We got the keys on a Tuesday.
By the time we'd done the paperwork, driven back across the coast, and stood in the hallway for the first time as the people who actually owned the place — the removal van was already pulling up outside. There was no quiet moment. No slow walk through each room with a camera. No considered first impression filmed for posterity.
Someone was crying. I'm not saying who.
So we never did a house tour. And for a while that felt like a missed opportunity — the kind of thing you can't go back and recreate once the boxes are unpacked and you've already started pulling things apart. But looking at it now, I think there's something more honest about showing it this way. Not a polished walkthrough. Not us pretending we had it all together. Just the listing photos. The house as someone else left it. The starting point.
room by room
The entrance.
01 / 09
The entrance.
The hallway sets the tone immediately — terracotta floor tiles, a heavy wooden front door, a wrought iron staircase with patterned risers. It has the bones of something quietly beautiful. It also has an umbrella stand and a lot of inherited decisions we'll be living with for a while.
That's fine. We're not in a rush.
"It has the bones of something quietly beautiful."
The living room.
02 / 09
The fireplace.
03 / 09
The living room.
Two reception rooms that flow into each other through wide doorways. Warm white walls, which we were grateful for. Heavy dark wood furniture that came with the house and will slowly, gradually, find its way out. Red curtains — floor to ceiling, burgundy red — that are the first thing that has to go.
There's a fireplace in the second sitting room. Stone surround, wooden mantle, a black iron door. This is the thing we fell in love with before we'd even looked at the rest of the house. It stays. Everything else in this room is negotiable.
The dining room.
04 / 09
The dining room.
A smaller, separate space off the main living area — round glass-topped table, turned-leg chairs with rush seats, a dresser along one wall. A chandelier overhead that's more traditional than we'd choose but has a certain charm we haven't entirely made our minds up about yet.
The light in here is good. That matters more than most things.
The kitchen.
05 / 09
The kitchen.
Untouched since the nineties. Solid oak units, granite worktops, a decorated tile border, checked curtains at the window. It's not what we would have chosen. It's also not broken. There's a version of this kitchen — paint, new handles, some editing — that could feel considered and warm rather than dated.
We're not there yet, but we can see it.
"It's not what we would have chosen. It's also not broken."
The master bedroom.
06 / 09
The bedrooms.
Four of them, which still feels slightly surreal to say. The master has a terracotta floor, white walls, direct access to the garden, and more light than we knew what to do with on that first afternoon. One of the others has an iron bed frame — the ornate, scrolled kind — that we didn't expect to like as much as we do.
The guest room on the upper floor had the previous owner's golf clubs in it. And a skateboard. We are still thinking about what it wants to be.
The attic.
07 / 09
The attic.
This is the room that changes everything. Four Velux skylights set into a pitched roof with exposed dark beams. Timber flooring. A triangular ceiling that catches the afternoon sun and throws long shadows across the room. When we first walked up there we stood in silence for a moment, which isn't something that happens to us very often.
It's being used as a storage room right now. It won't be for long.
The bathroom.
08 / 09
The basement.
09 / 09
The bathroom & the basement.
Blue and white striped tiles on the lower half, a hand-painted border, a small skylight above the shower. Clean and functional and very much of its era. Some things need to sit for a while before the answer becomes obvious.
The basement surprises you — proper proportions, good ceiling height, accessed from the garden through a separate door. In the listing photos it's a utility room. In our heads, it's already something else entirely. The plans just haven't fully formed yet.
and so
This is where it started.
Not with a renovation plan or a mood board or a clear vision of what we wanted. With a removal van outside, someone crying, and fifteen rooms full of other people's choices. The bones were good. The potential was obvious. The work ahead was — is — significant.
But that's the thing about a slow renovation. You don't have to know the ending to begin.
We're documenting everything as it happens — the decisions, the in-between stages, the things that don't work and the small changes that end up shifting everything. If that sounds like something you want to follow, you're in the right place.
Casa on the Costa is a slow renovation on the Costa del Sol. We write about Mediterranean living, considered interiors, and making simple things feel elevated — without spending a fortune.