We weren’t looking for a village. We were running a tech company between Paris and Antananarivo, living in airports and video calls.
Then something shifted. The speed we were living at was pulling us away from what matters. Our faith pushed us toward something else: slow down, work the land, build something that lasts.
One evening, Matina asked Claude a question about abandoned villages around the world. Porcieda came up first. Like an answer to a prayer we hadn’t fully formed yet.
A few days later we looked for more. Satellite images, cadastral maps, old blogs. The more we searched, the more this place matched everything we’d been looking for — and far more than we’d ever dared to dream. Ten stone houses. A baroque ermita from 1752. On the Camino de Santiago. Empty for thirty years. Within a week we’d bought the domain, built a website, and dove into regulations and subsidies.
Then we called Fernando, the lawyer handling the sale. He’d spoken to over twenty-five people in three years. Most of them wanted a house. He kept explaining: this isn’t a house, it’s a project — you need a team, management capacity, real investment. Then he saw our dossier. “I’m really impressed,” he said. “This is exactly what I’ve been trying to explain to people for three years.”
He was transparent about the challenges. No water, no electricity, no road. We glanced at each other and almost laughed — felt just like back home. Everything to build from scratch. But he also said something that struck us: you don’t need to be rich. You need management capacity and the ability to raise funds. After eight years building and running a tech company across sixteen countries, that’s exactly what we know how to do.
In fact, we’ve already done it. In Antananarivo, our company’s HQ is a house where we host people who want to discover Madagascar. A coworking space and Airbnb in one, with Starlink, water from a borehole, solar panels on the way, and a small vegetable garden. Porcieda is the next chapter of the same story.
Fernando understood this. He lives twenty minutes away, in a village of thirteen people, with fifteen sheep. He’d been a corporate lawyer in Madrid and Barcelona for thirty years before choosing this life. He offered to help beyond the sale: introductions to the mayor, local contacts, photos of the site. He believed in the project.
“I’m really impressed. This is what I’ve been trying to explain to people for three years.” — Fernando Mier
The decision was made late at night, looking at photos of stone walls on a screen. Three of us — Adam, Matina, Melissa — different skills, same conviction: this village deserves to live again.
This journal will be our logbook. Progress, setbacks, discoveries. If this resonates — follow along.