If you follow this column with some degree of commitment you’ll know that I have a pretty set travel circuit. While some cities come and go (not so much Los Angeles, New York or Singapore these days), the current cities that see the most touchdowns for work are Paris, Geneva, Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Hong Kong, Tokyo and my current perch: Bangkok. In each city there’s an established drill – the hotel and regular room, the morning trot route, the café, the restaurant for team dinners, the quieter joint for something more clandestine, the shave place, the shops for wardrobe improvement and the essential book and mag stores. Each city also has its social scene, where friendships range from the somewhat work-related to the long established and also the occasional walk-on appearances from people who are (how do I say this?) more from the after-hours orbit.

Off the back of our Shanghai event earlier in the week (see Andrew’s column yesterday) and a special talk session for Chanel in Hong Kong on Thursday evening, it was on to Bangkok bright and sharp Friday morning. It’s unusual to have a few free days when out on the road so I decided that I would do a spa-meets-clinic long weekend. But when I started digging into the programme I realised that, due to my short stay, I couldn’t adapt to the offering and so I decided that singing bowls and herbal essence therapy wasn’t going to be quite my jam. Instead I opted for my Grand Hyatt default set-up.
 
Despite the public holidays on either side of the weekend, Bangkok feels oddly quiet. There are plenty of people around, hotels seem full but it somehow feels empty. On Friday eve I went out with some friends from Taipei and though bars and lounges were full, it all felt a bit flat. The company was entertaining, the drinks flowed but everything was somehow dull. Was it me? Shanghai was full-tilt and I was with 15 colleagues for a compressed 72 hours, so maybe I was feeling a bit out of sorts. I carried on till we decided to call it quits but I woke up feeling the same today. I slept well, the sun was shining and as the day started to cool I pulled on my trainers, shorts and a tee and walked down to Lumphini Park to join the thousands doing their evening fitness routines (catch Colin Nagy’s story on the park from earlier in the week), walking their dogs or partaking in lizard photography. The steamy eve, noisy birds and array of running gear and footwork improved my mood immediately. Did you know that there is a Thai tiptoe technique for keeping a smooth pace? I saw a couple of guys employing this style of running, which is a mix of gentle glide meets pony prance. Best to try it at home first if you’re considering a fresh gait. I also did a bit of market analysis and there is no question that Adidas and Asics are out front among Bangkok’s running crowd. Hoka and On are still around but they don’t seem to have nearly the market share as the German and Japanese brands.
 
After two circuits I exited the park, made a right onto Lang Suan, and as I passed the entrance to Sindhorn Village my mood returned and I realised what had been bothering me. I was missing Gwen Robinson and Sindhorn was the last place that I saw her before she died. It was also in that moment that I realised it has been just over a year since our correspondent Gwen left our pages and airwaves after nearly two decades of contributing to Monocle. In an earlier time and if Gwen had been here, my free weekend would have been rather different. She would have had three embassy receptions to go to, a pair of book launches to attend and then she’d suggest drinks somewhere not too far from her digs. We’d talk for hours about the world of journalism, the state of Thailand, hacks that she didn’t rate and all kinds of story and business ideas.
 
Indeed, I wouldn’t be writing this column so late on a Saturday (Thai time) as Gwen would have already allowed me to coax her to a Japanese bar that she deemed too far but would adore it once she got there. For such a thriving, dynamic city, it’s striking how one individual can take so much with them. I miss you Gwen. We all miss you very much. Big Bangkok isn’t the same without your spritzers, theories and rasp.

Enjoying life in ‘The Faster Lane’? Click here to browse all of Tyler’s past columns.

Velo de flor, or “veil of flowers”, is a poetic expression describing the fine layer of yeast that imparts a nutty flavour to Andalusian sherries and vin jaune from the Jura (writes Francheska Melendez). This allusion inspired the name behind chef Cadú Gasparini and sommelier Bruno Gouvêa’s first restaurant. On an unassuming residential street in Legazpi, a quiet riverside neighbourhood a stone’s throw away from Madrid’s city centre, the pair has assembled a relaxed space with natural wines and dishes made with garden-fresh and foraged ingredients.

When Monocle visits, Gasparini prepares morel agnolotti del plin in a nod to his family’s historic ties to Piedmont, while Gouvêa pours a mineral Austrian rosé by Maria and Sepp Muster. In the background, George Guzman’s In Line plays over the restaurant’s hi-fi system. It’s a tasteful mix of good food, wine and music. Flor is, after all, a place in which each of the five senses have a chance to bloom.
flormadrid.com.es 

Monocle’s Madrid City Guide is your decisive directory to our favourite hotels, restaurants and galleries.

More from Madrid:
- Inside Club Metrópolis, Madrid’s heritage landmark-turned-boutique hotel and gastronomic hub

- Revival or ruin? The controversial €65m makeover of Madrid’s Torres de Colón

Toast creative director Laura Shippey has spent her career designing collections for the likes of Margaret Howell and J Crew. Here she chats to us about her penchant for Breton cider and an forthcoming trip to Japan to discover new textiles.

What do we find you doing this weekend? 
I’m meeting friends in Lewisham for a soul-and-jazz record event. Dancing is the best way to finish the week.

What’s for breakfast? 
Yoghurt and homemade granola with coconut and walnuts.

A Sunday soundtrack? 
We have quite a lot of records at home. I like to play something calm, such as [songs by] Laraaji, A Winged Victory for the Sullen or Aldous Harding.

What’s on the menu? 
Probably a spatchcocked roast chicken, with my husband’s famous crispy roast potatoes and a watercress salad.

And to drink? 
I’ve been enjoying a bottle of Cidre Breton.

A favourite brand or product for the pantry?
Laoganma fermented soybean chilli oil. We go through jars of it because it seems to enhance most dishes, from roast chicken to scrambled eggs.

Which brands does your wardrobe currently consist of? 
Mostly Toast. I also wear jeans from Tanaka and Lemaire, vintage Champion sweatshirts and my favourite alpaca sweater from Industry of All Nations is on heavy rotation.

Next on the travel itinerary? 
Tokyo, Kyoto and Naoshima. I am so excited to take my 14-year-old son to Japan because he is a huge manga and anime fan and absolutely loves Japanese food and culture. I know that I am going to geek out on textiles and craft. I recently did a workshop with Frida Kim on ikebana, the art of flower arranging, so I am also hoping to see some incredible floral compositions too.

This week, Monocle’s Swiss chef prepares a bittersweet salad for a spring lunch. Consider replacing the sweetness of the honey with thin slices of apple, swap pistachios for walnuts or use cold-pressed nut oil instead of olive oil.

Serves 4

Ingredients
2 fennel bulbs
1 chicory bulb
50g pecorino
50g roasted pistachios, shelled and salted
1 to 2 lemons
2 tbsps olive oil
1 tsp coarse mustard
1 tsp salted capers, chopped
Pinch of sea salt
Black pepper, freshly ground
1 tsp honey

Method

1.
Slice the fennel into thin strips and roughly tear the chicory leaves.

2.
Shave the pecorino and lightly chop the pistachios. 

3.
Prepare a dressing from the juice and zest of the lemons, olive oil, mustard, capers, salt, pepper and honey, then toss with the salad, pecorino and pistachios. 

4.
Arrange in a bowl and serve.

You’ll find Le Provençal hotel at the tip of the rocky Giens peninsula on the Côte d’Azur (writes Jessica Bridger). Now in its third generation of family ownership, the sunny bolthole has recently been renovated by Parisian architect and designer Rodolphe Parente. “We believe in what we do more than ever,” says Damien Piffet, who took over in 2012 with his brother, Benjamin, and their partners, Julie Liger and Lene Arentsen.

The 41-key hotel has been reborn in airy neutral colours and warm tones that complement original details from the hotel, which opened in 1957. The four restaurants, including the stately La Rascasse and 1960s design gem Le Bar du Soleil, use ingredients sourced from within 30km of the property.

From the surrounding garden, designed by Provençal landscape architect Jean Mus, a pathway descends to the hotel’s pool, which is carved into the rocky coast and has frequently made appearances in films and fashion shoots. Retaining the hotel’s golden-age glamour has long been a priority, keeping the family project rooted. “We’re kids from this village,” says Piffet. “You can’t recreate what we give to this hotel.”
provencalhotel.com

Monocle’s travel special, ‘The Escapist’ is packed with rugged roadtrips and well-designed boltholes for your next trip. On newsstands now.

Further reading:
- Four of our favourite French Riviera hotels that offer a peaceful break from the crowds