The world’s greatest cities, according to 15 travel writers – including Dubai and San Francisco

What defines “a great city”? Is it majestic architecture, epic monuments, a suitably striking skyline? Is it a notable history, which stretches back through the centuries in visible fashion, all winding streets and towering cathedrals? Is it a giddy nightlife which wears its dancing shoes until dawn, or a restaurant scene where just about every global cuisine is on offer, and in a delicious manner? Is it all of the above, coupled to a public transport system which makes journeys in and around the metropolis a pleasing doddle?

Or is it more of a feeling? Perhaps a sense of familiarity, built up over regular visits – and an affection for the place in question which grows with each return. Here, 15 members of the Telegraph Travel team give their answers to the question of what constitutes the greatest city on the planet – and not via bland, measurable metrics such as population, house prices, and number of Tube lines, but on emotion, memory, and fond recollections.

In other words, this is all subjective. So by all means agree or disagree in the comments box below. After all, one person’s London or Paris can be another’s Dubai or San Francisco…

I fell in love with Paris in a very ordinary corner of its cityscape, and at the third or fourth time of asking. For me, the thunderbolt moment did not come during that first foray to the French capital on a family holiday, seven-year-old legs clambering up the Eiffel Tower’s internal staircases (cheaper than the lifts!) in the August heat of a 1980s summer. Nor did lightning strike in the teenage haze of a school trip a decade later; vaguely engaged minds gazing at the gardens and gilded galleries of Versailles, and wondering what relevance they would have to an A-level history exam question about Louis XIV’s financial policy.

No, the lightbulb went on over the course of a damp weekend somewhere on the border of winter and spring, in a mundane hotel, picked at random, down in the clutter of the 9th arrondissement. The area in question might be loosely referred to as “Cambronne”, after the Metro station at the heart of it – which, in turn, is named after Pierre Cambronne, the French general whose sweary, five-letter response to being asked to surrender in the dying embers of the Battle of Waterloo has made him something of an icon of French stubbornness (even if the tale is probably apocryphal; you can google his exact bon mot).

Appropriately, there is something stubbornly French – and gloriously so – about Paris’s 9th. It is a neighbourhood, not a tourist zone – where the brasseries along the Rue de la Croix Nivert are local favourites rather than Michelin hotspots, where the boulangeries thrum with daily conversation rather than Instagram posturing, and where Metro Line 6 provides a constant soundtrack, its trains rattling along above ground, on elevated tracks.

In short, it is normal enough that, if you can speak enough of the language to slip into the fabric of the area, it can quickly feel like a second home. And it has, for me, for a long time. I’ve generally stayed in Cambronne on every subsequent visit, because it also sits within walking distance of the rest of the centre. Paris, in my now very biased opinion, has it all – and with a style, elegance and, yes, occasional Gallic shrug, that no other city quite matches: magnificent galleries, spectacular churches, superb food, and bars where you can sip a few glasses of vin rouge, for five minutes or five hours. The fact that you can do it all on foot, from a district named after an irate soldier, is la cerise sur le gâteau. Read more in our Paris travel guide.

Chris Leadbeater

‘You slip from real life into a conspiracy of good times’

I’ve never dug deep in New Orleans. You shouldn’t. You hit water almost immediately. That’s why they entomb their dead above ground. In truth, water doesn’t feature much in my memories of the Big Easy. Granted, I’ve ferried across the Mississippi, which involved quite a lot of water but, otherwise, I’ve skimmed the surface of the city where Mediterranean Europe meets the US to constitute what, if you look at it from a certain angle, appears to be a permanent party. That’s been my angle. Not much water, then. Not much depth.

I’ve done the serious stuff, obviously. Well, crossed Jackson Square, maybe the loveliest in the southern USA. Once with a friend not well up on American history. “Who was he?” he asked, as we passed before the statue of Andrew Jackson up on his horse. “Michael’s great-grandad,” I said. We moved on to the French Quarter – more colonial Spanish than French, really, with all those wrought-iron balconies – to find people happy to play us music and serve beer and cocktails at 4pm. That’s the move everybody makes. That’s why we do it. No point in going to the most profoundly frisky city in America and avoiding the friskiness.

The thing about New Orleans’ frolics is, though, that they’re deep and deep-rooted, built on foundations which crash cultures together to come up with jazz, bourbon, jambalaya, gumbo and much else which brings people onto the streets as if life should invariably be sunny, spicy and coming at you in 4/4 time. I feel I’ve slipped from real life into a conspiracy of good times. 

I’ve slept through a hotel fire, been lethally ill on shrimp (“You want to upchuck or downdump?” asked the chemist) and gone back for more. I’d go back for more again tomorrow. Everywhere should be like New Orleans. But nowhere is. That’s its point. Read more in our New Orleans travel guide.

Anthony Peregrine

‘Stop reading and just go’

The temptation, when celebrating Seville, is just to write out a list. Oranges, of course, introduced by the Moors in the 10th century, drooping from trees everywhere you turn. (They look great, but are incredibly bitter, fit only for marmalade and liqueurs.) The Alcazar: you’ve seen it in Game of Thrones, but the small screen doesn’t do this extraordinary bit of colonnaded architecture justice. (Admire the quiet courtyards, tinkling fountains and Islamic inscriptions, then lounge around the exquisite gardens until closing time.) 

Then there’s the food. It’s all about tapas in Seville, with brilliant meals to be had while at the counter of a bar. For a proper sit down, though, roll up to cheap-and-cheerful Taberna Coloniales on Plaza Cristo de Burgos in the early evening. Here, they write your name up on a blackboard and you wait until a table becomes available while nursing a beer in the shade of the nearby fig tree. The grilled meat dishes are brilliant but even the tomato salad lives on in my memory as a plate of vinegary delight. 

I could go on – and I will – but a word of advice about when to visit. Unless you are peculiarly attracted to blistering temperatures, avoid July and August. March-May is perfect, but you can also visit long into the winter; this is a city that stays sunny (albeit not balmy) even in December. And in the off-season there will be fewer crowds to get in the way of Seville’s extraordinary array of attractions: the huge semi-circular Plaza de España, created for the 1929 Expo; the Metropol Parasol, the world’s largest wooden structure; the flamenco bars around every corner; Cruzcampo beer… Honestly, the list is endless. It’s probably best if you stop reading and just go. Read more in our Seville travel guide.

Ben Ross

‘It’s a cosmopolitan mega-city in miniature’

After two years spent in a rather stuffy town on the shores of Lac Léman, moving to Zurich was a revelation. I’d been expecting something akin to Geneva (suits, serious restaurants and supercars) but it turned out to be a different beast entirely – a cosmopolitan mega-city in miniature. 

What Zurich lacks in population (only 430,000 people live there), it makes up for in attractions: a gleaming, neo-classical opera house, a higgledy-piggledy Old Town, lakeside pools, hip galleries, lively markets – and atmospheric trams to trundle between them. The city’s size means plenty of memorable moments are within easy reach.

I’ll never forget hiking to the top of Uetliberg (Zurich’s much-loved mountain) to admire its sprawl from above cotton-wool clouds, or ordering a coffee at the corner of Bürkliplatz market so I could watch elderly couples waltzing to live music as autumn’s crisp air swirled around them. From our apartment in the suburbs, paths scribbled towards the lake, passing meadows, chattering streams and hidden patches of allotments. We came back to the UK after a year, but I definitely left a piece of my heart behind.

Amanda Hyde

‘You can hardly turn a corner without stumbling on the past’

I like a bit of history and I really love a bit of art and architecture. And no other city can compete, on these scores, with Rome. For me, it all starts with the Pantheon, the ancient Roman temple, now a church, which for 2,000 years has stood in the heart of the city. It is one of the oldest enclosed spaces in the world and the dome which soars so gracefully over it is one of the most extraordinary engineering feats in the history of mankind. It is still the largest of its type ever made.

The Pantheon was the inspiration for the myriad imitations which now punctuate the skyline of the city – from the great dome of St Peter’s, largely designed by Michelangelo, to dozens of others from the great architectural flourish which transformed the city in the 17th century.

Taken together they are a glorious reminder of Rome’s central role in three of the greatest eras of artistic creativity in Europe – the Roman Empire, the Renaissance and the Baroque. And there is nothing in the world I enjoy more than exploring the legions of treasures still to be found here in every church and every museum – from Raphael to Caravaggio, Artemisia to Bernini. 

That and the random discovery of the civilisation which made the city great in the first place. You can hardly turn a corner without stumbling on another fragment of the half-buried skeleton of its Imperial history. Poking up through the streets and squares they are a constant reminder of the power of the past. Read more in our Rome travel guide.

Nick Trend

‘It’s convivial and creative, with the most uplifting afternoon light on Earth’

Buenos Aires… is big, messy, frenetic, hedonistic, alluring and angst-ridden. All the emotions at once, all the faces, and masks, of a true metropolis. Its café culture and traditional restaurants evoke the European old world albeit with a Latin American saudade. The bookshops, too. And the plazas and parks. And the four seasons, which inspired a Piazzolla suite. In fact, it might be the double take that’s constantly called upon to make some sense of this city that makes it so enthralling. 

Politically, Argentina is terminally adrift. Economically it is an absurdity. Buenos Aires is the source of its woes, but its greatest creation, more addictive than tango and wine. If there is a standout single sight it is perhaps the opulent Recoleta necropolis – a microcosm of Buenos Aires, with its own grid of streets, cupolas and statuary, broken marble and rusting ironwork. Borges wrote that the city feels eternal. But it’s weather-beaten and time-worn, too. It’s imperfect, and seems infinite. It’s convivial and creative, nocturnal and has the most uplifting sun-slanting afternoon light on earth. It is myriad, absorbing all my adjectives. Read more in our Buenos Aires travel guide.

Chris Moss

‘Making the simple seem marvellous is an artform’

As a lover of spuds, I’ll never forget eating the best potato of my life. Slow-cooked in a hand-painted sourdough casket and served in a flurry of dry ice, the tubby tuber was elevated into a masterpiece. Proud creator Kozeen Shiwan told me he planned to display the empty shells on the walls of his recently Michelin-starred restaurant The ROOM.

Making the simple seem marvellous is an artform in Finland’s demure capital, overlooked for far too long. When I first visited 25 years ago, the city was derided for being drab and boring. Embracing the unconventional, I quickly warmed to the cold, brutalist Jugendstil architecture and revelled in the quirky, unassuming culture. 

But in recent years, Finns have developed a deserving confidence. New restaurants threaten to steal Denmark’s culinary crown, a vintage fashion scene thrives in hip district Kallio, and music festivals like Flow have a buzz so many over-commercialised events have long lost.

I dream of days spent lazing on the terraces at island sauna Lonna, eating fresh golden cloudberries in the Market Square, or hand-feeding red squirrels on museum island Seurasaari. Even in winter, dark days are illuminated by a shared joy in simple living. 

The combination of sea, forest and off-beat fun brings me back again and again – along with a longing for that potato.  

Sarah Marshall

‘The city retains an elegance and charm lost elsewhere’

Phnom Penh is the greatest city in the world partly because, within living memory, it was arguably the worst. During the dire regime of the ultra-Maoist Khmer Rouge (1975-79), the entire population was hurled into the countryside. Years after this apocalypse, the city was violent, broken: life expectancy went down to 15.

These days the contrast could not be greater, or more gratifying: this city on two rivers – the “Pearl of the Orient” in French colonial times – has regained its verve and optimism. Economic growth is explosive, yet the city retains an elegance and charm lost in many Asian metropoles. Buddhist temples dream next to skyscrapers. Exuberant, authentic markets and swanky hotels thrive besides chic, trendy nightlife districts like Bassac Lane, full of happy young Khmers as well as delighted expats. And the food. My God, the food! Maybe the best in the world? It’s also miraculously cheap. 

Sean Thomas

‘We are lucky to have it as our next-door neighbour’

In the summer of 2020, when things were just beginning to reopen after the worst of the pandemic, I spent a month in Amsterdam with a friend. I had visited numerous times before, but on this trip I feel like I saw into the sweetest corners of the city’s soul. 

We stayed on Marnixkade in the Jordaan neighbourhood (one of the outer layers of the Amsterdam onion), for the first half of the trip and on a charming if rather basic boat in Westerdok for the second. 

By day, we explored Westerpark – including its labyrinthine, secretive allotment community at Tuinpark Nut – and swam in the waters of the Marineterrein. By evening, we drank Amstel by the water in buzzy bars like Pllek or Waterkant. I learnt a lot about the Dutch during this month, such as the psychogeographical explanation for their aversion to curtains and their straightforwardness: in a country this flat, there’s nowhere and nothing to hide.

The city appears to be ramping up its battle against British stag dos, which is fair enough. But I now understand that behind the smokescreen of Red Light District cliches is a complex, no-nonsense, aesthetically unique, bicycle friendly, green, multilayered city which happens to be home to some of Europe’s best art galleries and museums. How lucky we are to have it as our next-door neighbour. Read more in our Amsterdam travel guide.

Greg Dickinson

‘Past and future exist in a kind of endless brawl’

Oh, Hong Kong – where to start? This is a city in constant forward motion, and yet somehow it is always – comfortingly, maddeningly, vibrantly – the same, resolutely itself right to the steel bones of its 8,000 skyscrapers, from its sprawling New Territories to the heights of its leafy Peak. This would sound ludicrous of any other city, but Hong Kong is a feeling almost more than it is a place; an old friend, a kaleidoscope of cultures. Past and future exist in a kind of endless brawl – from the signature ding-ding of its elderly double-decker trams and its commuter-packed, 136-year-old Star Ferry, to the constant buzz of helicopters hopping between building tops, and the criss-crossing elevated walkways that hover above its streets. 

It’s as multicultural as cities come – every cuisine, every cocktail and every custom exists here, all fusing to create beautiful, confusing hybrids. The greatest compliment is to feel that you understand even a sliver of its whole. It may be only half the size of Luxembourg, but it punches far above its weight in virtually every sense. It is kind and cruel; easy to love and loath, but still the finest postage stamp of land on the planet. Read more in our Hong Kong travel guide.

Gemma Knight

‘It’s also about as close to time travel as you get without a Doc Brown Delorean’

Fès is bewildering. Its mazy medina – the enduring medieval heart of the city – conceals an uncountable warren of buildings: mosques, madrasas, bathhouses, bakeries, workshops and riads, clustered, squeezed and scrunched. It’s an unmappable spaghetti of around 9,400 alleyways, some no wider than a pair of babouche slippers. It’s also seething and smelly; you have to dodge donkeys and avoid tripping over piled-up tagines. 

But it’s also about as close to time travel as you get without a Doc Brown Delorean. There’s the pine-scented carpenter’s souk, the glittering silver souk, the “watch where you turn wearing a backpack” ceramics shops and the “avert your eyes if you’re vegetarian” meat markets. And there’s the tanneries: viewed from above, they’re like oversize artist’s paint boxes, only stinking of cow pee and pigeon poop. All of this, you fancy, wouldn’t have looked too different if you’d arrived by camel a couple of centuries ago. You WILL get lost. Lost in space and time.

Sarah Baxter

‘It’s a metropolis on a human scale – with the world’s best beer’

People get the wrong idea about Munich, and I blame Oktoberfest. For a few weeks every autumn, the city is full of boozy British backpackers posting photos of buxom barmaids in dirndls and jolly fat Germans in lederhosen, so anyone who’s never been assumes that’s all there is to see.

In fact, the Bavarian capital is a stylish, sophisticated place, with loads of cultural attractions and a wealth of parkland – above all the vast Englischer Garten (so called because of its naturalistic English style). The lakes and mountains of the Bavarian Alps are an easy day trip. No wonder Germans regularly cite it as the city where they’d most like to live.

It’s also a great place to visit, at any time of year. Summers are warm and sunny, winters are crisp and cold. Compact and walkable, but with all the grandeur of a state capital, you can see why locals call it the Millionendorf (the village with a million inhabitants). A metropolis on a human scale, it’s lively and attractive yet never overrun with tourists. And in its cavernous bierkellers and leafy biergartens, you’ll find the world’s best draught beers. Read more in our Munich travel guide.

William Cook

‘Its genial madness feels like a welcome glitch in the matrix’

While its techies try to algorithmicise life, San Francisco’s genial madness feels like a welcome glitch in the matrix. It’s an unpredictable city; the fog rolls in off the bay suddenly and when it clears you might see a naked man walking down the street. 

That happened the last time I visited. “There’s a bunch of them,” one local told me, casually. “We’re so used to it we don’t even notice, but it’s wild when you think about it.” 

America often feels like a film set, San Francisco especially so. The views from atop the steep gridded streets are spectacular and cinematic. Scaling them in rickety old trams is thrilling, and so is a drive over a fog-topped Golden Gate Bridge. 

Haight-Ashbury – home of the 1960s counterculture – still feels vaguely rebellious and more than a little eccentric. It’s a place where folk get a kick out of chatting to strangers on street corners (or perhaps I just attract those sorts).

The city has, of course, seen better days. The fentanyl-plagued downtown has become a totem of post-Covid urban decay, while its nauseating tech bros make you want to hit CTR, ALT, DEL. Yet despite its flaws, as the late crooner Tony Bennet once sang, I left my heart in San Francisco. Read more in our San Francisco travel guide.

Gavin Haines

‘It has endless energy, buckets of sparkle’

If your city break isn’t complete without cobbled streets and crumbling relics, Dubai isn’t for you. But if you’d rather spend a holiday skipping between mind-blowing attractions and heritage hotspots (yes, really), and basking in fabulous beaches, superb hotels and a little well-deserved luxury – even without a sky-high budget – then it is. 

Dubai has endless energy, buckets of sparkle: helped, of course, by its abundant sunshine and cash, but fuelled by its incredible diaspora. More than 200 nationalities call the emirate home, each bringing their own culture and customs – creating not only a fascinating society and extraordinary dining scene (from its 19 Michelin-starred restaurants to Deira’s street food), but distilling the best shopping, arts and live entertainment on Earth into one place. 

This year, Dubai was voted “Number 1 Global Destination” in Tripadvisor’s Travelers’ Choice Awards, for the third consecutive time – based on millions of visitors’ reviews. It gets my five stars every time, too. Read more in our Dubai travel guide.

Hazel Plush

‘It has a unique capacity to thrill – Dr Johnson was right’

The beauty of Florence, seen from the top of the Campanile di Giotto, literally moved me to tears. Seville’s sultry climate and food scene make it a life-affirming city for 10 months of the year (avoid July and August). Cape Town’s natural setting is genuinely awesome. In Copenhagen, everything just works – people even leave their bicycles unlocked on the street. But as a history buff and patriot, I’m picking somewhere closer to home.

Even after 40 years living in its orbit, London still has a unique capacity to thrill – Dr Johnson was right. Where else can you wander on a whim into one of the world’s great art galleries, without paying a penny? How many other cities contain Roman relics, a Norman stronghold, medieval churches and gleaming glass skyscrapers, all within a stone’s throw of one another? Which other metropolis has Michelin-listed restaurants specialising in Indian, Japanese, Spanish, Mexican, Thai, Sri Lankan, Cajun, Persian, Italian, Chinese and West African cuisine – plus a wealth of comforting and timeless classics like Rules and Sweetings. 

Atmospheric pubs once frequented by Dickens, Orwell, Byron, Pepys, the Duke of Wellington, Charles de Gaulle and Lenin are still pouring pints. It has some of the world’s finest city-centre parks, several of the planet’s truly great hotels, and hosts the most effervescent derby in the global football calendar. 

And I’m still learning London’s secrets. The echoey footbridge under the river in Greenwich; the tranquillity of Temple Church – yards from the bustle of Fleet Street; the grim spectacle of London Bridge’s Old Operating Theatre; the labyrinth of wonders that is Sir John Soane’s Museum; the touching memorials in Postman’s Park. I was unaware of them all until relatively recently. 

It’s not perfect. Using its public transport network can be hellish; an amply-paid “Night Czar” has done nothing to halt the decline of its after-dark offering; it suffers from the same crime problems as many other major capitals; spiralling prices have rendered it increasingly difficult to live in – I gave up in 2021, heading instead to leafy Loughton, on the edge of Epping Forest. But I can’t think of a city I’d rather have on my doorstep. Read more in our London travel guide.

Oliver Smith