Between the Mountains and the Silence — House with Soul Waiting for a New Life in Monchique

Between the Mountains and the Silence — House with Soul Waiting for a New Life in Monchique

There are houses that arrive ready.
And there are others that give us the opportunity to imagine them.

This is one of them. Located in the Serra de Monchique, surrounded by nature and the tranquility characteristic of this region, this old house preserves the charm of other times and now offers the possibility of starting a new story.

The property needs work, and may represent an excellent opportunity for those looking for a transformation project and want to create a truly personalized space.

Here, the future of the house is in the hands of those who choose it. You can choose to recover the traditional character, valuing the existing elements and preserving its identity, or embrace a deeper transformation, creating a contemporary refuge completely adapted to your taste and lifestyle. Imagine a house surrounded by greenery, quiet mornings, the fresh air of the mountains and silent nights, away from the hustle and bustle.

More than a house, this can be the starting point to create a place of your own. A project for those who can look beyond what exists today and visualize what may be born tomorrow.

In the Serra de Monchique, some properties are not just bought. They are discovered, transformed and lived.

Beauty is also tiring because of what it transmits to us in emotion. It is enough for the colour to be a scream, it is enough for the mutations to collide. Let us therefore flee from the blues, the reds, the yellows, let us comfort our tired spirit a little. Only green will serve as a balm and Monchique will be the next point to reach.

The mountains, seen from afar, are nothing more than a good photographic background, Stop looking at these salty lands. They are sad and sterile like death.
To the left the Boia stream runs to the left and the ground begins to convulse. The hills gradually take height, join each other in deep folds and the road winds between schist barriers like a reptile buffeted by the sun.

The vegetation thickens. Profiled acacias flank the black tarmac strip, and the small patches of pine forest descend to us.

Now, acacias, cedars and eucalyptus almost intertwine defying the sun's rays to pass through their compact foliage. A branch of two dozen meters takes us to the hot springs.
Let's go down to Paradise. A vault of foliage protects us and the clear stream runs softly surrounding pebbles sometimes black, sometimes reddish. Small eyes of sun mark luminous circles on the brown earth. A bridge... A small waterfall... The cicadas sing and everything is green around us.

The water digs up the schist extracts, deepens more and more and the path tightens, strangles. Below is a disjointed dam, beyond the arch of a bridge.
A little note. Blue hydrangeas... A snob garden lake... Three eucalyptus trees in whose trunks romantic girls carved hearts and wrote verses... A stone table... A fountain... The fountain of Loves.

Some large stones, which stopped when encountering any obstacle, resemble the wells sown in the Zêzere valley. On the way to Monchique, the terraced slopes sometimes have the appearance of Roman amphitheatres.

Starting the climb to Foia, let's look around. In front the soft green patch of chestnut groves that rise on both sides of the Serra stream; at our feet the steps of a monumental staircase that descends to Pé da Cruz and to the north the village that seems to lie on the edge of a hill.

Where he found an inch of arable land, man erected walls of defense against erosion and planted gardens. How painful his effort... Water runs everywhere. It makes us want to fall on our backs in a prayer to the earth...

The afforestation decreases in density as we climb, the sharp edges of the masses of stone are daggers that try to hurt us, the air becomes purer, the temperature drops and the mountain welcomes us contemptuously.

A wide curve... The pyramid of Foia...

We lose track of distances, it seems that we are leaning over a map in relief. The Alentejo, in its vastness, as if stretching... The outline of the coast appears clear, creased... light spots of many houses together. Portimão... Alvor... Lagos... The sands of Meia Praia... Farther away, Sagres and S. Vicente... And to the sides of Aljezur the hills look like full bellies.