feats of emotional projection. While much of the il lusió (a cherished Catalan value that translates to hope and excitement) centres around the campaign to canonise Gaudí as a saint, the next, and rather awkward final phase of the project will attempt to address the question of demolishing surrounding blocks to create a proper entrance for the fanciful Basílica’s main entrance. Hundreds, potentially thousands, of long-time residents could be affected and/or relocated.
Meanwhile, another cathedral of sorts is set for a new lease on life. Easy to spot along the coast from any starboard window seat during the descent into El Prat airport, Les Tres Xemeneies, or the Three Chimneys, is a derelict thermal power plant earmarked for upgrade. On Sunday, the hollow structure became the inaugural hub of activities for the World Capital of Architecture Congress. Though the congress concludes on 2 July, Barcelona’s tenure as UIA-Unesco World Capital of Architecture will see a packed programme of 1,400 events, activities and exhibitions take place across 10 districts throughout the rest of the year.
Many attendees were eager to hear more about the imminent works – tipped for completion in 2028 – that will convert the industrial relic, known affectionately as the “secular cathedral”, into the Catalunya Media City business and tech hub. Sant Adrià de Besòs residents are preparing for an ambitious makeover of the surrounding parkland and esplanade.
As an opportunity to show how far the city has come while pointing to where it is heading, this week set the tone. There’s the massive Montjuïc redevelopment, which includes the expansion of the Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya (Mnac) from 49,000 to 71,400 sq m, bringing its main entrance down to the bottom of the hill. There’s the Port Olimpic revamp and the upcoming macro-conversion of the Marina de Prat Vermell. The city’s biggest train stations, Sants and La Sagrera, are both expanding with district redesigns too. For many months, the city’s iconic promenade Les Rambles (La Rambla), which has up to 330,000 pedestrians trot along its pavements per day on a normal weekend, has been turned upside down. The all-at-once revamp is expected to be finalised next year.
For several years, a pseudo-philosophy has been doing the rounds in Silicon Valley – another place hellbent on racing towards the horizon. Known as Effective Altruism, it is a popular, daresay, convenient, creed for anyone hoping to swerve around the immediate consequences of their pervasive plans for systemic change. One facet – long-termism – argues that the potential of future generations ought to be given paramount moral priority, even at the expense of people’s comfort or continuity in the present-day. With so many cities opting to be “smart” or “high-tech”, one gets the impression that some city planners have been latching onto a similarly misguided logic.
We can all grit our teeth through a bit of gridlock, sonic pollution, dust and debris. But one wonders whether anyone will eventually get to savour the spoils. By the time the latest round of mega-construction is finished, the city will probably be itching for another bout of revolutionary world-building.
People love feeling like their city is on the move, knowing that someone, somewhere, is tirelessly working towards making their travel times shorter, air cleaner, streets cooler and lives better. While some cities are lagging in their responsibility to adapt to climate, population and infrastructure strains, Barcelona should be commended for thinking and building big. But as any architect will tell you, one can’t build the roof despite the house.
In Barcelona’s case, perhaps the packed ledger of projects extends beyond the mere feeling of il lusió and can be explained by the Catalan contradiction of seny i rauxa, reason and impulse. The next few years will no doubt remake the city – and light the way for others to follow suit. But for the sake of everyone in-between, let’s hope the current projects move faster than the Sagrada Familia, which took 144 years – and there’s still nine more to go.
Liam Aldous is Monocle’s Madrid correspondent. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
The sun beats down on Gilze-Rijen Air Base with the kind of intensity that makes a flak jacket feel more like a hindrance than a lifesaver. Despite that, kitted-out marines, reservists and pilots stand shoulder to shoulder, blinking in the glare. A small, uncrewed ground vehicle trundles forwards, flanked by heavily armed soldiers. The whole group was surrounded by drones of every conceivable size parked out on the tarmac. On the apron of the base, the Dutch defence chief General Onno Eichelsheim speaks to an audience of stakeholders and journalists about a white paper that lays out a brand new military strategy.
The Netherlands intends to make its military the most innovative in Europe. He also wants us to know that they’ve done their homework before making that pledge. Over the past year, Dutch support for Kyiv has grown remarkably. The taxpayer-funded Drone Line Initiative, which originally had a budget of around €500m, has expanded to more than £1bn to deliver almost one million drones. Ukrainian officials credit the partnership with having “changed the course of the war”. By Kyiv’s own estimates, drone units equipped by the Netherlands are now responsible for roughly a third of Russian casualties at the front.
The operative verb – heard frequently throughout the day – is to “dronify”. But it is not simply about buying or making drones. “It is also about how you defend yourself against them,” says Eichelsheim, still squinting in the afternoon sun. The ambition within five years, he says, is for more than half of all operational effects to come from uncrewed systems. But the general is remarkably relaxed about how this impacts his work. “Yes, I really do think that in a few years I will have some robots around me doing the writing and the thinking with me,” he tells Monocle after his speech.
The white paper itself reads like a manifesto for pragmatic modernisation: a “smart mix” of expensive, highly capable systems alongside cheap, expendable platforms; a hybrid navy in which crewed command ships direct swarms of uncrewed vessels; a DARPA-style innovation authority operating at arm’s length from the bureaucracy; and, underpinning it all, a legally enshrined defence budget of 3.5 per cent of GDP by 2035. It is a thoroughly contemporary strategy, concerned less with traditional military prestige than with drones, data and the decidedly unglamorous business of sustaining combat operations.
“We are genuinely breaking with the past,” deputy prime minister Dilan Yeşilgöz tells Monocle. The emphasis is on operational effect rather than administrative efficiency, with lessons drawn directly from the battlefield. “These are the concrete lessons we are learning from Ukraine. And we are now one of the world leaders in this kind of technology.”
Yeşilgöz is equally keen to stress that the relationship is reciprocal: the Netherlands supplies drones while Ukraine returns something just as valuable: the hard-earned knowledge of how to use them effectively.
Curiously, the UK unveiled its own defence vision almost simultaneously and the similarities are striking. Both papers take Ukraine as their template, pivoting toward integrated crewed-and-uncrewed forces, establishing a scaled-down DARPA-like innovation agency and committing to spending 3.5 per cent of GDP by 2035. The overlap extends to remarkably similar figures, priorities and even footnotes. Great minds, perhaps, or simply the same consultants.
In the years following the 2011 Egyptian revolution, international brands were cautious about opening new large-scale developments in the country. Much of the investment that followed favoured established hotels and resorts over the wave of branded residences transforming markets in other areas of the Mena and Gulf regions. But as new infrastructure reshapes Cairo, some in the luxury market are beginning to view Egypt differently.
Hospitality company Nobu, founded by Robert de Niro, chef Nobu Matsuhisa and film producer Meir Teper, is entering the Egyptian market through a partnership with developer Sodic. But far from just dipping its toe, the company is diving in head first, launching restaurants, hotels and branded residences across three destinations. That confidence was largely buoyed by the performance of Nobu’s first seasonal restaurant on the North Coast, which opened last year. The venue quickly attracted not only Egyptian visitors but guests travelling from across the Gulf, Europe and Russia.
The North Coast is central to the group’s plans. Once viewed as a summer destination for Egyptians, the country’s Mediterranean stretch is increasingly marketed as a year-round destination. Major infrastructure projects have transformed the region from a seasonal holiday destination into an emerging market where visitors can live, invest and spend time throughout the year.
“We have the best beaches in the world,” says Sodic general manager Ayman Amer. “Over the past 10 years things have really changed. People are looking for entertainment, hospitality and everything that complements real estate. This is why we’re having Nobu elevate that experience with us.” While domestic demand remains strong, he expects the North Coast project with Nobu to attract overseas buyers already familiar with the brand. “There is a market gap that Nobu Residences is going to cover,” says Amer. “Not only for Egyptian buyers seeking this level of quality and experience but also for international buyers who are very familiar with the brand.”
The emphasis on international appeal is important to both Nobu and Egypt itself. Historically, much of the country’s luxury tourism industry has been linked to its archaeological sites. Now developers are looking to create destinations that can compete with the offerings found elsewhere in the Mediterranean and Gulf. The same can be said for Nobu’s projects in Cairo. The company’s restaurant in New Cairo has just opened, with a hotel and residences following suit.
Together with the North Coast and West Cairo developments, the aim is to create a network of destinations that appeal to both residents and visitors. For the CEO of Nobu Hospitality, Trevor Horwell, that approach has become increasingly important as luxury consumers seek experiences. “Many brands have become transactional,” he says. “We look at it differently.”
In Egypt, that philosophy is particularly attractive. Developers are increasingly targeting buyers seeking international standards of service without sacrificing local character, while consumers are placing greater value on experiences. The branded residences component of the partnership reflects that demand, offering hospitality-led lifestyle rather than a conventional property investment.
That approach is also the product of Nobu’s own evolution. As Nobu’s reputation grew, developers increasingly sought to anchor projects with its restaurants, viewing the brand as a draw for guests, residents and investors. Rather than merely licensing its name to dining venues within larger developments, Nobu saw an opportunity to play a more central role and to develop specific luxury experiences.
“Luxury today has become commoditised,” says De Niro. “To find something special is very hard.” Rather than simply offer rewards to customers, De Niro says Nobu wanted to develop a full suite of hotels, residences, wellness facilities and dining concepts. “We felt we had to bring something different.”
Members of Monocle’s editorial team were in Paris last Thursday but the hottest topic in town wasn’t Fashion Week or fresh collections – it was air conditioning. As the mercury crept towards 40C, meetings were moved, school closures accommodated and cool glasses of wine sought (many at our event on Rue Bachaumont). Was there panic? Not really. The attitude on the streets was chiefly one of Gallic insouciance. “We’ll get through it,” the city’s bustling terraces seemed to murmur through the heat haze. Aspects of this come-what-may European attitude can seem charming and pleasingly pragmatic. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a problem to deal with. The city simply wasn’t designed for the temperatures that it’s now routinely enduring.
French politicians are also hot and bothered by the issue. Marine Le Pen and Jordan Bardella’s far-right Rassemblement National (RN) see air-con as a national health necessity, bound up with the need to expand France’s nuclear power generation. Energy independence, it seems, might mean the right to doze indoors at 18C as the grass outside is scorched and the world blithely misses its climate targets.
On the left, Jean-Luc Mélenchon of La France Insoumise has focused squarely on the cons of air-con and how it might worsen the environmental crisis, waste energy and expel more warm air into already steaming cities. Mélenchon, in a move reminiscent of those concerned with the Titanic’s post-iceberg deckchair arrangement, wants more trees, shade and passive cooling. The real answer must fall between these two extremes but requires the ambition of both.
The city, which is perhaps the world’s most beautiful, copes commendably with its climate for much of the year but heat is a pressing issue. The universally adored butter-yellow Haussmannian blocks aren’t made for such extremes. When it’s particularly toasty the Lutetian limestone begins to bake, hold heat and transform these ornate edifices into rudimentary ovens. That’s before we talk about old schools and underserved medical facilities – though 30,000 air conditioners were ordered last Friday for use in hospitals. That’s a good start and Mélenchon isn’t wrong about Paris’s dearth of parks and trees. But these things won’t be enough.
The brutal truth is that Europe is heating up faster than expected. To stay competitive and survive the summers to come, it needs to pick a side. Should it join the cool kids in the Gulf, Hong Kong and Singapore? (The city-state’s late founder, Lee Kuan Yew, realised that air-con had changed the “nature of civilisation by making development possible in the tropics” as long ago as the 1950s.) It could take an American-style approach and loosen planning, letting the private sector rip. How do you say, “Chill, baby, chill” in French?
Baron Haussmann might not have expected to hear the hum of air conditioners in Paris but cities, like attitudes, need to adapt. And fast. The Paris Paradox is how leaders can cut through the posturing and set a policy that works for both the people and the planet, keeping the city safe and productive. AC will be part of the answer. Sang-froid about the weather looks commendable but it’s delaying decisions that must be made now.
Josh Fehnert is Monocle’s editor. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
Further reading:
– Heatwave be damned! Paris Fashion Week Men’s brings leather and layers to the runways
– The essential survival guide on how to beat the heat in the city
– Amid Paris’s everyday hustle, the city’s iconic Fermob chair is the perfect reminder to slow down – and take a seat
For most of its history the UAE has been designed around the car but after years of anticipation, Etihad Rail finally opened its passenger service today. The country’s great infrastructure projects have tended to be measured in the number of motorway lanes or terminals. So, walking into Abu Dhabi’s Mohammad bin Zayed City Station at its unveiling last week felt quite significant. Starting with a route to Fujairah before expanding to stops including Dubai and Al Dhaid later this year, the move is an attempt to persuade a nation accustomed to life behind the wheel that there might be another way to travel.
The Abu Dhabi station is noticeably less theatrical than other unveilings of Gulf infrastructure. On board, that pragmatic philosophy continues: trains are bright without being flashy, fitted with generous seating, power sockets, wi-fi and luggage space, while Premium class adds wider seats and complimentary refreshments. Every passenger has a reserved seat, so it’s also not the free-for-all that you might expect to find on many European trains. Introductory fares begin at AED55 (€13) in comfort class and AED120 (€29) in premium – and the app allows you to book saver, value and flex tickets accordingly. The pricing, for now, suggests that Etihad Rail is trying to position itself as an accessible alternative to four wheels.
“The biggest value that we can give is to give you back your time,” says Adhraa Almansoori, executive director of commercial at Etihad Rail Mobility. Instead of concentrating on the road ahead, passengers can now answer emails, read a book or simply watch the Hajar Mountains emerge on the horizon.
Anyone who regularly drives between Abu Dhabi and Dubai, sits in incessant traffic between Dubai and Sharjah, or spends hours crossing the country with families for weekend getaways, knows that congestion has become an unavoidable reality. A reliable railway can offer something that the roads increasingly cannot: predictability. But questions remain.
Many people will not be walking to the train stations in the scorching heat. Residents of Saadiyat Island, The Palm Jumeirah or Arabian Ranches, for example, will still have to begin their journey in a car or a taxi; arriving passengers must complete the final leg once they reach their destination. And public transportation in the UAE isn’t widely used. Yes, there’s a Metro in Dubai but the network isn’t exhaustive. So, passengers and commuters will need to calculate whether taking the train with added travel time on either side is actually more efficient. Etihad Rail is well aware of this challenge. Almansoori says that considerable planning has gone into integrating stations with buses, taxis, rental cars and local transport authorities, recognising that the passenger experience starts long before anyone boards a train. Eventually those partnerships will matter every bit as much as the trains themselves.
Perhaps it’s why the first route links Abu Dhabi with Fujairah rather than Dubai. Fujairah lends itself to leisure travel, long weekends and domestic tourism. The real test will come in September when Dubai joins the network. This is the route that will determine whether rail becomes woven into everyday life and commutes or remains something reserved for occasional journeys.
There are encouraging signs because more than 5,000 tickets were reserved within two days of bookings opening and Etihad Rail briefly became the most downloaded free app in the UAE. Whether this curiosity evolves into habit is another matter. But after months of uncertainty with a regional conflict that has seen the UAE’s tourism and hospitality sectors suffer immensely, the timing is perfect. Something new and exciting to reignite the spirits; a mode of transport that doesn’t involve feeling nauseous in the back of a taxi or navigating six lanes of traffic on Sheikh Zayed Road.
The private vehicle represents convenience, flexibility and for many, identity, and Etihad Rail is unlikely to replace that overnight. Success might instead come over time as passengers begin to realise that a calmer way of travelling is just as much of a luxury as a speedy arrival.
