He lives in a bucolic spot in the English countryside, in the sort of village that gets cast in 1930s period dramas. Miss Marple would be very at home in one of the cottages on the high street with their rose-framed front doors. And he loves it. But 20 years ago, he lived in central London and was something of a nightclub fiend.

The other day we were having a catch up after way too long and he was – as many rural converts from the capital are prone to – banging on about how London has changed, and for the worse. “It used to be so much more fun but now when I come here it just seems tough, dirty and definitely not fun.” At this point I needed to trip up his rant. “Do you really think that the city has stopped being fun? Or could it perhaps be that you have?” I asked with a friendly smile. He laughed and agreed that it might be true.

Cities are not fixed things – of course they change. But so do we and how we judge a city depends on so many personal things that no mayor can hope to address. A city can have the best restaurant scene in the world, for example, but it matters not an avocado on toast if you don’t have friends or a lover to dine out with. From theatre nights to Sundays in the park, you need a social network to get the most out of living in London, New York or Paris. And as we get older, those networks can be harder to build. So suddenly someone transplanted to a new job in Berlin in their thirties will tell you what a miserable place the city is, when all they really mean is that they have not found the human keys to unlock the city for them.

The July/August issue of Monocle has just landed on newsstands, and it contains our annual survey of the 20 best cities to call home. The ranking always causes a lot of debate. But when someone is definitely opposed to a city having ranked, yet it clearly does well on the metrics, I often wonder what else is at play. Can an entire city and all its residents really be cast off as “boring”? Or does the person passing judgement have a habit of surrounding themselves with dull people?

Now many of my favourite cities in the world have not made the list this year – and might never. It would be hard for me to sneak Beirut onto the chart, or Palma, or indeed London. Monocle’s editorial HQ city suffers in our survey because of the level of street crime and the housing crisis – but it’s still a place that I love. And the reason is simple – it’s the people I know that make London work for me. My neighbours, my colleagues, work contacts and old and new friends offer me a thousand ways to penetrate the capital’s sometimes steely carapace. Without them, perhaps I would also say, “London’s not fun anymore.”

To make the most of a city, to understand and also love it, you need to find yourself cast in its script; its ever-involving narrative. This is the thing that turns a metropolis from liveable to loveable. When I was in my twenties, I used to watch Woody Allen movies more or less on repeat: Manhattan, Hannah and Her Sisters, Annie Hall. The characters in these movies lead New York lives that embraced all the city had to offer – cinema, Central Park, going to museums, dating. And I wanted some of that sense of belonging, even if it was to be found across the Atlantic in London.

So when you read our survey, especially if you feel your hackles twitching, remember that cities are theatres and we are the players. Monocle can tell you where crime is low, where green space abounds and where cultural institutions are free and glorious. But in the end, all these cities are just scenery. It’s down to all of us to step onto the stage, to play a part.

For more of Andrew’s columns, click here.

When musician Sorasak “House” Chanmantana isn’t performing with his band, Slur, he’s busy at work as the founder of Bangkok multi-label shop Onion. “Our store places equal emphasis on international and local brands, with a focus on quality and a commitment to design,” says House, who is also one of the retail experts featured in our new publication Thailand: The Monocle Handbook.

Last year, over coffee at the One Ounce for Onion café, which adjoins his flagship in Bangkok’s Ekkamai neighbourhood, he told Monocle that he was on the lookout for a second physical location. We went through a list of potential spots, ticking off the pros and cons of each. Silom? Chinatown? A return to Siam Square, the site of his first physical shop? We made a pitch for Ari in the north of the city. “Been there, done that,” he said. Was it time to enter a shopping mall and embrace all of that foot traffic? No chance. A recent concession at department store Central Chidlom might have been a step too far from his street-level comfort zone.

In the end, the winner was none of the above. Onion – The Mansion opened in March on Soi Sawatdi, an alley running off Sukhumvit Road. Hats off to House and his letting agent: this area has the makings of an independent retail cluster. AMR de Saíson’s flagship is nearby and Fewer Better Things opened there last year. 

House describes The Mansion as an elevated selection of global brands. “As both our shop and our audience matured, the focus moved towards garments with greater complexity in pattern-making and construction, pieces that required more space, physically and conceptually, to be properly experienced,” he says. “This led to the introduction of brands such as UJOH, Kolor, Beautiful People and Studio Nicholson.”

The shop is a nice contrast to the one in Ekkamai (though it can’t compete for charm and cosiness): bright, spacious and right at the heart of the action. Soho House and shopping mall Emsphere bookend a buzzing neighbourhood that includes bar Alone Together, trattoria Appia, boutique hotel Public House and Michelin-starred restaurant Gaggan (again, pick up our handbook to learn more). 

A collaboration with Tokyo’s Cluél magazine introduces brands from Japan and there’s also room for Onion’s label, which is now more than a decade old. Thai fragrance and skincare brands The OBA, Rati and Copenn have joined the fashion line-up, while The Mansion’s extra floor space also allows for pop-ups and events, for which the till doubles as a DJ booth.

House started selling fashion and eyewear online to raise money to build a production studio. He named his business Onion to surprise his friends because they knew that he hated eating them. Fifteen years later, he’s still playing music and asking for onions to be removed from his food – and his eye for fashion and retail is as sharp as ever.

Fernando Augusto Pacheco, Monocle’s senior correspondent, has many guises. As the host of The Stack, he is a connoisseur of print; but he is also the curator of the musical segments on Monocle Radio’s airwaves. Pacheco is our resident DJ of the summer season too. To help you handle the heat as well as he does, he took some time (while lying by the pool) to pick 40 tracks that will keep you feeling sunny until August – best enjoyed with a caipirinha in hand. 

‘Rosanero’, Mind Enterprises
A chunky Italo-disco hit taken from the duo’s latest album.

‘I Feel So Free (Peggy Gou Energy Mix)’, Madonna
The queen of pop is back with a spiritual sequel to 2005’s Confessions on a Dance Floor.

‘Coeur’, PPJ
Sunny bossa nova, techno and electro from Franco-Brazilian duo PPJ.

‘Areia’, Silva
This breezy release from Brazilian singer Silva reflects on life’s transience.

‘What You Want’, Angèle (featuring Justice)
A real summer sizzler. Read our interview with the Belgian star in Monocle’s July/August issue, out on Thursday.

‘Bangaranga’, Dara
Bulgaria won its first Eurovision Song Contest with this perfect pop song. What is “Bangaranga”? Who cares? Let’s just dance along.

‘She Waits’, Collect 200
We love the euphoric, sunny beats of this British-Canadian duo, who have just released their debut album, Everything Will Be Alright.

‘Girl on the Beat’, Shermanology
Caribbean-Dutch vibes meet Chicago house: a perfect combination.

‘How I Need You’, Bad Boys Blue
This dance-pop group from Cologne has recently found new fans online. This track is from 1990 but will still light up the dance floor.

‘Delulu’, KiiiKiii
The coolest girl group right now. K-pop made for dancing.

‘I Like Your Style’, Freddy Butler
This 1960s soul gem is a perfect accompaniment to the season.

‘The Beach’, Miss Kittin & The Hacker
A sharp track by French electro queen Miss Kittin and longtime collaborator The Hacker.

‘Doing It Too’, Rochelle Jordan
A slick track inspired by 1990s R&B – think Mariah Carey meets Janet Jackson.

‘Nano’, Tul8te, Saint Levant
Two of the biggest names in the Arab music world get together for this smash hit.

‘Salvador’, Zeca Veloso, Caetano Veloso, Moreno Veloso, Tom Veloso
This delicious collaboration between members of the Brazilian musical family celebrates the city of Salvador.

‘Vivre’, Simon Mény
Missing Paradis? Listen to this work of crystalline peacefulness from half of the Parisian duo.

‘Diaspora’, Tära
Italian-Palestinian singer Tära is an artist to watch. She has even coined a new term, Arab’n’B, for her sharp beats.

‘Hileli’, Manifest x Ajda Pekkan 
The Turkish queen of pop partners with new girl group Manifest in this ode to the season.

‘Tornado’, Ayra Starr
The Nigerian superstar once again delights with this Afrobeat track, mixing synth-pop and Latin percussion.

‘Walila’, Bongeziwe Mabandla
The award-winning South African artist mixes folk and electronica on this uplifting track sung in Xhosa.

‘Solitudine’, Valentino Vivace
Known for his glittery disco, the Swiss-Italian musician has returned with a more pared-down album. Hit play next to the ocean.

‘Feel the Real’, Fcukers
These New Yorkers are one of the hottest bands of the moment and this lush, slightly trip-hoppish track demonstrates why.

‘La Villa’, Ryan Castro, Kapo, Gangsta
So sunny and bouncy that it hurts. Best enjoyed with an ice-cold beer.

‘YDH’, Chloe Qisha
We love the work of this Malaysian singer and “YDH” is particularly infectious. She’s on the hunt for her knight in shining armour (maybe it’s me?).

‘Night Lover’, Natalia D
J-Pop via Mexico – one of my most fun discoveries this summer. 

‘It’s a Shame’, Aaron Frazer
The softly spoken singer from Baltimore has a voice that we want to hear on unforgettable summer evenings.

‘Segredo’, Zé Ibarra
With his 1970s-inspired sounds, Zé Ibarra’s music harks back to a Brazilian golden age.

‘Carousel’, Cannons
Delicious, dreamy pop from the Los Angeles-based trio.

‘Vanille Fraise’, L’Impératrice
One of our favourite songs from this French band. Any song by L’Impératrice would elevate your summer dinner party.

‘Sailing Away’, Antoine Bourachot
A Monocle Radio mainstay. We can’t get enough of this track by Antoine Bourachot, who mixes disco, fusion jazz and French touch.

‘Bella Menina’, Lord Funk, Moar
Brazilian disco-suaveness – just feel the beat.

‘Sesquicentennial’, Sofie Royer
This Austrian-Iranian pop artist will be releasing a new album in September and, judging by the first single, it’ll be something special.

‘Sortudo’, NAPA
This Portuguese band, which appeared in last year’s Eurovision, became a streaming success around the world. They are back with the sunny “Sortudo”.

‘Partenope’, Merk & Kremont, Serena Brancale, The Kolors
Could this be the tormentone of 2026 (the name given to the song of the summer in Italy)? We think so.

‘Summer Skin’, Desire
A song for those who feel that summer should never end. It’s sexy and euphoric.

‘Rivers Run Free’, Horsegiirl
The German DJ gets it right with this ethereal track, which feels like a lost track from Madonna’s 1998 album Ray of Light.

‘Only Love’, Ezra Collective (featuring Pa Salieu)
This elegant and passionate track is built around West African beats and Gambian influences.

‘I Want to Live’, Naomi Campbell
Every playlist needs an element of randomness and though Naomi Campbell’s debut album from 1994 didn’t rock the charts at the time, “I Want to Live” is an underrated gem that deserves a spot in our selection.

‘Eurosummer’, Zara Larsson
We all want to live in the Eurosummer where Swedish pop star Zara Larsson resides.

‘Something’s Wrong’, Caroline Alves
This Swiss-based Brazilian singer makes dance music for the heart.

You can listen to all of the tracks on Spotify here.

The Obama Presidential Center in Chicago opened to the public on 19 June, with a dedication ceremony celebrating its launch held the day before. In attendance were artists, former world leaders (including Angela Merkel and Justin Trudeau) and three former US presidents: George W Bush, Bill Clinton and Joe Biden. The 78,000 sq m campus on the city’s South Side features a museum commemorating the presidency of Barack Obama, a public library, as well as an athletic and events space with an NBA-regulation-sized basketball court. It also serves as the new home of the Obama Foundation, a charity focusing on community empowerment. 

The campus’s construction encompassed more than just its buildings: it required the creation of signs, web pages and other things to help people to interact with the centre both physically and digitally. That’s where Tom Crabtree and Patricia Callaway, the husband-and-wife co-founders of design studio Manual, came in. Appointed as prime design partner in 2023, the studio, which has offices in San Francisco and Amsterdam, led a wide-ranging programme spanning brand identity for the Obama Foundation and visitor experience for the centre, from custom typefaces and maps to signage and wayfinding.

Here, the duo speak to Monocle’s head of radio, Tom Edwards, about getting involved with the project through a social-media message, overcoming impostor syndrome and how their small studio takes on commissions of a presidential scale.

This conversation has been edited for clarity and length. Listen to the full interview on ‘The Entrepreneurs’ from Monocle Radio.

Tell us about the origins of Manual.
Tom Crabtree: I moved to the US in 2006 to work at Apple after nearly a decade in London doing brand identity for arts, culture and hospitality clients. When I left Apple in 2009 I saw an opportunity to start a studio in San Francisco, walking a fine line between culture, nonprofits and technology.

Patricia Callaway: I began my career in marketing at organisations such as the Barbican Centre in London, before moving into product marketing in San Francisco. We started the studio when Tom and I were expecting our first child – a big challenge but an incredibly fun one too.

How did the Obama Presidential Center project come about? 
TC: It started with a Linkedin message. Hashem Bajwa, the Obama Foundation’s chief creative officer, reached out to us after seeing some of our work. We used to work at Apple together but didn’t know each other at the time. He invited us to help think about how the Obama brand would show up in the public’s experience of the Obama Presidential Center. That initial project led to a broader partnership.

Did it challenge any of your assumptions about the kind of work that you do?
PC: It was definitely different for us. We were working with people who had had extraordinary careers in politics so there was initially some intimidation and a bit of impostor syndrome. But we were excited by the opportunity to shape what a presidential library could be, since it’s not a kind of space that’s typically associated with innovation or creativity.

TC: What surprised us was that it didn’t begin with leadership meetings in a boardroom. The process was more like what you might see at a start-up, with a series of design sprints in which we would make work, put it in front of people and learn from the response. Rather than asking for permission upfront, we were proving ideas through the work itself. That gave us the freedom to be ambitious and boosted our confidence as the project evolved.

Were there moments when it all felt beyond your comfort zone?
TC: Early on, we built a lot of momentum. We were taking some pretty big swings, testing how far the foundation wanted to push into a more contemporary design language for things such as custom typefaces, colour palettes, motion and patterns. It was encouraging to see that there was an appetite for it. It maybe went all the way up to the president and we were getting feedback such as, “Yes, this is what the Obama Foundation should feel like.” The real challenges came later, when we moved into wayfinding and signage. Suddenly, it was about helping people to navigate a large, complex building. That’s when the weight of it hit us because signage is pretty permanent. Once it’s in, it’s in, so we had to get it right.

Did working on such a high-profile project change the way you do things?
PC: Absolutely. We had to make sure that we had the right team and processes in place, and trust and collaboration became more important than ever. We brought in great partners. Having such strong collaborators around the table made a project of this scale feel achievable.

Across the past few editions of football’s crowning glory, it has been increasingly hard to welcome the World Cup with fully open arms – whether you’re a sporting purist or simply a decent person. There were countless corruption allegations surrounding the winning bids of Russia and Qatar, the respective hosts in 2018 and 2022 – two nations with, let’s say, a creative approach to human rights. The Qatar tournament was controversially moved back many months to evade the Gulf’s scorching summer. Then there have been the myriad complaints concerning the current leviathan version that sees 48 teams play across Canada, Mexico and (most pertinently) the US.

But two weeks into the 2026 World Cup, the football itself and the international spectacle that follows it from city to city has truly lit up North America and beyond, largely putting gripes and some highly dubious politics in the shade – and you don’t even need to adore the beautiful game to appreciate it.

I have just spent the first 11 days of the tournament in Mexico and the US. Despite being a journalist who could be considered cynical even by industry standards, it was an almost unreservedly life-affirming experience. It’s a cliché no doubt but there are scant other events at which you can rub shoulders with such an array of joyful folks from around the world. 

Where else within the space of a few days could you take a flight with singing Ecuadorians and pass a man dressed as (I think) a guinea pig, become engulfed in the smiles of celebrating Curaçaoans, share drinks with friendly Uruguayans, see stadiums filled with Mexicans in fake shirts supporting South Korea and Sweden for one night only or witness thousands of seated Norwegians performing a mass Viking row all around you?

Sure, there have been a fair share of missteps, mostly of the financial variety – $25 (€22) for a can of hard seltzer in the Kansas City Stadium this past weekend was a personal low. I also have doubts that Miami should ever have been allowed to host matches, given that a trip from the sunny city’s downtown to Uruguay versus Saudi Arabia necessitates a $90 (€79) Uber ride, followed by a 30-minute walk in the heat thanks to the confoundingly large security cordon around the stadium. 

Elsewhere, plenty of pure, human moments demonstrated that not everybody is out to fleece fans, from something as simple as strangers sharing taxis to the rather grander show of defiance to Fifa’s cash grab from morally righteous Atlanta sports mogul Arthur Blank. Blank practically halved the cost of a visit to the city’s downtown stadium compared with other US venues by refusing to raise food and drink prices. The reason? To show the world Southern hospitality. Give that man a medal. Perhaps in the shape of the competition’s iconic gold trophy. It’s entirely heartwarming to confirm that for every tone-deaf Gianni Infantino or Donald Trump attempting to bleed fans dry or use the tournament for personal gain, there are tens of thousands of regular people who continue to make the World Cup the greatest show on Earth.

Depending on how you count it, Tokyo is a city of nine million (the central 23 wards), 14 million (Tokyo Metropolis) or 37 million (the Greater Tokyo Area). A densely populated urban area of this scale could be forgiven for the occasional erosion of social niceties but the Japanese capital is a place of unusually good manners. Dog walkers clear up after their pets with “etiquette bottles”, spraying water on the ground to ensure that no mess is left behind. House guests wouldn’t consider passing the threshold without removing their shoes first. Patrons at the best sushi restaurants are reminded not to come doused in overpowering fragrances – not that they would anyway – because strong scents would ruin everyone else’s enjoyment of the subtle cuisine. Being thoughtful is built into the fabric of daily life. 

The Tokyo Metro, which carries seven million people a day, is a prime example of this. People patiently queue on platforms, signs on the ground point to exactly where the train doors will open and passengers step on board in an orderly fashion. Once inside, they make room for others without needing to be asked; they rarely have annoying music leaking from their earphones and don’t talk loudly. The carriages are clean, air-conditioned and graffiti-free. While many cities grapple with crime, fare evasion and violence on their transport systems, the Tokyo Metro has posters encouraging commuters to be even more considerate than they already are. The current campaign, timed for the rainy season, asks, “Please hold umbrellas carefully,” while announcing “another day of good manners”.

We have all seen footage of Japanese World Cup fans cleaning up the venue after a game. In Tokyo, people find the glowing coverage of this somewhat baffling. It’s standard practice in this country. When patrons exit cinemas here, they bring their cups and popcorn boxes with them and hand them to waiting staff. Nobody makes a point of it: this is just everyday behaviour. Women are expected to put a gauze bag over their head when they try on clothes in a shop to avoid leaving their make-up on garments that they don’t buy. Again, no one in Tokyo would bat an eyelid at this request. Enter a crowded lift and you’ll notice that, without a word being said, the person closest to the buttons becomes the de facto lift operator, holding doors open on each floor and closing them when everyone’s in. These small efforts keep things running efficiently.

People who appreciate Tokyo don’t want it to change but this is an ambitious city that’s in constant flux. Huge developments and infrastructure projects are ubiquitous. Shibuya, one of the world’s busiest stations, has been undergoing complex construction work for years, with its tangle of railway lines being reconfigured – but the city’s transport system has never stopped moving. Building is a feature of smaller neighbourhoods too. Workers are expected to keep sites tidy and the noise down. Prominently displayed decibel counters ensure that the racket doesn’t exceed a certain limit. It’s no surprise that Japan is now leading the way in low-noise construction machinery and scaffolding that is lightweight and quieter to assemble and take down.

Tokyo’s liveability (and lovability) is in these everyday details that just make things better. The city is a network of neighbourhoods. Young children walk to school unaccompanied and local festivals bring everyone together, particularly in the hottest summer months. City life, which can be so coarse elsewhere, feels softer in Tokyo. You rarely even hear a car horn blaring. The curious thing about this good behaviour is that it isn’t about petty rules or legislation. None of this is mandated by law. There’s just an unspoken agreement that everyone does their bit to keep the city working and not to infringe on other people. Its residents take this behaviour for granted but Tokyo should be proud of itself, a city that is creative and exciting but well mannered too. 

Fiona Wilson is Monocle’s Tokyo bureau chief and senior Asia editor. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe today.
 
How well did Tokyo do in Monocle’s Quality of Life Survey 2026? Check out the complete ranking to find out.

Further reading? 
 
– Explore Tokyo with our City Guide
 
– The Park Hyatt Tokyo is back – here’s what’s new after the 19-month renovation
 
– ‘The format’s inconvenience accounts for its richness’: How the editor of ‘Popeye’ took the magazine to global heights

The men’s spring/summer 2027 edition of Paris Fashion Week is taking place amid a record-breaking heatwave, leaving many fretting about maintaining a semblance of chic. At shows, the front rows are packed with flustered attendees furiously fanning themselves. In the city’s showrooms and at industry events, almost every interaction begins with a sigh and a mention of the heat. 

It’s boring to talk about the weather. But not acknowledging Paris’s furnace-like conditions would be to overlook an existential issue that underpins the week’s proceedings. The French capital is woefully ill-equipped to deal with temperatures of this kind: parts of its Metro are unventilated and air conditioning is often looked down upon as the cause of sore throats or an unnecessary luxury. The question of AC has become a pressure point in French politics in recent weeks, with far-right politician Marine Le Pen arguing that it has now become a matter of public safety. Those with leftist and green sensibilities retort that the units’ enormous electricity consumption and reliance on potent greenhouse gases would only exacerbate the issue of rising temperatures.

At Paris Fashion Week, some brands, including Dior, are responding by moving show times. Most make sure to greet guests with iced cans of Evian water on silver platters. Issey Miyake went a step further by handing out cold packs. A thought, however, should really be spared for the models who power down the runway under bright lights in outfits incongruous with the weather. Indeed, despite this being the spring/summer edition of menswear, there seems to be an unusual amount of leather and layers in Paris this week. At Louis Vuitton, the house’s creative director, Pharrell Williams, created a tidal wave from which models emerge, bearing surfboards in longline coats and suits. There were even some fur trimmings on parkas amid the neoprene diving suits. Leather jackets and shorts also featured at Auralee, the Tokyo-based label by Ryota Iwai that is cementing its place on the Paris circuit with its mastery of colours and eminently wearable pieces. At Dior, the brand’s Northern Irish creative director, Jonathan Anderson, showed a collection that featured scarves strewn casually around necks.

All of this is in stark contrast to what we saw at the menswear events that took place in Italy over the past few weeks, with Pitti Immagine Uomo kicking off the season in Florence, followed by the fashion week in Milan. Perhaps Mediterraneans possess an innate understanding of the value of a linen suit – or are more prepared to show some calf in shorts. Then again, maybe the luxury fashion houses in Paris are not seeking the European consumer who is stubbornly resistant to AC. They’re courting markets that have already succumbed to the siren’s call of icy indoor temperatures in the height of summer: namely the US, Middle East and Asia. Though it might look jarring at first, doing away with seasonality and including leather and knitwear pieces in spring/summer collections is a commercially savvy move. Whether or not the French will follow suit might depend on the political leanings of their next government. 

Wondering how to spend the day in Paris when it’s hot? 

– Verneuil la douce, a charming château-turned-inn just outside Paris

– How to spend the perfect day in Paris – an illustrated guide

– The art deco charm of Paris’s Piscine Pontoise

Monocle’s Quality of Life Special is a highlight of the year for me and, I hope, for you. It’s an edition that throws open the windows to let in some summer sun, heads down to the sea to take stock of the year and leaves time to plot and plan for the months ahead. It’s also the issue that delivers our annual ranking of the best cities in the world to call home.

We launched this survey in 2007 because we didn’t believe that the existing research reflected the desires of the Monocle reader – yes, you. The statisticians working for other organisations were no doubt adept at assessing the state of the roads and the availability of private schools for expats’ children. But they were useless when it came to revealing whether a city was fun, made you feel at ease and delivered a high quality of life to all of its residents, not just those cloistered in one or two upscale neighbourhoods. Monocle readers – clever, engaged, passionate, entertaining to spend time with – deserved something better, something more dynamic.

This year we have focused on two elements as we continue to ensure that our ranking reflects both the needs of readers and the times that we live in. The first is joy – can you have a good night out in these cities? Are they places with cultural institutions and cared-for parks where people can come together and feel that they belong?

The second focus is ambition – are these cities that dream big? It’s easy for even great metropolises to lose momentum, to allow planning delays and financial constraints to halt their progress. If your city faces the challenges of delivering affordable housing, of tackling street crime, of delivering jobs, there is no time to waste.

I am aware that I might need to sport a bucket hat and dark glasses for the next few weeks because some of you will take umbrage at the exclusion of your own city or strongly disagree with where it ranks. Even members of our staff have occasionally been known to do battle for an outpost that they love – what about Mexico City, Chicago or Edinburgh?

So let’s get a few things clear about our intentions. This is not a ranking of gritty but sexy cities. And if your home town has a terribly high murder rate, then no – its cheap food scene will not be enough to win us over. We also want to be able to get around with ease so make sure that your city has good rail services and public transport, plus access to at least one great airport, before you get too riled. Besides, there’s always next year.

Beyond the survey, the notion of quality of life plays out across the coming pages in a lot of interesting ways. In Palma, we visit the new Terreno Barrio Hotel, where a team of creatives and an ambitious owner have conspired to make a property that rethinks the conventional tourism model to deliver a business that also takes care of locals. It’s a story that needs sharing. So too does our report on intergenerational living. How we make communities, diminish loneliness and rethink housing are all issues that every city needs to be contemplating – and fixing.

And on the joy front, read our exclusive report on the launch of Amble, a new vehicle that’s reimagining short-range mobility. Its “mini-mobility” play is super cute. Oh, and come to spend a day on the beach with us in our Ibizan Expo – from yoga sun salutations to sundowners, we have you covered.

As always, feel free to write to me at at@monocle.com. In the meantime, here’s to better cities, big ideas and downtime too.

See Monocle’s 2026 Quality of Life Survey rankings here.

The Italian tradition of la passeggiata is so much more than the mere act of walking. It is a custom so deeply ingrained in the nation’s psyche that, wherever you might find yourself in Italy, you will see smartly dressed residents strolling and mingling in the late afternoon or after dinner to grab a cooling gelato. People promenade – and there really is no rush. They’re there to see and be seen, swap news and gossip. It’s the journey, not the destination, that matters.

The tradition has found a foothold among the Spanish too, who partake in el paseo, while the Greeks have the peratzada. Monocle mingles with the crowds on three leisurely meanders as the day winds to an end but before the evening’s revelries begin.

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1.
‘El paseo’
San Sebastián, Spain

When Monocle asks those ambling along San Sebastián’s Ondarreta esplanade where they’re heading, the answer, more often than not, is “nowhere in particular”. They aren’t being evasive. They’re simply doing what Spaniards do best. “Dando el paseo” – taking a stroll – is a national pastime during which the destination doesn’t matter. Instead, the focus is entirely on the journey.

This city, known as Donostia in Basque, has more than one paseo a day. The first is in the morning, before the rising sun warms the pavements. This stroll is about kicking both body and mind into gear. With 26.6 per cent of residents over the age of 65, the city has one of Spain’s biggest senior populations. It joined the World Health Organization’s Age-Friendly Cities framework in 2010 but an active and inclusive lifestyle comes naturally here.

As well as the morning stroll, there’s its after-dinner cousin. Partly intended to aid digestion, this paseo can be a touch romantic too. But Spain’s main stroll happens between 19.00 and 21.00, before dinner. It’s healthy, social and, most importantly, cultural – an aimless meander that keeps the country connected and moving. In San Sebastián, there’s an unspoken consensus that you should look your best: think sophisticated señoras and smartly dressed señores with no Lycra or leisurewear in sight.

It’s a warm evening so we find walkers sticking to the cooler streets of the old town. Elegantly dressed, Karmele Kaperotxippi tells us that she’s “just passing through”. In head-to-toe pink, Maite Recalde says she’s on her way to buy a bikini but has taken the long route “to soak in the energy”. Jonathan Oloniluyi-Abel Rodrigo is likewise in no hurry, apart from when it comes to eating his ice cream before it melts.

Back on the ornate and curved esplanade of La Concha beach, we meet a mix of young couples, chatty amigas and dog walkers. Ana, Jorge and Gizmo have stepped out to “dar una vuelta” (take a walk).

There’s also a spirited side to walking along this beach, one of the busiest stretches of the Camino de Santiago: among the aimless amblers are those on pilgrimages. San Sebastián is one of the most beautiful stretches of the religious route. We meet Vivek Bhasin from Himachal Pradesh in India; he tells us that he regularly takes long walks across the globe. His last pilgrimage was 1,200km long. “It’s a reflective path and a way to savour time,” he says. Thankfully for him, this section of the Camino de Norte (Northern Way) is a little shorter at 803km.

Back in mid-20th century Paris, situationist thinkers such as Guy Debord romanticised the unplanned stroll as the dérive – the act of drifting. They created an art movement around observational walks – an early and sociopolitical take on mindfulness. In Spain, however, strolls aren’t so intellectually freighted. The paseo is a simple, universal pleasure in which one steps onto the street to reconnect with the world, strut a little, chat a lot and see and be seen.

As the sun sets and the evening rolls on, the footfall along San Sebastián’s streets begins to decrease. But the city’s wayfarers will no doubt be back tomorrow, ready for another day of wandering nowhere in particular.

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2.
‘La passeggiata’
Pietrasanta, Tuscany

Once the summer sun softens to a golden haze, the pedestrianised streets of tiny Pietrasanta become the stage for the urban choreography of la passeggiata – a pleasure stroll that requires no destination. Instead, it’s a leisurely civic ritual and a refreshingly analogue social network that continues to connect local life.

La passeggiata has deep roots across Italy, with promenaders in couples and small groups traversing the main piazzas and shop-filled streets of towns and cities – most commonly in the evening hours before dinner, when the day’s work or beach visit is over and bars begin serving aperitivi. The point is not to seek solitude but rather to participate in public life among fellow denizens. The ritual remains especially entrenched in small towns where the sense of community is still palpable.

In Pietrasanta, as in many seaside spots, the summer meander is an essential part of the day’s rhythm, elevated by the town’s singular character. Located by the mountains that yield the world-famous Carrara marble, the district has a long history of stone carving and the bronze casting of sculptures. These credentials have rendered Pietrasanta a magnet for artists – Isamu Noguchi, Fernando Botero and Igor Mitoraj all maintained studios here. The town’s public spaces are rich in art, from the train station’s Kan Yasuda sculpture and Botero’s church frescoes to the monumental works installed annually in the main piazza.

Alongside museums, such as the Igor Mitoraj foundation and the Museo dei Bozzetti, Pietrasanta’s compact criss-cross of streets is home to dozens of art galleries. “Even people from neighbouring towns like to come to Pietrasanta for a passeggiata because there’s so much art to look at as you walk,” says Sara Ferron Cima, c0-founder of Bloc Studios, which works with marble from nearby quarries. “Strolling through town is a chance to marvel at all the beauty around you,” says her husband, artist Paolo Ciregia, who points to the art but also to the proximity of the mountains, sea and forested hills.

The central area is lined with distinctive independent shops: La Stramberia’s Tuscan-made hats; Santa Riva’s dapper men’s selection; Thanks Dad, with its in-house clothing line. But it’s the enduring presence of artists and artisans that preserves the town’s rare authenticity. “This is a small working community of skilled craftspeople and artists,” says designer Marco Guazzini, who moved to the area after holidaying here for years. He is enjoying a beachside aperitivo. “You see faces you know when you walk around and that keeps the town human.”

“A passeggiata and an aperitivo – that’s how we end the day whenever we can,” says his tablemate, architect Andrea Leonardi, who usually has his son in tow, kicking a football through the town with the other kids.

Head down to Marina di Pietrasanta, the town’s seaside quarter, and you’ll find roads edged with marble yards and stone depots before reaching the row of vintage beach clubs that front the sand. Along the car-free promenade, locals on bicycles drift by while others are on foot – freshly changed from the beach and ready to take part in the languid spectacle.

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3.
‘Peratzada’
Chania, Crete

As Chania’s heat dissipates, its old harbour starts to fill up. Families, hotel guests, students and elderly couples emerge to begin their peratzada. Taken from the Greek word pernao, meaning “to pass by”, the peratzada is an amble that includes a few key stops along the way – for a coffee, beer, meze or, when the temperature starts to rise, vyssinada, a soft drink made with sour cherries, sugar and water, served ice-cold.

“There are many different stretches that I pick for my walk, depending on my mood,” says 33-year-old architect and photographer Nikos Kouklakis, who returned to the Cretan city from Vienna nine years ago to renovate his grandmother’s apartment in the old town, where he now lives. “But there’s something special about starting here [in the harbour], in the openness of the waterfront.”

This evening, the city’s layered past, which includes Venetian, Ottoman and Byzantine periods, appears briefly unified in the shimmering glow. Few Mediterranean promenades pack so much history into such a short distance: within 10 minutes, the walk passes the Ottoman mosque of Yali Tzami, with its distinctive domes, Venetian warehouses and shipyards, and small Byzantine churches. But far from being an open-air museum gazing wistfully at the past, it feels more like a lively urban stage. Cafés occupy old customs houses; Venetian mansions are now boutique hotels; and tavernas spill on to former dockyards. In Neoria, the long, arched shipyards where Venetian boats were once built and repaired, fishermen now moor their vessels beneath the stone arches.

Chania’s most beloved peratzada often begins on the waterfront. But for locals in the know, it disperses into a series of routes. “We enjoy meeting visitors and getting to know them,” says entrepreneur Nikos Tsepetis, owner of Ammos Hotel and Red Jane bakery. “But that doesn’t mean our volta [walkaround] doesn’t have a few twists and turns that only we know.”

One of the best-known detours climbs up to Rosa Nera, a 19th-century neoclassical mansion on Kasteli Hill. Now controversially occupied by squatters, it remains one of the city’s most accessible viewpoints. “My favourite walk after a ramble on the waterfront is climbing up the steps here,” says 35-year-old hotelier Zaira Apostolaki, the owner of Aisha Hotel, which opened in 2024 on the hill. “I love sitting at the makeshift café at sunset.” From Kasteli Hill, the walk often continues through the lanes behind the harbour. Around Mhairadika, a corner of the city named after the old knifemaking workshops that still line the street, people are sipping early evening drinks with a view of the towering Venetian walls. The city’s various routes then converge on Splantzia Square, in the old Turkish neighbourhood.

At the square’s centre stands the Church of Agios Nikolaos, a building dating back to the 14th century that features a slender Ottoman minaret rising beside the church’s bell tower. It’s a testament to the many influences that the city has absorbed. “My favourite time here is at dusk, when tables spill across the square beneath the plane trees,” says Alkida Metai, a fourth-year architecture student. The perfect end to an unhurried promenade.

The postcard, addressed to a department of British Steel in Llanwern, South Wales, is franked Torremolinos, Málaga, 25 November 1975. The picture side features four brightly coloured images of the Costa del Sol: a row of whitewashed houses; a sweeping bay under an azure sky; a crowded beach; and on the sand, beside a faded bullfighting poster, a donkey in a straw hat. The reverse reveals more of the story: “Having a lovely time. The weather is much better than expected. We’re having a lot of fun. There’s plenty of food, drink & entertainment. Unfortunately, Franco has died today & there’s no more entertainment until Sunday evening (no music even). Still, we’re not going to let that spoil it.”

Sue’s trip to the Costa del Sol intersected with the end of Spain’s autocratic rule that had lasted for almost four decades and the postcard in my hand is a tiny witness to that moment. In the years from 1959, Francisco Franco, Spain’s leader, opened up the economy and increased foreign trade, overseeing what has been referred to as the “Spanish miracle”. One aspect of rapid economic growth was the breakneck development of tourist resorts. Beginning with Benidorm, fishing villages were transformed into tourism factories, as high-rise developments mushroomed along the Mediterranean coast, bringing employment, wealth and squadrons of British holidaymakers in search of the sun. In 1975, the year Franco’s death silenced the music on Sue’s holiday, more than 30 million foreign visitors arrived in Spain.

To document these holidays, the production of full-colour Spanish tourist postcards underwent a similar surge, selling in vast numbers. At the time, to take your own photographs was an analogue hobby that required planning and commitment: as a collector, I have seen countless messages on postcards referring to the onerous business of sending rolls of film to be developed, or counting an exact number of photos taken. In a world yet to be flooded with digital images, the picture postcard was an ideal method of sending home a tangible token of a week in the sun. And if the picture on the card was idealised and generic (or showed the wrong hotel), the message on the other side could still be unique and personal. For most European holidaymakers, foreign travel in the 1950s and 1960s was new and exciting. There’s an argument that modern tourism was invented on the Costa Blanca: the Spanish taught themselves how to host masses of foreign visitors, who in turn learnt how to be on holiday.

As the global tourism industry has grown, so too has our visual inventory: every beach, every beauty spot, every meal is now documented. But those evanescent images rest on devices in pockets and servers on different continents; after a change in terms and conditions or new ownership of the platform, who knows how long they might last. When I’m sifting through a box of old postcards from the 1960s and 1970s, flipping between image and message, looking for anything to catch the eye, I’m aware that these small cardboard oblongs have weight both physically and metaphorically. They were built to survive and they still work: the pictures are clear, the messages fresh and immediate. They weren’t addressed to me but speak to me nonetheless. They comprise a vast, touching, fragmented archive of first-hand testimony of what it felt like to travel to the Costas and further afield in that first flush of affordable travel for the masses.

Hotels and tour operators were well aware that these cards represented important viral marketing. Postcards from southern Europe acted, certainly in the earlier part of the era, as personalised testimonials to the advantages of a holiday in the sun. With the brand-new hotel and pool and loungers and happy, tanned customers on the front of the card, the back was left for Tripadvisor-style endorsements. One reads: “Oranges are fresh and sweet. Flowers are grown in profusion here. Hotel has lovely sweet peas in bloom.” Some hotels would offer to send the cards for you, helpfully adding a rubber-stamped image of the hotel so that, even if the photograph was of a beach or donkey or flamenco dancer, the recipient would nevertheless be under no illusion as to which hotel the praise should be attached to.

In those early days, air travel itself was often a new experience, and the humblest package holidaymaker could feel like they were now part of the jet set. A postcard from Formentor, Mallorca, shows a row of women in bikinis sitting on a low wall by the harbour. Addressed to Liverpool, it announces: “You must visit this place, not very expensive, Grace Kelly staying in the next room to us, so we may stay longer.” And, for some, the glamour of the exotic is more explicitly eroticised: who knows what this faraway place in Spain, France, Italy or Greece might offer? Cheeky comments are commonplace, imagined objects of (fleeting) desire include waiters, local boys, local girls, other holidaymakers male or female, anyone in a bikini and, later, anyone out of a bikini.

By the 1960s, Italy and France were opening up too. Yes, Cannes, Nice and Monte Carlo had long been the playground of the moneyed, but now the Côte d’Azur was encouraging visitors. Postcards suggest that French tourism was more diverse, with smaller hotels, rentals and camping. Visitors to France could write home on exquisitely composed, beautifully produced photographic cards by publishers such as Yvon, Artaud Frères or Iris. “Isn’t it gorgeous living on fresh melon grapes, wine and cheese?” one from my collection muses.

Iris cards, printed using the mysterious Mexichrome process, were aware of their superior quality, exhorting: “Collectionnez les Cartes Postales!” Collect postcards! And the recipients did. Cards from Italy show lower-rise hotels, crammed in front of or stacked on top of cliffs; they seem to favour high wide-angle shots of beaches, sunbathers little more than dots – a glimpse of modern mass beach tourism but on a slightly less industrial scale. Looking through thousands of these cards, changes in tone emerge: the early wonder of the 1960s sours slightly by the late 1970s. The thrill of “fresh melon grapes wine and cheese” increasingly gives way to cheap alcohol and plenty of it. By August 1977, Brian’s holiday in Palma Nova, Mallorca, sounds plain brutal. “Ossie & I stoned out of our minds on Sunday night, he fell asleep on the pavement. Hotel is okay but the food is the worst I’ve ever had. Head waiter is a bit of a nark so it’s the swimming pool for him.” Yikes.

But innocence is always glimpsed in the rear-view mirror. As early as September 1958, a correspondent sent a black-and-white postcard, a panorama of Benidorm, to South Kensington, complaining that: “The place is now super developed, shops with plate glass doors & self-service groceries, milk bars, Americans & still patches of oil on the beach. Hordes of people, return fare from London & 14 days here for £44!!” The traditional visitor was losing his exclusive hold on the place: the masses were coming and, with them, changes.

A holiday is an attempt to step outside the calendar but, as Sue discovered in Torremolinos in 1975 – and as visitors to the Gulf found in February 2026 – even from your sunlounger the movements of the world are inescapable: political and international events can all too easily upset your idyll. Now, tourism itself is changing: leisure travel is a global industry and its impact is under scrutiny. In 2024, thousands of locals protested in the Canary Islands against overtourism. In Barcelona, protesters called for an end to the overuse by visitors of resources, public spaces and public services.

Time and the turning of the world will chase us all from our poolside reveries eventually. These holiday moments still urge us to snap countless pictures and squirrel them away. The intention might be the same – to capture and share a moment – but often our digital equivalents never see the light of day. More than 50 years have passed since these many millions of postcards were written, sent and received. Yet, by freezing to perfect stillness those beach scenes in Magaluf, flamenco poses, or donkeys in Lloret de Mar, by capturing in ink the fleeting thoughts and feelings of a particular sunburnt holidaymaker at a specific moment, these resilient little cards have, in a small way, held back the deluge and beaten time itself.