#4
Pioneer of time,
sower of emotions
July 6, 2025
People often ask me how I prepare the seasons of 700’000 Heures Impact. What makes me choose a destination? How do I find exceptional homes or hidden places for my guests? How long do I spend on site before building relationships with trusted partners? I could have given you a precise answer. But everything has shifted recently.
My evolution, and the transition to 700’000 Heures Impact, made me realise something essential: it’s no longer up to me to choose the destination. In the past, I would arrive with my bucket list and preconceived ideas, without knowing whether local communities actually wanted or needed a project like mine. I assumed it would be useful and brilliant because I thought it was. But that approach no longer made sense.
Everything shifted in Tizkmoudine, one of the stops along the Memory Road in Morocco. I now believe that my presence must be a response to a community’s invitation, often supported by a local NGO, expressing the wish to add a layer of hospitality to an existing development project. From then on, the revenue generated through hospitality isn’t about creating dependence, but autonomy. It’s no longer me choosing where we go—it’s the people of a place who call us in. And that changes everything.
That’s how I found myself in Rwanda a few weeks ago, for a project I deeply believe in (scheduled for June 2026, just a little more patience…). This country is breathtaking, its people extraordinary, and surprisingly, it reminded me in many ways of Cambodia. Especially in the sheer abundance of art, everywhere, all the time. When a population has endured an unspeakable tragedy, artistic expression often becomes a way to reclaim life after horror. In this case, it’s an entire village that has chosen to share its daily life through that lens. So yes, while the gorillas remain the main driver for tourism here, I feel the urge to say to the world: “Take a detour. Come and meet people who will move you forever.”
Warmly,
Thierry
This Rwandan project began with my encounter with Cedric Mizero, a multi-talented scenographer, designer and dancer. A few years ago, he founded an artist residency in a small village. Last year, he invited the residents to take part in a performance. When I explained my approach to hospitality, he was instantly moved. A friendship was born, and together we decided to create the first immersive hospitality performance, an experience where the entire village could develop a living art project of its own.
We’re designing a three-part travelling performance where 700’000 heures Impact guests will be part of the story. A show within a show, where villagers and professional actors interact with travellers. You’ll never know whether a moment is scripted or spontaneous—because anything might happen, at any time. Until then, Cedric will be in Paris for the Festival d’Automne, performing with his dance company at La Ménagerie de Verre. And I can’t wait to see what he has in store for us…
One day, my sister-in-law called me to talk about a friend of hers who was looking for advice before diving into her passion for cooking. Instead of a chat, I suggested she come cook for me. Rosa showed up with her caddie and prepared a Sicilian meal rooted in her heritage—simple and familial, yet always with a twist. It was with her that I tasted my first burrata–langoustine pairing. It was so good, she became the hostess of 700,000 Heures in Salento alongside me. Rosa is my alter ego on projects like this. She intellectualizes cuisine to uncover its true roots before letting her heart lead. Pianoterra, her Paris restaurant, never aimed to be gastronomic. It carried the far more ambitious goal of creating a new menu every day based on whatever arrived from the market. Today, that chapter comes to a close, but you can follow Rosa’s next adventures on Instagram. And if you haven’t yet had the pleasure of tasting her cooking, you’ve got until July 25!
Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to taste a madeleine. But not just any madeleine. Half Proust, half Verjus. I’m taking you to Greece, to wake up in Kalamata, in a white-and-blue house without windows. Sea breeze in your hair, sun on your back…
The madeleine at Table, Bruno Verjus’ restaurant, is for me much more than a culinary emotion. The little text you just read is the very introduction to this dessert. Yes, a madeleine is a universal childhood memory. But what struck me that evening was that, in the middle of a hectic gastronomic service, a member of the team took two or three minutes to tell the story of this treat to the guests. I challenge anyone to close their eyes, listen, and not want to taste that madeleine. It’s not marketing, it’s a gift from the heart, the very essence of generosity. And to me, it captures the purest definition of hospitality. I’ve known Bruno Verjus for 25 years, and his way of seeking beauty and poetry—always with a sense of play—is a true inspiration. There’s nothing solemn in his cooking. It’s pure joy.
Japan is one of the countries closest to my heart, perhaps because it’s a society that truly understands the art of things. No one ever questions the price of a craftsperson’s work there, because they deeply respect the skill of the human hand and hold an extraordinary standard of excellence. A sushi chef who slices fish every day will still try to improve with every single cut. And that’s how they manage to reach the highest form of refinement. Kyoto, for instance, is a very closed society. You can walk into an empty restaurant and still be told there’s no space. If they don’t know you, they won’t serve you, because they can’t judge whether you’ll truly appreciate it. But once you’re introduced, you’re welcome anytime.
I struggled to write my guide Soul of Kyoto (published in 2021 by Jonglez) because many of my friends didn’t want to be featured. But that’s also what makes it beautiful. You could spend thirty years in Japan and still learn something new every day. In the book, I gathered all my favorite experiences: grilling your own seafood behind the fish market, meeting the artisan who revived Kyoto’s traditional fan-making, stepping through the hidden door of a bar nestled in a temple, witnessing a timber warehouse being transformed into an izakaya… Above all, I wanted to highlight projects that move me like Go On, a collective of six creators rooted in traditional crafts. Many young talents took over their parents’ workshops, often on the verge of disappearing, and decided to carry on the legacy. They joined forces to build bridges between craftsmanship, design, science, and technology. Honestly, I could buy everything, it’s all just so beautiful.
A month ago, a friend gave me a book called Les lieux et la poussière and said, “This reminds me of you.” She was absolutely right. Everything written by its author — philosopher and architect Roberto Peregalli — resonates with how I see the fragility of beauty, and the nostalgia held in objects and spaces. It’s as if he’s followed me over the past few years, jotting down everything I’ve felt. In this book, he compares the façades of houses to human faces. He reminds us that everything is dust. That we so often forget to care for our relationship with things, and with the world. Each time I restore a home, I try to find that tipping point, between comfort and the energy of the past.
In Afrikaans, Sterrekopje means “a bright star above the little mountain.” Nestled in the winelands of Franschhoek, the farm created by Nicole Boekhoorn and Fleur Huijskens could not be more aptly named. Several friends had mentioned this place to me over the past few months. I took advantage of two free days after the We Are Africa travel show in Cape Town to visit and instead of a check-in, I was welcomed with a foot treatment. I hadn’t felt truly at home anywhere in a long time, and now, not a single day goes by without me thinking of the team and of this incredibly kind-hearted couple. Each garden (designed by Léon Kluge) has its own personality, just like the eleven rooms, with their eclectic yet impeccably curated décor. It felt like meeting a soul mate, and I could easily send to Sterrekopje anyone who has ever been moved by Dar Ahlam. After my stay, the team sent me a playlist—a sonic souvenir of sorts. I play it on repeat whenever the noise and chaos around me threaten to take over…
To follow everything happening around my projects:
> A brand-new website for Dar Ahlam, finally aligned with my vision of hospitality— where simplicity meets deep connection to place, and every moment holds the potential to surprise.
> A creative workshop on beauty in hospitality in Arles, hosted by the agency Saguez & Dash. I joined as an inspirational speaker, sharing—just ahead of my upcoming book—a few of the principles that shape my approach.
> The Global Vision Award 2025 by Travel + Leisure, honoring our commitment to regenerative hospitality. I don’t usually put much weight on awards, but this one feels like validation—for our teams, our work with the communities, and all the small yet powerful projects we’ve chosen to believe in.