From our US edition
The casa grande could be an ancient chalet in the Austrian Tyrol. A steeply gabled roof to slough off the winter snow, dandelion-yellow paintwork, and inside a treasure trove of all an outdoorsman loves. Antlers jostle for space on every wall. There is a tack room thick with the leathery tang of saddles, a bathroom
From our US edition
Even in my own hilly, albeit domesticated National Park of Exmoor in south-west England, you can easily get lost. And when the light fades and the clouds descend, the marshy bogland can be not just unpleasant, but lethal. Garmin’s inReach Mini 3 Plus is now not so much a luxury as a necessity for any
From our US edition
Buenos Aires, Argentina My last visit to Buenos Aires was a whistlestop assignment exactly 40 years ago. All I can remember was that the generals had gone, but the ache of the Falklands/Malvinas debacle had not yet subsided. Most memorable was the haunting story told me by my wealthy, upper-middle-class host about the loss of
‘Melt your heart,’ said Simone, the Kiwi sleep therapist, stretching her generous body as elegantly as she was able on the yoga mat. Waves lapped the beach nearby. ‘Glow it violet, then allow the violet to flow up, up, up into your chest, your belly, now your legs and arms…’ Well, I tried, honestly I
17 min listen
This week: Kate Andrews on the NHS and the celebrations that marked its 75th birthday (01:05), Igor Toronyi-Lalic is in Marseille watching with interest as the riots happen around him (06:57) and Ivo Dawnay describes how being related to Boris is cramping his style oversees (11:13). Produced and presented by Linden Kemkaran.
36 min listen
This week: In the magazine we look at the recent protests in France. The Spectator’s Douglas Murray argues that racism is not the problem but that a significant chunk of the unintegrated immigrant population is. He is joined by Dr Rakib Ehsan, author of Beyond Grievance: What the Left Gets Wrong about Ethnic Minorities, to investigate why Europe
Nigel Farage and I don’t have too much in common beyond liking a pint and a cigar. Yet I now discover a link: we are both PEPs, or ‘politically exposed persons’. Such a handle may not be a total surprise to Nigel. (He may not have been surprised, either, when Coutts said that it had
Stroll around the elegant capitals of Georgia and Armenia and you could be almost anywhere in Europe. The grand boulevards, familiar luxury brands, fast-food outlets, smart restaurants and gridlocked traffic suggest that you might be in Hungary or the Czech Republic. Only the cruciform shape of the domed and ancient churches place you elsewhere; that, and in Georgia’s Tbilisi at least, the ubiquitous anti-Russian,
Never judge a country by its airport road. Georgia’s, from international arrivals to the heart of Tbilisi, is impeccable. The George W. Bush highway (yes, really) is smooth asphalt, with chic electric cars humming down avenues, punctuated by spanking new Lukoil petrol stations with fuel at dirt-cheap prices. It is impeccably clean. And when you
Rishi’s deal changes everything – even, even if it is eventually sunk by DUP obduracy. What really matters is the change of tone. Many of my fiercest Brexiteer friends shared with me a horror at the very unBritish, almost yobbish aggression in the UK’s dealing with the EU in these torrid years since the referendum.
If you are ever at one of those dinner parties where the company is competing to slag off the iniquities of the British Empire, counter with the two words: ‘Corfu’ and ‘cricket’. Although never an actual colony (but rather a British protectorate), Corfu and the Corfiots are that rare thing – unashamedly Anglophile. There are
Thinking about it, there is only one thing that my father-in-law Stanley and I really agree about: it’s the hair. His oldest son’s policies, achievements, claims (and other things) strike us both in very different ways: in Stanley’s case with a farmyard cockerel’s swelling red-breasted pride; in mine with a deep-rooted despair of the type
There was something old school about P.J. O’Rourke, who died on Tuesday, something that felt like a leftover echo of the American Revolution. Visiting him in his ancient, low-ceilinged, clapboard farm-house in Sharon, New Hampshire, one half-expected Paul Revere to burst breathlessly into the kitchen warning that the British were coming. Though he was by
