The Natural Building Visionary of Central Portugal

In memory of Bob
 
It was 2022, and I was on a road trip to Portugal. At the time I was on a bit of a reconnaissance mission, and central Portugal with its pretty river beaches and the great star-draped Serra da Estrela was attractive. I also had friends in the area. One day, one of those friends took me to visit Bob’s place.

“I’m an old hippy,” Bob said a little unnecessarily, when he looked up. He was a man with long frizzy grey hair, and he was in the process of sanding an exquisite wooden door frame in the shape of a tree. Sighing a little, the man downed tools. I knew the feeling. We were stopping him in the middle of a creative streak.

“I don’t have many visitors here. Don’t really like them,” he smiled wryly, eyeing me a little suspiciously. I guffawed out loud. Talk about mirror image!

“I hear ya, Bob. We did get an invite though. We won’t keep you long. Did you make that door frame? It’s absolutely divine.”

Bob puffed up a little. “Yeah, but it's Tiago who's my main man for carpentry. I was in India for years, built some stuff up there. Then I came here.”

“Oh, I love India! I keep thinking I might retire there.”

“Hmph. It’s changed,” Bob said, sniffing. “Alright, come on, I’ll show you around.”

​Thus began the grand tour that popped my eyes right out of my noddle.

Eat yer heart out, Bilbo!

It was early May and the temperatures were rising. The grass was turning pale brown, and everyone was already starting to talk about fire season.

“They keep telling me to cut all this down,” Bob said as we walked through the land, his hand sweeping one corner of a few hectares full of beautiful pine trees and shrubbery. “Damn strimmers. Hate them. That noise is bad for your health. So I cleared it gently, over years, by hand.”

As you can imagine, I was warming to Bob. “I’m the same. I scythe my land. It’s such a beautiful practice. You won’t get a fire while you’re here Bob,” I said. “You’ve listened to Gaia. She’ll protect you. I’ve experienced that myself—the fire’ll come everywhere, but not here.”

Bob turned to me and looked me up and down. The angle of his eyes changed. I’m guessing he didn’t hear this kind of thing often, and I noted the shift in tone. “You’re right,” he said thoughtfully. “You’re absolutely right.” From then on in, he couldn’t stop talking.

​And me? I couldn’t stop gaping.

One of the cob huts.

Bob’s world was completely off-grid, and his massive solar power rig was on wheels, designed to move in case of a fire. Pure spring water came from a well. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like Bob’s place in terms of quality and beauty. He was an exceptional visionary and gatherer of talent, as the photos show.

First we looked at three gorgeous small circular cob cabins. Each had a different elemental theme: Water, Earth, and Fire. The cob had been carved by local artists to create sculpted masterpieces.

​“Took ’em ages because they sculpted as we built,” he said.

Made without noisy power tools.

Passing the huts one by one, we hiked to a far corner of the land to a small stone hut with a slate roof.

“I’m really proud of this. We made this without any power tools. Even the wood was cut by hand. Everyone moaned like hell about it, but I stuck to my guns.”

As we walked inside, I marvelled at the beautiful stonework. “What’s it for?” I asked.

“I wanted it to be a sound therapy room. That’s why there must be no bad noise in the building, because the stones would hold those shitty vibrations. This is a healing space.”

​As you can imagine, by this point I was on the verge of asking to move in.

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Cob oven.

Next, we trekked through the pine trees and drying grass to the opposite end of the land where Bob had built a massive open kitchen with a cob oven.

“I think I’d like this place for festivals. You know, a gathering place.”

“But you don’t like visitors!” I chuckled.

​Bob chewed on that a while. To be honest I totally got it. He was an extroverted introvert like me, who actually loved to show people around and display his work, but also needed to be quiet and get on with creating things.

A bathroom like no other.

The grasshoppers were strumming heavily in the afternoon sun now, and I savoured the aromatic smell of the pines, and the crunch of their needles underfoot. It was now that we came to the most enchanting bathroom. The stone and mortar work was stunning. This little hut housed a charming composting toilet. Bob had a thing about doors though. Each one was a work of art. The bathroom door was a circle of decorated wrought iron (see the second photo from top of the article) that would have made Bilbo Baggins eat his heart out.

A very stylish composting toilet.

Finally, a short trudge later, we came to Bob’s pride and joy. It was a huge ornate wooden structure, mostly handcrafted by Tiago the Portuguese carpenter. Honestly? I’ve never seen anything this clever and creative in all my born days.

“This…” said Bob waving his arm with a flourish, “is where I park my truck.

To call this a van garage however, is something of an understatement. No one in the world has a truck park like this. It was in fact a spectacular wooden encasement for Bob’s mobile home, which in itself was a work of art.

“I live in here,” he said happily. It’s a bit of a mess inside, because my girlfriend isn’t here,” he chortled.

The truck was a split-level affair complete with wood burner and the most stunning copper door frames. On the exterior, Bob had built a huge chestnut-roofed platform that was his living space. Even the drainpipes were natural and made by hollowing out thick pine branches!

“I’ve designed the whole structure so I can drive the truck in and out, so that if there is a fire, I can still move it.”

The truck park:)

Copper door frames.

Bob was a free spirit, and had spent much of his life on the road. But he wasn’t an aimless drifter. You see, there is a difference between lost wanderers and renaissance edge walkers who can manifest worlds. Bob didn’t travel to escape. He chose his destinations carefully, and part of the premise was: Where can I build what I want to?
​
Natural builders often aren’t rule abiders. They are creative powerhouses that refuse to be cowed into a box, and will find any crack in the matrix they can to forge a vision.

That's the drainpipe!

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Six months after my visit to Portugal I received a message from my friend. Bob had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. It couldn’t believe it actually, because he had looked supremely fit when I saw him, a natural health fanatic who had chided me even for wanting a bit of cake. “Sugar! Pah! Terrible stuff. I’ll make you a natural juice instead.”

A few months later he left his and our world. But his legacy remains hidden in the folds of central Portugal. It’s a legacy that says:

“He who dares, dodges, and loves the Earth, wins.”

Life is unpredictable. Bob, only in his sixties, died too soon. Even so, he had lived richer lives in those years, and fulfilled more dreams, than most ever do. Regrets? I’m guessing he didn’t have too many.

​I would say R.I.P. Bob, but I doubt wherever his spirit is now that he’ll be resting.

You can see the full photo album of Bob's place here. Many thanks to the photographer for sharing.

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