It’s after sunset on the outskirts of Melides, a tiny, sleepy town nestled in the unspoilt coastline of Alentejo in Portugal. While the wild Atlantic roars in the background, a cacophony of ribbiting frogs fills the air. It’s dark. And Christian Louboutin, the legendary footwear designer of red sole fame, is flashing his iPhone torch as we ramble off-piste through dry, prickly scrubland on the banks of the Melides lagoon. I’ll be honest: when someone mentioned the words ‘Christian Louboutin’ and ‘new hotel’, this whole off-roading, frogs-in-the-dark situation wasn’t exactly what leapt to mind. But in fact, it perfectly sums up what Louboutin most wants to share about his piece of Portuguese pa radise, a nd it isn’t Instagrammable shots of cocktails and white linen bed sheets but rather raw, unplanned, immersive — albeit frog-infested — moments like this.
If you haven’t heard of Melides before, that’s exactly the point. Louboutin moved to this ancient fishing town 10 years ago from its buzzier neighbour, Comporta, 20 minutes’ drive north, where he bought a place long before the digital nomads, George Clooney and Madonna moved in. ‘I love the landscape, the sea, the beach,’ he says, as we chat by the open fire in the bar of his new hotel, Vermelho, which opened at the beginning of April. ‘But then it became like a colony of people building houses. I had the feeling that the landscape was becoming destroyed and suddenly people were asking me to come for lunch, come for dinner.’ The tipping point? ‘Comporta doesn’t have a church. In Portugal you don’t have a town without a church. It means this is a place where people are working and holidaying, but not living.’
As if to prove a point, the magnificent wooden front door of Louboutin’s hotel, carved with lion heads and uprooted from an old Spanish palace, is a stone’s throw away from Igreja de São Pedro, the 17th-century church in the centre of Melides town. It’s melancholic bells can be heard in each of Vermelho’s 13 bedrooms, while it’s simple, whitewash decoration and humble footprint is mirrored throughout the hotel’s architecture, which is designed by the Lisbon architect Madalena Caiado and seemingly modest from the calçada outside.
Push open the weighty door, however, and you are in Louboutin’s wonderland, full to the hand-crafted, panelled ceilings with artisanal touches and his vast collection of antiques selected from his travels around the world: Mexico, Egypt, Turkey, Bhutan, India. The son of a carpenter, he is passionate about craftsmanship and speaks its language fluently. Ceramicists, goldsmiths, carpenters, furniture-makers, glass-blowers, artists, and silversmiths were called up from all over the Iberian peninsula and beyond to work on details small (leather room-keyrings designed and made by Louboutin’s team in Paris) and large (a magnificent silver-embossed bar inspired by Spain’s Semana Santa processions and crafted by two teams of silver-smiths from Seville).
Each room is different: no television, speakers or digital key cards, instead filled with specially commissioned azulejos (Portuguese tiles) crafted using generations-old techniques an hour away in Setúbal, frescoes painted by the Greek artist Konstantin Kakanias and Portuguese ceramics and linens by the Alentejo artisan homeware label Vida Dura (find its tiny shop in town).
This richly diverse mix of craftsmanship cultures is elevated by the understated Portuguese sensibility that Louboutin so loves. White lime walls are hand painted so brush strokes are visible, while the building itself looks like a restoration, not a new build. ‘Portuguese people love nostalgia. It presents itself in a taste for modesty, buildings that have a human scale, pretty things that are the opposite of grand. It’s deeply ingrained in the mentality of the people.’
If you are frantic, forget it, don’t come. If you come here it’s for the sea, maybe a little bit of nature, one thing to do each day
As a result, everything is personal and carries an emotional attachment, which makes the hotel feel like a home. That’s no coincidence. Despite being the perfect hotelier candidate, given his talent and a fortune that would make neighbour Clooney blush, Louboutin likes a back-up plan, just like you or me. ‘When I look at buying a house, I’m always thinking if everything collapses, if everyone cuts their feet off, if no one ever wants to buy a shoe ever again, how would I transform this house into a creperie? If it can’t be turned into a creperie, I won’t buy the house.’ It’s part of his survivor mentality (as well as a deep love of crepes). ‘If Vermelho is too complicated to run as a hotel,’ he slaps his hands together, ‘I stop and it will be my house — done. I designed it that way.’
Luckily, there are no competitor creperies in Melides, or hotels. In fact, there’s not much here at all. You can stroll around the town, with its 95 per cent Portuguese population, in about 10 minutes. There are a couple of restaurants and a hardware store. Two supermarkets that sell huge local kiwis and pomegranates, plus Super Bock bought by the bottle by local builders and grandmas. A small but excellent pottery museum, Núcleo Museológico da Olaria, traces the town’s centuries-old history as a terracotta hub and fishing village, as well as, more latterly, a bread basket for wheat, flax, rye, cork, wine and rice. Out of town, this abundance can be felt all around, the land rich with cork oaks, vineyards, olive groves and pine forests. The lagoon, a hotspot for bird diversity where Louboutin has his own house, flows through rice paddy fields, its grass lush green or vivid yellow depending on the time of year.
At lunchtime I realise why the town is so deserted. Everyone is at O Fadista, the local’s favourite restaurant, chowing down on mountains of fried cuttlefish and spaghetti and stewed beef, washed down with a jug of Alentejo tinto. We slip into the last empty seats and do the same. On the next table, two suited older gentlemen order too much, and so charmingly offer to share their lunch with us. We were warned that the Melides locals were this friendly: ask for directions and they will take you to their home and feed you first. While Comporta’s ultra-Instagrammable beachside restaurant Sublime Beach Club or chic cocktail spot Quinta da Comporta are only a short drive away, it’s this quietness and community that Louboutin loves Melides for. ‘It’s not a place where people come and go. It’s a real village with families who have always lived here. The power is in the hands of the Portuguese people.’
If everyone cuts their feet off, if no one ever wants to buy a shoe ever again, how would I transform this house into a creperie?
His perfect day in Melides involves waking up with the sun and a jog around the lagoon before throwing himself into the Atlantic’s icy waves. With Louboutin growing up between Paris and Brittany, the sea is part of his soul, so Alentejo’s 85 miles of immaculate beach coastline, unrivalled in Europe pulled him here like the tide. ‘You have this huge stretch of sea and then nothing — you don’t get that in France, Spain, Italy. La marine is so important. After two days, you go back feeling clean and refreshed.’ You can drink in the vast scale of it on horseback with Passeios a Cavalo, or take your towel to the local secret spots, Praia da Galé or Praia do Pinheirinho — unlike the busy stretches of Comporta you’ll be one of the only ones there. If you don’t finish your day in Xtian, Vermelho’s Portuguese restaurant, which serves modern takes on traditional dishes such as arroz de pato and pica pau, then you might jump in the car to Louboutin’s favourite restaurant, A Escola, run by two ‘fierce’ Portuguese sisters who do a rotisserie rabbit of which he is particularly fond.
But I should warn you, if you book in to Vermelho with a packed-out itinerary you are sort of missing the point. ‘If you are frantic, forget it, don’t come,’ says Louboutin. ‘If you come here it’s for the sea, maybe a little bit of nature, one thing to do each day. You have to be able to be confident with yourself. Be able to entertain yourself. Like yourself. Pamper yourself.’
This is what luxury means to a man who basically wrote the rulebook on it. ‘For me, luxury is taking time to appreciate things. Allowing yourself space for making choices. Making an effort for what you like instead of immediately consuming because everything is available to you.’ What does he hope his guests will leave Vermelho with? ‘A different rhythm. Time.’ That might mean spending a morning admiring the craftsmanship of your bedroom ceiling, or maybe rambling through froggy scrub land after dark. Actually, the spirit of Vermelho doesn’t particularly require you to be here at all. For Louboutin, the question isn’t when are you going to book in to his hotel. The question is, where is your Melides?
