They’re not merely relics of rural depopulation, nor just the detritus of economic turbulence. They are, in many ways, a physical expression of Portugal’s social, economic, and historical contradictions. They’re beautiful, melancholic, hopeful, frustrating, iconic and problematic all at once. So, how did this small, increasingly modern and globally admired country end up with such a visible surplus of abandoned structures? The reasons are complex and a testament of Portuguese history, economics, bureaucracy, culture and migration. Let’s try to unravel some of it.
The maze of Inheritance and ownership
Portugal’s inheritance laws are among the strictest in Europe. You can’t simply leave your house to one child while disinheriting the others. Property gets divided automatically among heirs, even if there are ten of them.
Over generations, this creates “heir inflation.” A single stone cottage might have dozens of owners across multiple countries. To sell the house or even renovate it, every one of those owners must agree and sign. Good luck finding a cousin living in Toronto or a great-uncle who disappeared to Mozambique 50 years ago. The result? Buildings are trapped in legal limbo, deteriorating simply because no one can legally make a decision about their future. And the bureaucracy doesn’t help. Property registries weren’t rigorously maintained until the late 20th century. Many homes still lack clear documentation. Resolving disputes can take years, cost an absolute fortune and drain the will of even the most dedicated families.
Portugal’s century of rural decline
Like much of southern Europe, Portugal transformed rapidly from a rural economy to an urban one. In 1960, the countryside was full of life, but by the 1990s, young people had fled villages en masse for Lisbon, Porto and abroad. Whole communities were hollowed out, leaving behind farmhouses with no farmers, manor homes with no heirs and shops and cafés with no customers. Driving through the hinterland feels like exploring the aftermath of an evacuation. As the population ages and birth rates remain low, the countryside continues to shrink and buildings (even schools) outlive their purpose. Once empty, they decay quickly in Portugal’s warm, humid climate.
The 2008 financial crisis
Portugal was hit hard by the global financial crisis. Banks collapsed, construction halted, credit evaporated and tourism was nowhere near today’s level. Thousands of buildings, half built, fully built or awaiting investment were simply left to decay. We can still see remnants of this era. Concrete skeletons on the skyline, planned resorts overgrown with weeds and many beachfront developments frozen mid-construction.
Tourism booms whilst some buildings crumble
Portugal’s tourism boom has brought enormous investment and modernisation. Yet, not all buildings are easy targets for renovation. Many sit in protected zones where strict laws govern façade preservation, architectural authenticity and height restrictions. A developer might face years sifting through complicated paperwork when seeking planning approval. Many simply walk away. Thus, Portugal has both an explosion of new hotels and Airbnbs and a parallel universe of decaying structures sitting right next to them.
The irony of the housing crisis
Portugal is facing a well-known housing shortage. Rents have skyrocketed, locals are priced out of popular regions while politicians debate endlessly about potential solutions. And yet, the country has one of the highest rates of vacant housing in Europe. This paradox stems from the barriers to unlocking abandoned buildings. The result feels absurd. Empty buildings everywhere whilst there aren’t enough homes for ordinary families.
If we look hard enough, there are some signs of change. Urban regeneration incentives are increasing, municipalities are pressuring owners to renovate or sell and foreign investment continues to revive old neighbourhoods. There are also some young Portuguese entrepreneurs who are restoring properties as guesthouses, cafés and co-living spaces.
In addition, some inheritance laws are being modernised. But progress is slow, because as we’ve already cited in this piece, Portugal’s abandoned buildings aren’t just construction projects waiting on the fringes, they really are symbols of history, memory, family conflict, cultural identity and decades of migration. They tell stories of people who left, people who stayed and people who simply couldn’t decide what to do with the past.
A country half renovated, half cocooned in old memories
Portugal is a land of beauty, resilience and contradictions. Its abandoned buildings are part tragedy, part poetry and the embodiment of “saudade”. They frustrate some, entrance others and bewilder nearly everyone. They are physical reminders that nations evolve unevenly. Growth sits beside decay, modernity exists beside nostalgia whilst prosperity is often set aside whilst yesterday’s burdens are untangled.
