Parties the west coast has never had.
And a record of them.
An events company in Lagos and Luz, western Algarve. Founded 2026 by Loz and Lea. Eighty to a hundred and fifty people a night, deliberately mixed: the people who live here all year, and the people who arrive for the season. Neither alone is the point. The mix is.
Lagos. 20:41. The sun sets into the sea.
This coast faces the Atlantic. Vilamoura, Vale do Lobo and Albufeira face south and cannot do this. Every Coco House party is built around the hour the sun goes into the water, at a fixed time, in a place that can see it.
Only buildings with a past.
Forts, chapels, ruins, theatres, houses with a history. Never a blank room. Once a year, one event reached only by boat, never repeated and never in the same place twice.
Someone meets every guest.
Loz or Lea, at the gate, every time. It does not scale. That is the point. A party in a house, by invitation, with a host at the door.
Every night is numbered. Every night is on film.
One photographer, unchanged, for ten years. Hard flash, at night, on film. CH001 onwards, on the poster, the ticket, the wristband and the caption. The fortieth party is an archive, not a Saturday.
Two words, letterspaced.
The name is Coco House. Never half of it.
One photographer, every event, for ten years.
The archive compounds only if the eye behind it is constant.
One hero image a season.
A single frame, planned in advance.
One fixed night at home before anything goes abroad.
Anchor first. Travel second.
A list from event one.
Free to join. Tickets pay the bills. The list is the house.
Only buildings with a past.
Never a blank venue.
One boat-access-only event a year.
Never the same place twice.
A list exists. It is free to join.