Collecting languages, traditions and airport stamps from an early age, her story later acquired a Portuguese passport, “just to make things even more confusing,” she jokes. Though her university degree names her a Linguist and Technical Translator, hospitality quickly became her true native tongue. Her career spans decades across luxury real estate and senior leadership roles at some of the world’s most iconic hospitality institutions, including The Savoy, Beaverbrook, The Doyle Collection and Four Seasons.
Yet, during her years navigating the highest echelons of luxury travel, Korolenko noticed a shift. Seasoned travellers were looking beyond gilded suites and famous landmarks; they were searching for personal and deeply human connections. This insight gave birth to My Simple Portugal, a travel brand built on thoughtfully curated encounters with local makers, farmers, fado singers and rural families, inviting travellers not merely to visit Portugal but to feel part of its quiet richness.
Valeriia Korolenko sat down with Zenith Magazine to reflect on the nature of hospitality, central Portugal’s sensory charm and why the best luxury lies in life’s unscripted moments.
You’ve navigated the halls of iconic properties like The Savoy and Four Seasons, places where “best in class” is the baseline. What was that one specific, unscripted moment with a guest that made you realise the most memorable luxury isn’t actually a grand hotel suite, but a long conversation over a bottle of local wine?
The moments that stay with guests are the moments when someone quietly lifts a bit of life’s weight off their shoulders and says, without making a fuss, “I’ve got this. Leave it with me.” I remember seeing a guest standing in line for checkout, nervously tapping his feet and constantly looking at his watch. You could tell he was stressed and worried about missing his flight. We simply walked over discreetly and said, “Run for your flight. We’ve already emailed your invoice. And before you go, here is your coffee and croissant, you missed breakfast.” The relief on his face was immediate. It wasn’t about the coffee or the pastry. It was because someone had noticed him. Someone had read the room, understood the pressure he was under, and genuinely wanted to help.
That’s the kind of hospitality I believe in: being curious about people and considerate enough to notice what isn’t being said.
Ribatejo is just 45 minutes from the busyness of Lisbon, yet it feels worlds apart. For someone who has done the “big three” (Lisbon, Porto, the Algarve), what is that one sensory detail, a specific sound, scent, or taste, that they’ll only find in your corner of central Portugal?
God, the sunsets are mesmerising here! The food is so fresh, it’s cooked before it reaches the fridge. The sound of Portuguese grandmas scraping the pots for that last spoonful of caldo verde. The crackle of bacalhau forming its crust in a clay oven. The aroma of a freshly poured glass of Tejo wine. Here, you spend the afternoon sharing a bottle of local wine, watching a campino guide his horse across the endless plains, and you realise that luxury isn’t about having more; it’s about feeling more connected: to nature, to tradition, and to yourself.
That peaceful exhale is the one thing guests only find here.
Your experiences aren’t “tours” in the traditional sense; they’re invitations into private ateliers and family kitchens. How do you find these people, the ceramicists, the horse breeders, the fado singers, and more importantly, how do you convince them to let a group of strangers into their actual lives?
I didn’t find these people overnight. I had to experience a lot myself first: visit their homes, sit at their tables, listen to their stories, and earn their trust. Relationships are everything.
What I was looking for wasn’t fame or a polished performance. I was looking for people who carry hospitality in their hearts: generous people who genuinely want to share the very best of their land, not expecting anything in return except good company and perhaps a good story over a bottle of wine.
And that’s the beautiful thing: my guests don’t feel like strangers to them. By the time we arrive, we’re simply introducing friends to friends. That’s when an experience stops being a tour and becomes something much more meaningful: a privilege.
If My Simple Portugal were a person, how would you describe their personality? Are they the meticulous planner with a hidden wild side, or the curious wanderer who always knows the best place for an off-menu dinner?
I believe preparation is the greatest luxury we can offer. We carefully check every detail: the dates, the timing, our guests’ preferences, making sure our hosts are ready, so our guests can simply relax and not worry about a thing. Consistency and attention to detail are what make hospitality feel effortless.
But My Simple Portugal also has a wild side. The most beautiful moments are often the unplanned ones. A guest suddenly wants to explore a hidden village not on the itinerary. A lunch turns into hours of stories around the table. A horse breeder decides to introduce his favourite mare, or a winemaker opens one last bottle “just because.”
We never resist those moments: we embrace them. Our hosts improvise beautifully, and so do we. That’s the magic of a human experience: you prepare meticulously, then leave space for surprise. And that, to me, is the true meaning of a memorable day.
You’ve mentioned you’re a “Girl Scout at heart” but consistently terrible at wrapping gifts. What’s the most “non-perfect” or delightfully messy thing that has happened during one of your curated journeys that actually made the experience better for everyone involved?
Oh, I have one! Everything was planned beautifully, until our driver decided, completely out of the blue, to gift our guests a can of personalised sardines. Then someone suggested stopping in the middle of a field. Suddenly we had an improvised picnic: crumbs everywhere, wine glasses balancing on uneven ground, laughter, dirty hands, and absolutely no elegance whatsoever.
And it was perfect. The smiles on our guests’ faces reminded me of my three-year-old niece after she sneaked a chocolate bar: hands covered in chocolate, absolutely delighted, and not the slightest bit worried about the mess.
