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Crikey. I am swimming. Not in water, sadly, but in lists. To do lists, wish lists, places to go, things to see, ideas to chase and people to drop a note to before year’s end. Why am I not in the new pool in Kitzbühel, or steaming myself like a dim sum at Weißes Kreuz in Burgeis? Nor am I lapping up winter sun in Adelboden at my favourite clubhouse chalet (pictured above) featuring one cool Santa.
No. I am at the London HQ, alone, as all the children (the crew) have flown the nest. Seriously overcaffeinated, I'm typing the final Sunday Edit of the year, dressed in something between pyjamas and something Gary Oldman in Slow Horses (a fave TV series) would aspire to. I should really tart myself up for the festive days, but first I need to clear the inbox of pesky red-flagged emails, which populate the screen like roadside distress signals. In the spirit of Christmas, I will think of them as fairy lights in Negroni red. Now, that already feels lighter and fun.
As the shortest day ambles past this Sunday solstice, unless you are south of the Equator and smugly enjoying the long version, we reach that peculiar moment when the year exhales. Light begins its slow, tentative comeback. Travel plans stir.
But first, it is Christmas & New Year - a combo that should read like a script of spaghetti with a rich ragù of slow-braised beef cheeks, crowned with indecent amounts of Parmesan and washed down with a properly serious Barolo, let us say 2010, because some years get everything right. But alas, as we all know only too well, it is a lovely dance of orchestrated visits, gatherings and timings. Together, an unbeatable party, but sometimes we like different music, if you catch my drift.
I could easily escape right now - I am eyeing an overnight bag and mentally cancelling responsibilities. The only snag is Santa. Would he know where to deliver the copious mountain of gifts if I suddenly disappeared? Unlikely. And frankly, I do not fancy explaining my absence to the in-laws.
With the halfway marker behind us, thoughts turn to 2026. Naturally, I have thrown in a few curveballs. Berlin beats collide with the Monte Carlo of Austria in a festival that may loosen your hips and your inhibitions. Continuing on the musical theme - a concrete colossus wired for sound at Koolhaas’ Casa da Música in Porto.
We return to the important business of where to drink wine in Lisbon. We showcase a must-do pitstop of culture in Copenhagen, and there is a brief but beautiful detour to Zurich, where we visit Soeder, the Swiss soapmakers quietly proving that even hand wash can have opinions, architecture, and very good manners.
We also catch up with a chef returning home to Scotland. He is the sort of man you want cooking for your friends, your family, or quietly taking over the kitchen in our Perthshire estate-house for hire.
I am hanging up the pen for a short while and will return to your inbox on January 11. By then, the lists will be longer. Plans firmer. Curiosity fully recharged. And truthfully, I already have plenty to do. Happily so.
I'll maybe catch you at this medieval Tyrolean town with a Champagne habit and a race pedigree that still makes hardened pros swallow twice (see below for where). Thank you for a wonderfully engaged year. It feels only yesterday we were watching Dinner for One, raising a glass with Miss Sophie and reminding ourselves that routine is comforting, but adventure is non-negotiable.
Over and out, briefly. Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and give 2026 an almighty hug like you truly mean it, preferably in full view of 2025, which has had its moment and can now collect its miserable coat.
Hugs, love and peace, and it's goodbye until soon, bis bald,
Iain & Co.
At the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, overlooking Sweden across the Sound, architecture choreographs a careful exchange between art and landscape. Giacometti’s attenuated figures are positioned against floor-to-ceiling glass, framing the raw terrain beyond and folding nature directly into the exhibition.
A Brutalist boulder with rhythm in its bones, Casa da Música does not just house sound, it amplifies Porto’s cultural swagger. Dropped into the city grid like an angular UFO, this is Rem Koolhaas at his most operatic: unapologetically bold, lightly surreal and entirely committed to performance.
Alongside its irresistible geometric tiling and iconic yellow trams, Lisbon boasts a vibrant food and wine scene. Here is how, between bites of bacalhau and pastéis de nata, to make the most of it, from the city’s top wine bars to restaurant wine lists.
Kitzbühel knows exactly who it is. A medieval Tyrolean town with a Champagne habit and a race pedigree that still makes hardened pros swallow twice. Skiing here is not about bravado or altitude bragging rights. It is about rhythm, confidence and terrain that rewards skiers who read the mountain rather than wrestle it.
A place for lovers of unfiltered beauty, Hotel Seebichl is shaped by brothers Max and Sebastian Witzmann, passionate collectors at heart who have curated a quiet analogue oasis for those who still remember the pleasure of being offline. It draws a nuanced, warm-hearted crowd and is the kind of place that lingers long after you leave
In the upper reaches of the Venosta Valley, where Burgeis aligns itself with the rhythm of the Alps, Weißes Kreuz operates as a built archive of place. Part hotel, part architectural palimpsest, it holds centuries of South Tyrolean life within walls shaped by trade, pilgrimage and the slow pressures of climate and terrain. Here, wellness is not applied but embedded, and the spa, Aura Mea, is conceived as a spatial dialogue between historic fabric and contemporary restraint.
Some chefs arrive with a flourish. Chef John Christie enters with the quiet assurance of someone shaped by land, labour and long practice. His culinary voice is rooted in Scotland’s rolling contours, sharpened in Michelin-starred kitchens, then seasoned by years of cooking in the Alps, at sea and far from noise.
The Bernese Oberland is not short on grandeur. Peaks rise in regimented lines, valleys run deep with glacial memory, and silence feels like a substance rather than a sound. Above the quiet village of Adelboden, three summits mark the horizon in distinct relief: Wildstrubel, the Lohner massif and Bunderspitz. Together, they form a trinity of Alpine presence: vast, serrated and watchful.
Tucked behind the leafy fringes of Zurich, Soeder isn’t your average soap maker. It’s part factory, part design lab, part creative clubhouse — and all heart. Step inside their world and you’ll find sunlight pouring through skylights, terracotta walls warming up industrial cool, and the gentle clink of glass bottles being filled with the good stuff. Yes, this is where skincare gets soulful.
Bad Gastein, Austria slips into something unexpected each January. The mountains hold their classical poise, but the town begins to hum with a distinctly urban voltage. GRAND LIGHTHOUSE™ returns, transforming this Belle Époque cliffside beauty in the Austrian Alps into a temporary cultural playground. Electronic music, design-led happenings, thermal rituals and a light streak of mischief drift through the snow. It feels as though Berlin’s club culture has been spliced with an architectural field trip, then carefully dropped into Salzburg’s most dramatic valley.