“I need you. I bought a f*cking church!” With this blunt text message to his friend, architect Carlos Garmendia of Garmendia Cordero Arquitectos, Tas Careaga kicked off a three-year design adventure.

“Back in 2016, I was looking for some land with an old house on it,” says Tas, who runs a small creative agency. Responding to an Internet advertisement for “land with building in ruins on it,” he drove about a half-hour west from Bilbao to Sopuerta, a town nestled in the rolling hills and thick forests of Spain’s northern Basque country.

There, he encountered the remains of a small church on the side of a winding road near the edge of a deep, green ravine. “When I arrived, I absolutely fell in love,” he says.

Abandoned since the late 1970s, the church was in need of serious repair. The roof had caved in and vegetation had thoroughly invaded the structure. Built in the mid 16th century, with some add-ons in the form of an 18th-century bell tower and sacristy, the church had obvious archaeological and historical value.

The local archbishop and government, which had deemed the building dangerous, didn’t want to demolish it or front the cost to fix it. They listed it for sale, with the stipulation that the new owner take responsibility for repairs immediately. Tas was more than happy to oblige. He then fired off the aforementioned text to Garmendia and returned to Bilbao to get to work on the project.

This is not a restoration. For Garmendia, the mission was to “show that ruins can have value” by preserving the original building without hiding the effects of time. Tas wanted a functional space for living, working, and entertaining. They landed on a design that kept as much of the existing stone structure as possible, shoring it up and inserting a contemporary living space while retaining the atmosphere of a romantic ruin.

With the parameters of the concept settled, the most pressing problem was the roof. They ruled out rebuilding in the original style. Instead, Garmendia designed a new roof made of metal panels bolted to the upper levels of the stone facade. Once the connection was watertight—this part of Spain sees about 150 days of rain a year—work on the interior could begin.

It is impossible not to look heavenward when entering the 2,150-square-foot space. At one end, the architect placed an open kitchen underneath the original 40-foot ceiling vault with its centuries-old patina of crumbling stone, plaster, and a fading fresco of stars and fleurs-de-lis.

Made of fir, the loft can be appreciated as “new architecture implanted into old,” says Garmendia. For the private areas of the home, Garmendia used the original columns that once held up the choir loft and inserted a new wall to support a two-story box containing a bedroom, a work space, and two full baths.

Outside in the garden, while the rest of the country is sweltering in record-breaking summer heat, familiar gray clouds gather in the sky. A gentle breeze whispers through the surrounding forests, underscoring the gurgle of the stream at the bottom of the ravine and the tinkling of bells attached to goats roaming in the mountains above.

Garmendia arranges charcoal on the makeshift barbecue, its rudimentary grill supported by 220-pound stones and salvaged wooden beams from a collapsed arch. Through enormous sliding glass doors that were fitted into the side wall, Tas brings out a slab of aged beef, chunks of locally grown zucchini, and a simple salad for the sort of unpretentious yet memorable meal the Basque region is known for.

“My original idea was to use the home for events and rent it out on Airbnb,” Tas says over lunch. “But once I began to see its real potential, there was no choice but to settle in here.”

Project Credits:

Architect: Garmendia Cordero Arquitectos / @garmendiacorderoarquitectos

Interior Designer: Tas Careaga / @tascareaga

Photographer: Gregori Civera / @gregori_civera

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