What I Wish I'd Known Before Moving Off-Grid in Rural Portugal

The hard truths no one tells you — from someone who left an £85 million company for a life off grid

By Alex Sully, WyldeRoots | As featured on Ben Fogle's New Lives in the Wild

I moved to rural Portugal from the UK with a dream and not nearly enough reality. I'd run an £85 million retail company. I thought I could handle anything.

Portugal humbled me fast.

What follows isn't meant to discourage you. It's meant to prepare you. Because the people who make it out here — who actually build a life rather than just surviving a dream — are the ones who knew what they were walking into.

Here are the things I wish someone had told me before I arrived.

1. The Weather Will Test You in Both Directions

Everyone pictures Portuguese sunshine. Golden light, mild winters, endless outdoor living.

Nobody mentions that inland summers can hit 50°C. That kind of heat doesn't just make you uncomfortable — it stops you working, stops you thinking, stops everything. You hide indoors from midday to evening, praying your off-grid solar can handle a fan.

And winter? Stone houses hold cold like a grudge. Damp seeps through walls. The romantic fireplace becomes your only source of warmth, and you'll learn very quickly how much wood that actually requires.

I’ve also learned that altitude matters enormously. My place near the Caramulo Mountains is noticeably cooler than properties just twenty minutes away at lower elevation. A few hundred metres of altitude can mean the difference between unbearable summers and manageable ones — but it also means harsher winters. Choose your location with both extremes in mind.

Check your road access before you commit. I’ve met people who bought beautiful remote plots only to discover their access road crosses someone else’s land — someone who later decides they don’t want strangers driving through. Or it erodes away in the rain and becomes impassable.. needing constant maintenance.

Also be aware that many rural properties have no official address. Deliveries become complicated. Emergency services may struggle to find you. GPS coordinates become more important than street names.

The reality: Budget for proper heating , maintenance. Understand that gas isn't cheap. Accept that you'll lose productive months to weather at both extremes.

2. Your Land Will Surprise You — For at Least a Year

That beautiful plot you bought? You don't know it yet. Not really.

It takes a full year — ideally two — to understand how your land actually works. Where does water pool in winter? Where do the landslides happen? Which areas flood? Where do sinkholes appear in the wet season? How does the sun track across the land in different seasons?

I call it the Three Little Pigs approach: First, build temporary structures — things that can be moved or taken down when you realise you got it wrong. Year two, build better but still flexible. Only after you truly know your land should you put in permanent infrastructure.

And fire. Fire risk is something most newcomers dangerously underestimate. The trees on your land matter enormously — what species, how close to your buildings, how you manage the brush. Portuguese summers turn the countryside into tinder.

Here’s something nobody tells you: the size of your land matters more than you think, and bigger isn’t always better.

Too large a plot becomes overwhelming. Suddenly you need equipment — strimmers, chainsaws, maybe a tractor. Maintenance becomes your entire life. I’ve seen people buy twenty hectares with grand visions, then spend every waking hour just trying to keep the land from swallowing them whole.

Too small, and you’re dealing with neighbours closer than you’d like, less privacy, less room for the systems you need — solar arrays, water storage, growing space.

The type of landscape matters too. Forested or sloped land is slower to manage but often more sustainable long-term. Flat, open areas grow wild fast and need constant clearing. Terraced land — common in Portugal — is beautiful but demanding to maintain.

Learn what tree species you have. Eucalyptus burns fast and hot — planted everywhere for paper industry money, but a fire risk nightmare. Native oaks and cork are far safer. The trees on your land could determine whether you survive a fire season or lose everything.

The reality: Patience isn't optional. The land will teach you, but only if you're humble enough to wait and watch before you build.

3. Buying Property Is Fast — But Complicated

The Portuguese property market can move shockingly fast. I've seen purchases completed within a week of the decision to buy.

But speed doesn't mean simplicity. Much of the rural land has been handed down through generations and is now owned by multiple siblings or extended family members. Getting everyone to agree on a sale — and a price — can involve negotiations that would exhaust a diplomat.

Lawyers are essential, but they're also swamped. Since COVID, the number of people relocating to Portugal has exploded. Legal processes that once took weeks now stretch into months.

Get your NIF number before you do anything else. It’s your tax identification number — your key to Portuguese life. You’ll need it to buy land, open a bank account, set up utilities, register with local authorities, even buy a car. Without it, you’re nobody in the system.

The notary process isn’t like the UK or US. Everything goes through a notary, not just lawyers. Documents need specific stamps, specific signatures, specific procedures that feel archaic but are absolutely non-negotiable.

And check your road access. I’ve met people who bought beautiful remote plots only to discover their access road crosses someone else’s land — someone who decides they don’t want strangers driving through anymore. Get it in writing. Get it legally confirmed. Or you’ll find yourself landlocked with no recourse.

The reality: Find a good lawyer before you find a property. Budget for delays. And if multiple family members own the land, prepare for a process that may test your patience.

4. The Bureaucracy Will Break You (If You Let It)

Portuguese administrative systems operate on a different logic. And by different, I mean none that you'll recognise.

You'll be sent from office to office. Each person will tell you something different. Most local juntas are open one day a week, for maybe two hours, usually in the evening. You'll spend weeks — sometimes months — trying to resolve paperwork that should take an afternoon.

Let me give you a practical example. I needed to register my Airbnb properly. What should have been a straightforward process took months. I was sent from the câmara to the junta to the finanças and back again. Each office had different requirements. Each person told me something contradictory. Documents that were accepted one day were rejected the next.

My advice: find someone who’s been through it recently. Not general advice from the internet — specific, recent experience from someone who’s navigated the exact process you need. The rules shift constantly, and what worked two years ago might not work now.

Visas add another layer. I arrived pre-Brexit, which simplified things enormously. If you're coming from the UK now, you'll need proper visa documentation. I eventually got a German passport to navigate the new reality — not everyone has that option.

Healthcare, on the other hand, is surprisingly straightforward. Register at the local health centre, and you'll have access to the public system. Most major towns have hospitals, and care is either free or very low cost.

The reality: Accept that bureaucracy is part of the experience. Build extra time into every administrative task. Find expats who've navigated the system and learn from their mistakes.

5. Your Neighbours Might Be Wonderful. Or Completely Unhinged.

Rural Portugal attracts people who've opted out of conventional life. This includes the visionaries, the healers, the genuinely wonderful humans seeking a simpler existence.

It also includes the conspiracy theorists, the people with untreated mental health issues, the party crowd who came for cheap land and cheap drugs. The extremes are extreme.

Community exists out here — often more than you'd expect. But it might not be your community. You'll need to search for your people, and you may need to accept a degree of isolation while you do.

Meet your immediate neighbours before you buy. Not just a wave across the fence — actually talk to them. Find out who else lives in the area. Ask around. The expat communities have long memories and will tell you which areas attract trouble.

The older Portuguese farmers are often kind, curious, and helpful — but most don't speak English. The language is hard to learn. Portuguese isn't Spanish. The sounds are different, the grammar is different, and the older generation speaks in ways that even Portuguese language apps won't prepare you for.

Learn at least basic Portuguese. Not just for practical reasons — though there are many — but because it’s respectful. These communities have been here for generations. You’re the newcomer. Make the effort.

Also consider: how far are you from your nearest neighbour? Too close and you lose the solitude you came for. Too far and you’re genuinely alone when something goes wrong — a medical emergency, a fire, a break-in. There’s a sweet spot, and it’s worth thinking hard about where yours is.

The reality: Don't assume the alternative community will be your tribe. Be prepared to create your own social world slowly, over time.

6. This Will Test Your Relationship Like Nothing Else

I need to be honest with you: not many couples survive out here.

You arrive with shared dreams and romantic notions about building a life together. Then reality hits. No shower. No proper cooking facilities when you start. No lights when the solar fails. No phone signal to call for help or even to scroll away the stress.

Here’s what happens: the initial adventure phase masks the stress. Everything feels exciting, even the hardships. You’re conquering challenges together. The relationship feels stronger than ever.

Then the novelty wears off. And suddenly you’re not conquering challenges — you’re just exhausted. The generator breaks at 10pm and it’s raining and one of you has to fix it. The compost toilet needs emptying. The solar hasn’t charged properly and there’s no hot water and you’re both cold and tired and snapping at each other.

One person usually breaks faster than the other. The resentment builds. The dream that was supposed to bring you closer becomes the thing that tears you apart.

You need to be emotionally strong as individuals before you attempt this together. You need to have honest conversations about what happens when — not if — things get hard.

Have the hard conversations before you come. What’s your breaking point? What happens if one of you wants to leave? And honestly: spend time apart, even out here. Build your own routines, your own friendships, your own coping mechanisms. You can’t be each other’s everything when everything else is stripped away.

The reality: This isn't a relationship holiday. It's a pressure cooker. Make sure your foundation is solid before you add this kind of weight.

7. You Think You Don't Need Money. You're Wrong.

The fantasy is that you'll live off the land, needing almost nothing. The reality is different.

Gas for heating and cooking costs money. Building supplies are limited in rural areas — you'll drive to three or four different towns just to get enough materials for one project. Food comes from supermarkets at supermarket prices until you've spent years learning your land and building up productive gardens.

Infrastructure: A decent solar system costs several thousand euros minimum, and that’s before installation. Water pumps, filters, storage tanks. Generators for backup. Wind turbines or micro-hydro if you have the right conditions and permits .

You need a vehicle. Public transport in rural Portugal is minimal to non-existent. Budget for a car, insurance, fuel, maintenance as the tracks you drive in will wear your car down faster then normal roads .

I’d say you need a minimum of two years’ living expenses saved before you start. Three is better.

Your first year, you’ll make expensive mistakes. Materials wasted on projects that don’t work. Plants that die because you didn’t understand your soil. Systems that fail because you didn’t know what you were doing. Budget for the cost of learning.

Everything takes longer than you expect, which means everything costs more than you budget.

The reality: Have a financial runway. A real one. The dream of living on almost nothing is exactly that — a dream.

8. The internet situation

Everyone asks about solar and water. Nobody asks about internet — until they’re here and realise they can’t work, can’t stay connected, can’t even load a weather forecast.

Rural Portugal has black spots everywhere. Mobile signal disappears between valleys. Fibre optic doesn’t exist outside towns. The infrastructure that city dwellers take for granted simply hasn’t reached most of the countryside — and there’s no indication it will anytime soon.

If you’re planning to work remotely — and most people moving here are — test the connectivity before you buy. Not just on your phone for five minutes. Bring a laptop. Try a video call. Check at different times of day. Check in different weather. Ask the neighbours what they use and how reliable it actually is when they need it.

I’ve met people who bought properties assuming they’d sort the internet later, only to discover their valley has no signal at all. They ended up driving to cafés in town just to send emails, burning fuel and hours every week just to maintain basic communication. That’s not sustainable, and it’s not the peaceful off-grid life they imagined.

The options for rural internet are limited and imperfect. Some people use signal boosters and external antennas mounted high to catch distant towers. Others have tried various satellite providers with mixed results — expensive monthly fees, data caps, and service that drops out in heavy rain or cloud cover.

Starlink has changed things for some people. The speeds can be genuinely good, and it works in places where nothing else does. But it requires a clear view of the sky — trees, mountains, even a badly positioned roof can block it. The equipment costs money upfront, the monthly subscription adds up, and availability varies by location. It’s not a magic solution, even if it’s the best option many rural dwellers have.

What actually worked best for me? Surprisingly simple: 4G on my existing UK phone contract, with a mobile hotspot for my laptop. I found that switching between providers made a real difference — one network might have no signal at my place while another picks up a tower just fine. I keep multiple SIM options available and switch depending on what’s working that day. It’s not elegant, but it’s reliable enough and far cheaper than most of the high-tech solutions people chase.

The lesson: don’t overcomplicate it. Before you invest in expensive satellite equipment or elaborate antenna setups, test what basic mobile data can do for you. Walk around your property with different SIM cards. Find the spots where signal is strongest. Sometimes the low-tech solution works better than the fancy one.

Here’s what I’d tell anyone serious about moving here: treat internet like water. It’s essential infrastructure. Don’t assume you’ll figure it out later. Know exactly what your connectivity situation will be before you commit to a property — because discovering you’re in a dead zone after you’ve bought is a problem with no easy fix.

And accept that some days, you’ll be completely offline whether you like it or not. Learn to work with that reality rather than fighting it. Batch your online tasks. Download what you need when you have connection. Build a life that doesn’t collapse when the signal does.

9. Animals are everywhere

Nobody warned me about the amout of different wildlife. Not the beautiful kind — the deer appearing at dawn, the wild boar crashing through the undergrowth, the eagles circling overhead — but the kind that wants to share your living space.

Mice are inevitable. I don’t mean occasional visitors. I mean persistent, determined, ingenious little creatures who will find ways into your home you didn’t know existed. Through gaps you can’t see. Under doors you thought were sealed. Through pipe holes, ventilation gaps, anywhere a small body can squeeze.

They’ll nest in your stored clothes. They’ll chew through wiring — a genuine fire risk. They’ll contaminate food supplies, leaving droppings in cupboards, gnawing through packaging to get at anything edible. You’ll hear them at night, scratching in the walls, running across the ceiling.

You need proper storage — metal containers, glass jars, sealed everything. Cardboard boxes are invitations. Plastic bags are suggestions. Anything soft or chewable is fair game. And you need to accept that this is an ongoing battle, not a one-time fix. You don’t win against mice. You manage them, constantly, forever.

Snakes appear in summer. Portugal has several species, and most are harmless — grass snakes, ladder snakes, others that want nothing to do with you. But there are also vipers, and their bite requires medical attention. Learn to identify them. The triangular head, the zig-zag pattern, the way they move. Know what to do if you’re bitten — stay calm, immobilise the limb, get to a hospital. Don’t try to suck out venom or cut the wound. Just get help.

Keep areas around your house clear of the brush, rock piles, and debris where snakes like to shelter. They’re not aggressive — they’re hiding from you as much as you’re avoiding them — but surprise encounters happen when you’re both not paying attention.

Scorpions turn up in unexpected places. Inside boots left by the door. Under stones you’re moving. Occasionally in the bed, which is a particularly unpleasant discovery. Their sting is painful but rarely dangerous for healthy adults — more like a bad wasp sting. But it’s enough to ruin your day, and for children or people with allergies, it can be more serious.

Shake out your shoes every morning. Check your bedding before climbing in. Move stones and wood carefully, not with bare hands. It becomes automatic — another small adjustment to living close to the land.

Wasps and hornets build nests in roof spaces, wall cavities, old chimneys, anywhere sheltered and undisturbed. Portuguese wasps are aggressive when defending their nests, and the Asian hornets that have spread across Europe in recent years are larger and more dangerous. Check your property regularly for new nests, especially in spring when they’re small and easier to deal with.

Processionary caterpillars deserve special mention. Those hairy caterpillars that march nose-to-tail in long lines through pine forests — they look almost comical, but they’re genuinely dangerous. Their tiny hairs contain a toxin that causes severe reactions: rashes, breathing difficulties, eye damage. For dogs, who tend to investigate with their noses and mouths, exposure can be fatal. The caterpillars are most active in late winter and early spring. If you have pine trees on your property, learn to spot and remove their distinctive white silk nests. Keep dogs away from infested areas. Take this seriously.

Then there’s the larger wildlife. Wild boar dig up gardens and terraces looking for roots and grubs. They’re powerful animals and can be aggressive if cornered or surprised, especially females with young. Foxes take chickens if you keep them — and you’ll probably keep them eventually. Genets, those beautiful cat-like creatures, also prey on poultry and will find ways into coops you thought were secure.

This isn’t meant to scare you. It’s meant to prepare you. Living close to nature means living close to all of it — the magnificent and the inconvenient, the beautiful and the bitey. You’re not separate from the ecosystem here. You’re part of it, and every other creature is going about its business just like you are.

Over time, you develop a different relationship with it all. The mice are still annoying, but they’re also just being mice. The snake sunning itself on your path isn’t a threat — it’s a neighbour. You learn to coexist, to manage rather than control, to accept that this land belongs to far more than just you.

Other things to think about

∙ Learning to drive manual if you only know automatic

∙ Getting a Portuguese driving licence before your UK one expires

∙ Understanding the hunting season and staying safe on your land

∙ Noise — cockerels, dogs barking all night, church bells every 15 mins or hour , chainsaws at dawn

∙ The smell of your neighbours burning rubbish and recording fires you have with the fire department

∙ Finding a reliable mechanic who won’t overcharge foreigners

∙ Postal deliveries that never arrive or take weeks , finding a delivery address

∙ Learning which local shops close for three hours at lunch or certain days .

∙ The many holiday dates where everything is shutdown

∙ Getting used to eating dinner at 9pm or later

∙ Finding English-speaking doctors and dentists

∙ Keeping important documents safe from damp and mice

∙ The cost of flights when you need to get back quickly

∙ Pets and the logistics of bringing them or adopting locally

∙ Finding vets in rural areas

∙ Dealing with ticks on yourself and animals

∙ Learning basic Portuguese medical vocabulary for emergencies

∙ Understanding the tax implications in both countries

∙ The reality of healthcare waits versus private options

∙ Finding tradespeople who actually turn up

∙ The pace of rural life versus your expectations

∙ Accepting that plans change constantly

∙ Letting go of control

Before You Do Anything Else

If there's one piece of advice I'd give to anyone serious about this path, it's this: do a Workaway first. Find people who are actually living this life — not just talking about it on Instagram — and go stay with them for at least twelve weeks. Longer if you can. One to three months is the honeymoon phase. Everything feels like an adventure. Three months plus is where reality emerges. That's when you'll see how people actually cope, what the hard days look like, what skills you'll need that you don't yet have. Getting skilled tradespeople out to rural properties is difficult and expensive. You need to become capable of solving most problems yourself.

When you’re on that Workaway, here’s what to actually learn:

Solar systems: Not just “how they work” but how to troubleshoot them. What happens when the charge controller fails? How do you test batteries? What are the signs of a system about to break down?

Water systems: Pumps, filters, storage, plumbing. How to prime a pump. How to fix a leak. How to test water quality.

Basic construction: Patch a roof. Repair a wall. Install a window. Basic carpentry, basic masonry, basic problem-solving.

Land management: How to safely use a chainsaw. How to clear brush without starting a fire. How to read your land’s water patterns.

Every skill you don’t have is a problem waiting to happen — and a bill waiting to arrive.

And Yet...

I've painted a challenging picture because the challenges are real. But I'm still here. I wouldn't trade this life for anything. Living in nature, becoming your true self, finding a freedom that most people only dream about — it's worth every difficulty I've described. It’s those difficulties that make you stronger .If you can last a year, you'll find yourself. You'll find what you were actually looking for all along. The question isn't whether the hardships exist. They do. The question is whether you're willing to meet them honestly, with your eyes open, prepared for what's actually coming. That's the only way this works.

After everything I’ve described — the hardships, the surprises, the weather that breaks you down, the bureaucracy that tests your patience, the relationships that strain under pressure, the money that disappears faster than you planned, the animals in your house, the isolation that sometimes feels heavier than you expected — there’s something else that happens.

You become someone you didn’t know you could be.

It doesn’t happen all at once. There’s no single moment of transformation. It’s gradual, almost invisible while it’s happening. You’re so busy surviving, adapting, solving the next problem, that you don’t notice who you’re becoming until one day you look back and barely recognise who you were when you arrived.

More capable. That’s the first thing. Problems that would have sent you into a spiral before — you just handle them now. The water stops working, and instead of panic, there’s calm assessment. What’s wrong? How do I fix it? You’ve fixed enough things by now that you trust yourself to fix this one too. That trust in your own capability changes everything. It bleeds into every part of your life.

More patient. Not in a passive way — in a grounded way. You’ve learned that some things can’t be rushed. The seasons move at their own pace. The bureaucracy moves at its own pace. The land reveals itself slowly. Fighting that reality just exhausts you. So you stop fighting. You work with time rather than against it. And that patience, once it settles into you, makes everything easier.

More present. This one’s hard to describe to people who haven’t lived it. In my old life, I was always somewhere else mentally — planning the next thing, worrying about something behind me, half-present at best. Out here, there’s no room for that. When you’re working with tools, you pay attention or you get hurt. When you’re watching the weather, you’re actually watching it because your day depends on it. When you’re sitting by the river at sunset, you’re just there, fully, because there’s nothing pulling you away.

That presence becomes your default state rather than something you have to work for. Meditation retreats charge thousands of pounds to teach what this life gives you for free — though it charges you in other ways.

More yourself. This is the deepest change and the hardest to explain. All the scaffolding of identity that modern life provides — your job title, your social status, your possessions, your carefully curated image — none of that exists here. Nobody cares what you used to do. Nobody’s impressed by your CV. You’re just a person trying to live, same as everyone else.

At first, that’s disorienting. If you’re not your job, your achievements, your role in the social hierarchy — who are you? The question sits with you, uncomfortable, for months. Maybe longer.

And then, gradually, you find out. Not who you were supposed to be. Not who you were performing. Just who you actually are when everything else is stripped away. Your real interests. Your real values. Your real way of moving through the world. It’s been there all along, buried under decades of conditioning and expectation. The quietness of this life lets you finally hear it.

The person who arrived here six years ago couldn’t have imagined who I am now. Not just the skills I’ve learned, though those are real — I can build things, fix things, grow things, survive things I never could before.

But more than that, it’s the way I move through the world. The things that used to stress me don’t touch me anymore. The need for approval, for status, for all the things I thought mattered — it falls away when you’re just trying to keep warm, stay fed, live honestly.

I’m not saying I’ve reached some enlightened state. I still get frustrated. I still have hard days. I still sometimes miss the convenience of my old life, the ease of it. But there’s a solidity underneath now that wasn’t there before. A sense of being okay no matter what happens, because I’ve already faced enough that I know I can face whatever comes next.

That transformation is why I’m still here. Not despite the difficulties, but because of them. The hardships aren’t obstacles to the good life — they are the good life, in a strange way. They’re what forge you into someone stronger, clearer, more real.

Every challenge I’ve described in this post — the weather, the land, the bureaucracy, the money, the relationships, all of it — they’re not warnings to scare you off. They’re invitations. They’re the price of admission to a different kind of existence. And if you’re willing to pay that price honestly, with your eyes open, what you get back is worth more than I can put into words.

That’s what I wish someone had told me at the start. Not just that it would be hard — but that the hardness is the whole point. The difficulties are the teacher. The struggle is the gift. Everything that breaks you down is also what builds you back up into someone you actually want to be.

If you can last a year, you’ll find that person. You’ll find yourself. And you’ll understand why, despite everything, people like me never want to leave.

If you're serious about making this move, I can help.

I offer consultations for people planning their transition to off-grid living in Portugal — covering everything from property considerations to the practical realities of building a sustainable life here. I also host intimate transformation retreats at my riverside property near the Caramulo Mountains, and have many guides and workbooks and free blogs that will help will the practical and emotional sides to the journey, for those ready to begin the deeper work of finding themselves.