You know that time is precious to me, which is why I decided to structure this monthly letter as follows: a retrospective on the past month, an encounter with a creative mind, a taste sensation, a reflection to open up new horizons, an enlightening read, and a place where the values of hospitality are those that I love and cherish. TOMO is not just a newsletter. It is a companion that transforms readers’ time into something precious and unexpected.
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#11
Pioneer of time,
sower of emotions
February, 12 2026
Dear readers,
This first month of 2026 has been marked by an event I mentioned in my November letter and which very quickly became a reality: The Shift. A four-day creative workshop at Dar Ahlam, alongside visionary hoteliers keen to strengthen their singularity and help move the lines of hospitality. Whatever the category of our property, we are all facing the same realities, with similar challenges and the same desire to offer meaningful answers to our guests. It is easy to feel isolated in our profession, which only reinforces my belief that it is essential to exchange more, to reassure one another, and to move forward hand in hand.
The diversity of the hoteliers was what made this first edition so rich. Each brought a sharp and thoughtful perspective to the others’ projects, feeding and enriching the collective reflection. Beyond the experience and advice shared with Giulia and Marine, one powerful idea emerged: daring to say no, daring to think differently, daring not to accept everything.
The way our industry is currently organised may have made sense in a world that no longer exists. It no longer does in the world around us today. Now, it is time to rethink things by stepping outside the frame. And that fills me with energy and boundless optimism.
Warmly,
Thierry
P.S. If you would like to hear more about the next edition of The Shift, you’ll find all the details at the end of this letter.
As February is an ideal time to travel to Cambodia, I felt like telling you about Yim Maline, an artist I met in the autumn of 2018, during our 700,000 Heures season. In Siem Reap, we had given Marina Pok a carte blanche. According to the sensitivities and interests of our members, she would take them to meet personalities and artists in their studios. Yim was one of them, and I have always been deeply moved by her work.
As in all countries that have suffered greatly or experienced genocide, art becomes a way of freeing speech and releasing things that run very deep. It bursts forth in all its forms, from the greatest distress to the greatest joy, with an extraordinarily intense creative energy. Yim Maline has also been profoundly influenced by a journey to Japan, and I find that emotion reflected in her work. I am thinking in particular of a monumental piece: a waterfall recreated through weaving, with trees, birds, stones and flowers… It is immensely powerful, yet delicate and poetic at the same time. So if you happen to be in Cambodia soon, do pay her a visit at her museum-gallery, The Blue Art Center, recently opened with her husband, Svay Sareth.
In France, we traditionally eat crêpes for La Chandeleur (2 February, forty days after Christmas in the Christian calendar). A custom dating back to the 5th century, when Pope Gelasius I is said to have introduced the distribution of pancakes to pilgrims arriving in Rome. The perfect opportunity to tell you about a recipe that is very close to my heart: my mother’s. Its distinctive touch was to replace the milk with an infusion of orange and lemon peel — while adding a generous splash of rum and Ricard.
Not only does this make the crêpes lighter (well… relatively speaking), but above all it fills the entire house with the most intoxicating aroma. As soon as they come out of the pan, they should be sprinkled with sugar and left to melt in the mouth. Trust me, it’s incredible. I have, of course, passed this tradition on to my children, and when I think about it, I’m not sure they taste exactly the same as the ones my mother used to make. But one thing is certain: they carry the flavour of childhood, and that scent instantly takes me back to my memories.
I recently discovered CLO Circle, a club dedicated to the ongoing exchange of thoughts, feelings and ideas — and one I have thoroughly enjoyed immersing myself in. In a world where it is sometimes necessary to disable comments on social media because of haters, this platform is a remarkable example of positive exchange. Each month, a theme is introduced, and all members are invited to contribute in a thoughtful and deeply respectful way. For me, it acts as a strong counterbalance to algorithms that feed us a so-called “truth”. One that is anything but, as it is shaped by our own certainties and biases.
As I grow older, in my thinking as well as through my experiences, I find myself peeling away my convictions one by one, like the layers of an onion. I take genuine pleasure in listening to and accepting questions and viewpoints that differ from my own. I intend to lean into this even more in a new version of TOMO that you will discover very soon…
I am convinced that hospitality today carries a political dimension. It is no longer only about making travellers happy, but about acting as a catalyst for change within local communities. About asking them what they wish to share with us, listening to their vision of beauty and of welcome. All of these things are political acts, even if they are not written in capital letters on a website or used indiscriminately as marketing arguments.
In life, there are certain things I am as excited about as a fourteen-year-old teen standing in front of Taylor Swift. Studio Drift is unquestionably one of them. This Amsterdam-based artist duo — Ralph Nauta and Lonneke Gordijn — excels in choreographed sculptures and kinetic installations. Everything they create strikes straight at the heart of my sensibility. They speak of the future, of the art of tomorrow, of hybridisation with new technologies. You now know how fascinated I am by this notion of hybridisation (and by the work of philosopher Gabrielle Halpern), because of the freedom it gives individuals to break codes and go further.
What I find utterly astonishing about Studio Drift is the way they strip their work back, without ever losing its artistic essence. If I had one dream to fulfil, it would be to invite them to create a piece to celebrate the 25th anniversary of Dar Ahlam. Setting their delicacy against the rawness of the kasbah sounds like the boldest and most beautiful kind of madness.
Just before beginning my fast at the Buchinger Clinic last December, a friend offered me a book: Nagori, by Ryoko Sekiguchi. I adore this author and have read several of her works — notably the one on the ten ways of preparing a cloud, published by L’Épure — but I had never immersed myself in the book devoted to the nostalgia of a season that has just slipped away. In Japan, it is true that chefs work in such a way that the person tasting a dish is left wanting one last spoonful out of pure indulgence, even though the plate is already empty. A way of leaving a trace of frustration and awakening the desire to return. This is exactly what happens with the seasons.
Beyond the fact that produce now travels by plane, eating cherries in winter makes no sense to me. The fruit is delicious precisely because we have waited for it for months, because there is a sense of anticipation at the thought of its return. This entire philosophy explored in Nagori resonates deeply with the work we do at Dar Ahlam. Since last year, we have stopped talking about high and low seasons. Doing so implies that the value of a period is tied to the number of people wishing to book. That makes no sense, as each month offers something different for travellers. And I am very much looking forward to revealing what we have prepared for you on this subject for the year ahead…
I have a deep attachment to the principle of albergo diffuso — which could be translated as a “scattered hotel” — and to the idea of sleeping in rooms dispersed throughout the heart of a village. Hospitality is adapted to existing buildings, not the other way around. This is exactly what we are doing in Tizkmoudine. And if one day the local population no longer wishes to engage in hospitality, all we would have to do is remove our furniture and disappear, leaving no trace behind.
The Italo-Swedish Daniele Kihlgren, founder of Sextantio, was one of the pioneers of this approach. With his project “Le Grotte della Civita”, he transformed the city of Matera by allowing travellers to stay in caves that had long been abandoned. But it is his second adventure, in the medieval village of Santo Stefano di Sessanio in Abruzzo, that moves me even more. Alongside historians and craftsmen, he undertook a titanic task, restoring dilapidated buildings in the most faithful and respectful way possible. He even went so far as to create weaving workshops so that the bed linens in the rooms would resemble those of another time.
His commitment deserves to be honoured — and to inspire our entire profession. By preserving ancestral techniques and the beauty of craftsmanship, he re-enchants a territory and instills pride in its inhabitants. Magical.
> An article on the Memory Road in Condé Nast Traveller Middle East, in which journalist Sarah Sieste reflects on her encounters and exchanges with the communities we support every day through 700’000 Heures Impact.
> The second edition of The Shift, our creative seminar in collaboration with the agency Zero ! It will take place from 11 to 15 September 2026, at Dar Ahlam (just after PURE). This workshop is designed for hoteliers eager to strengthen their positioning and to create sincere, distinctive experiences. The stay will, of course, be imbued with the spirit of the House of Dreams, with excursions, carefully staged meals, and encounters with other visionaries who share the same mindset.
If you would like to know more, please write to us at contact@thierryteyssier.com.
Photo credits : Cryille George Jerusalmi and 700’000 heures Impact