How big is Alentejo? It is as big as a tree that knows exactly where it stands.

The many Alentejos we speak of the talha Alentejo of Vidigueira, the Atlantic Alentejo near Sines and Vila Nova de Milfontes, the elevated precision of Portalegre, the vast interior stretching towards Serpa, the liquid horizon of Alqueva Dam, they are not separate identities.

They are branches. Branches of the same tree, the oak tree.

A cork oak only opens its copa wide because its roots hold firm. It expands because it is anchored. Its structure is singular — sculptural, almost architectural — embraced by cork, that most authentic of materials, born from resilience and patience.

Cork does not weaken the tree. It protects it. It insulates it. It allows it to endure heat, time, and repetition.

Alentejo mirrors that same structure.

Its roots are cultural memory, agricultural wisdom, inherited gestures. Its trunk is community — grounded, steady, resistant. And its branches are the multiple expressions we experience today: amphora wines that breathe history, coastal vineyards shaped by salt and wind, high-altitude freshness, inland silence, contemporary wine tourism reflected on the waters of Alqueva.

And then, there is cork itself.

That extraordinary raw material that wraps the tree and later seals the bottle. The same cork that protects and preserves some of the most prestigious and singular wines of this region. Protection becomes purpose. Identity becomes continuity.

The sobreiro teaches scale differently. It does not grow in haste. It grows in balance. It opens because it is supported. It branches because it is grounded.

So how big is Alentejo?

Big enough to branch without fracturing. Big enough to diversify without losing coherence. Big enough to protect what makes it unique.

Like the cork oak, it stands firm, opens wide, and endures.

And that is its true dimension.