Hospitality
Caring for houses when their owners aren’t there.
The word we use for what most agencies call property management. It is a small, steady practice made of many small, steady things, done on time and in person.
Hospitality, the way this studio uses the word, is not the hotel-style anonymity of fresh towels folded into swans. It is the gardener who remembers that the owner’s daughter is allergic to bee stings and plants the lavender away from the terrace. It is the cleaner who notices the tap is dripping and says so before the bill arrives. It is, mostly, attention.
We offer the service in three registers, and most owners use two of them at once. Each is costed honestly, invoiced monthly from Portugal, and described in writing before any key is handed over.
Guest-ready turnover
For the houses that host.
Every change-over is handled by the same small team: cleaning, linen, welcome basket, key hand-over, damage inspection. A property supervisor, not a temp from an agency. We photograph each room after turnover so nothing is lost in translation between guest and owner.
Response time on the ground: under thirty minutes during the season, under two hours at night. We maintain a contractors’ list for each property — plumber, electrician, locksmith, pool technician — so the issue that comes up at ten on Sunday morning is fixed by lunchtime.
Long-term maintenance
For the houses that mostly sit empty.
Most owners we work with use their Portuguese house for six to twelve weeks a year. The rest of the time the house behaves like a living thing that must be fed, watered and reassured. We visit weekly, walk the rooms, check the systems, open the shutters, run the taps, note anything that wants doing.
Each visit produces a short log, photographed where useful, sent monthly. The annual rhythm: winter damp check, spring garden clean-up, summer pre-arrival preparation, autumn pool close, followed by a full report that reads like a letter, not a spreadsheet.
Seasonal preparation
For the owners who arrive in July.
You land on the 3rd. The house has been aired out for a week, the linens are on the beds, the fridge holds breakfast for tomorrow, the car has petrol, the pool is at twenty-eight, the tennis court booked for Thursday. The Wi-Fi works and the bottle of white is chilled. The terrace furniture has been pulled out of storage and washed down.
You do not spend the first three days of the holiday reading meter numbers and calling plumbers. That part is already done, quietly, two weeks before you arrive.
One week, roughly
On an average week we check fifteen or twenty houses.
Two or three contractors are met. One or two guest arrivals are received. Something unforeseen happens, which is always the real work of hospitality: the fridge fails, the neighbour’s dog climbs the wall, a letter arrives from the tax office asking for a form nobody has heard of. The rest is what any good housekeeper has been doing for a couple of centuries.