We stay at a lovely villa in Muda.

A beautiful family own it and turn up one day with some bread and other provisions as well as some wine that their son makes from a vineyard at the back of the villa. The wine was fantastic, but I can’t tell you what it was as it didn’t have a label.

The family own another farm in Muda and another little villa. I knew I still needed to expose our ruin and asked them if they knew anyone who had a digger and could help. This was the moment that I finally realised why Melides and Portugal felt so good for me. I hadn’t been well for some time but every time we visited Melides I became a different person; a well person. Initially you think it’s just because you are having a break and that definitely helps, but there is something more. More than the air, the nature, the peace, the smell of the pines and the sea, the power of the sea on the deserted beach. The ‘more’ is the people. They are kind, everyone is so kind. This may seem an odd thing to say but when you come across a nation of people who are so kind, so joyful, it dawns on you that you have been living in the wrong place. I will go back to the digging of the ruin in a bit, but I must tell you about our other neighbour who I finally got to meet.

I had seen Antonio about, but we had never actually met and as we planned to put a fence around the land, I wanted to check that it would be going in the right place. He was walking from his house to his barn one day and I shouted ‘Bom dia’ – pretty much my only Portuguese – and wandered over to him. Antonio speaks no English and I speak no Portuguese, so it isn’t a recipe for two men to have a great conversation but even though my lack of language skills was very obvious, and I kept trying to explain this, Antonio kept talking and talking. After 30 minutes of smiling, laughing, and pointing we were friends. I have no idea what he is saying to me each day when we meet up but what I can say is they are words of kindness and friendship. I walk away from our conversation each morning feeling blessed.

The third attempt at completing the purchase arrived. It was July 23^rd and everything was in place. The signing was at 3.30pm, the vendors were there, Ronald was there, the vendors’ solicitor was there.

Frantic phone calls started at 3.20pm; where was our solicitor? This can’t be happening. Where is our solicitor?! Eventually he answers his phone and he had forgotten or he had never been informed of the date, make your own mind up. He was an hour away; we think on a beach as it was a beautiful Friday. The appointment was moved, and everyone sat and waited for him. On that day he really wasn’t very popular, but he got there in the end, all was signed, and we finally had our plot of land. It had taken 17 months.

The owners of the villa we had stayed in contacted a local builder called Carlos. Carlos called his friend Tiago and two weeks later Tiago appeared with his digger to start the archaeological dig of the ruin. I had flown out on my own this time and as promised and bang on time, there he was. My lack of Portuguese was a hindrance for around 5 minutes and then smiles, pointing and a spade became the new language. He used the machine to move the bulk and then I would gently dig away to expose the various architectural elements. Tiago seemed unsure at first but after the first discoveries of walls and my obvious delight, he was fully on board.

Isabelle came wandering over, probably wondering what the shouting and laughter was, only for me to discover that Tiago and Isabel were related. She then started to explain the rather complex history of the land and the building which had been in her family in one way or another for many, many years. The ruin we were excavating had once been the kitchen end of her house, but the land was split some time ago and the boundary ran right through the middle of the house. Her side was kept beautifully, with the other side – our side – belonging to (let’s be kind), a frugal man. By the time he left, the house was beyond repair, so it was pushed in on itself and then covered in sand. That is why the officers from the Camara could not find it.

By 3pm on that first day,  we had exposed enough to prove it was a house. The original, tiled kitchen floor, rendered exterior walls, the front doorway, built-in seating and the original bread oven. A complete triumph, and unarguably a ruin! Isabelle’s son, another neighbour, wandered across to see the results of our day and invited us over for a drink. At first I was unsure what to do because this isn’t something that happens; I had never met the man before and now he was offering me food and beer. This is the kindness, the openness and generosity that happens every day in Melides, Carvalhal and Comporta. Nothing is too much. The following day Antonio offered me the use of his tractor; in fact he offered to do the job for me. The day after that the family who own BeComporta  (you must go) offered to arrange things if we needed someone around while we back in the UK. I could list a moment of kindness for every single day that we are in Portugal. This, along with the nature, is what heals you, this is what gives you the sense of home.