From Dream to Reality:
Our First Year in Portugal
On 11 July 2025, exactly one year ago, we boarded a plane and set off towards a new life. It feels like the perfect moment to pause and reflect, because in practice, we rarely take the time to do so.Before we left, Alvaro’s uncle gave us a wonderful piece of advice: it will not always be easy, but remember that you are working towards your dream. Whatever you do, do it with a smile.
On 24 April 2025, we received the keys to the beautiful but completely run-down and neglected Quinta da Vala holiday resort in the Algarve. Our new home. It consisted of six adjoining apartments, a small outbuilding, a wooden reception hut, a few former livestock sheds and a plot of land. The swimming pool was green, and we had no idea whether it could still be saved. We were supposed to open that summer. We were well aware of just how ambitious that was. We had also watched enough episodes of Ik Vertrek—a popular Dutch television programme that follows people as they leave the Netherlands to start a new life and business abroad—to know that unexpected setbacks are always part of the journey. We were prepared for that, although it is difficult to prepare when you have no idea what exactly is going to go wrong. We deliberately chose not to focus on those possibilities too much. That was not naïve; it was a conscious strategy. Because if you spend too much time thinking about everything that could go wrong, you will probably decide not to do it at all. Too much uncertainty, too much risk.
While Alvaro had already been staying in Portugal since March, ready for the handover of the property - which kept being postponed, so hello, uncertainty - I remained in the Netherlands with the children.
That meant Alvaro could begin renovating as soon as we received the keys, I could continue working for as long as possible, and the children could finish their school year. A win-win-win situation, although it took some getting used to. When you imagine emigrating as a family, you picture everyone getting into the car together while friends and family wave you goodbye. Fortunately, we still had that moment, only our version involved an aeroplane. Alvaro returned to the Netherlands for a few days in July especially for our departure. And so, exactly one year ago, we finally left for Portugal together as a family.
For the past eighteen months, our lives have felt like one long episode of Ik Vertrek. Problems with the contractor, bureaucracy, money running out, our clumsy attempts to speak the language, blocked drains and overflowing septic tanks—because apparently we were not connected to the sewer system after all, despite being told otherwise when we bought the property. Every cliché in the book. Looking back, I can safely say it would not have made boring television. In my mind, I could already see the cameraman rubbing his hands with delight at all the footage he could have captured on 7 August last year, the day before our first guests were due to arrive. Work was still taking place everywhere you looked, and nothing was finished. It was difficult to imagine that, just one day later, four apartments on that building site would be occupied by holidaymakers.
And yet, with help from some unexpected places, we managed it. We caught the very end of the high season, which we desperately needed because we had literally run out of money. The last-minute bookings started pouring in. The grounds looked presentable again, you could see through the water in the swimming pool, and four of the six apartments had been completely renovated. They had new bathrooms, kitchens and floors, as well as new furniture, of course. We rented out the fifth apartment at a reduced rate. We had only given it a thorough coat of paint and some new furniture. Because we had run out of time, we left the sixth and smallest apartment untouched for the time being.
We moved into the small outbuilding ourselves. It is a strange space of around 50 square metres, consisting of a bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen. When you have a dream, you have to be willing to make sacrifices. The children are still young enough to enjoy being close to us, and they certainly are close to us here. Besides, we spend a great deal of time outdoors, where we have more than enough space. As a temporary solution, it works perfectly well.
Then the low season arrived. It turned into an exceptionally wet and stormy autumn and winter, and the guests stayed away. Unlike the apartments, our little house has a thin roof made from metal sheets. When it drizzles, it creates quite a cosy sound. But when it really rains, we can no longer hear each other speak. Next to our house is a tree that grows some kind of small nuts. When they fall—and they fall in large numbers, because apparently the tree produces an enormous amount of them—it sounds as though our house is under attack. We had quite a few sleepless nights. During the worst storms, I was also terrified that the tree would fall onto our house—and therefore onto the children—or that the roof would be blown off. On those nights, I did not sleep at all. It was after one of those hellish nights in November that Alvaro stepped outside in the morning and noticed that it seemed unusually bright. Strikingly bright. He looked up and was horrified to discover that around thirty metres of our new veranda roof had blown away during the night. “Did it land on the car?” I asked in shock. No. It had landed on the main roof and on the neighbours’ abandoned land. It is funny how, even in a terrible situation, you can still feel so relieved by one small piece of good fortune: at least the car had been spared. We were also incredibly lucky that we did not have any guests at the time and that the roof of our own little house had remained in place. To be completely honest, I greatly admire resilient people who always manage to remain positive. But this was the point at which my own positive outlook deserted me.
The damage ran into tens of thousands of euros, and the insurance covered only a fraction of it. We had to borrow a significant amount of additional money. Fortunately, we managed to do so - at least there was one small positive note. Because of the persistent rain, the repair work was delayed for months. You want to continue developing a beautiful holiday resort, and you already have a never-ending to-do list. But now, on top of everything else, we had to redo work that had already been completed. Repairing the roof, painting, restoring walls—there was so much involved. Meanwhile, the two apartments we had not yet renovated had become uninhabitable because of damp and water damage. By chance, we were able to rent out two of the other apartments for several months. This gave us a slightly more stable income and brought some welcome company to the property. These new “neighbours” were also the people who appeared at our door with a pot of soup when another disaster struck at the end of January: Alvaro completely ruptured his Achilles tendon during a game of padel. I panicked when he called me with the news. Of course, it was awful for him. He was in terrible pain, and the recovery process is no small matter. It takes between nine and twelve months and involves an extremely intensive rehabilitation programme. But all I could think was: this is going to bankrupt us. We had officially emigrated on 1 January and were still in the middle of arranging our insurance. We had fallen between the cracks. In addition to all the medical costs hanging over us, Alvaro was suddenly unable to do anything. Much of the work came to a standstill, and within a very short time, we gained a great deal of experience with the Portuguese healthcare system. Once again, it all felt very much like an episode of Ik Vertrek.
Even the endlessly optimistic Alvaro struggled to remain positive during those days. His best friend, Mike, therefore decided to pay us a surprise visit together with my father. We could certainly use some positive energy. By coincidence, my best friend Marije was also staying with us that week with her boys. It did us a world of good.
In a relatively short period, we had built a wonderful community around us, and people offered to help from every direction. Your instinct is to say, “That is so kind, thank you, but it is not necessary. We will manage.” But at that point, we were no longer entirely sure how we were going to manage. We put our pride aside and organised two volunteer workdays at the beginning of March. The turnout was incredible. It was exactly the positive boost we needed. We also received professional help with the leaking roof, which was such a relief.
From that point onwards, we started building again. The storms subsided. The car park was completed, we made the two unrenovated apartments habitable again, and the old reception hut was transformed into an Honesty Bar. We built a beautiful wooden deck with a stretch tent, creating a place on the property where people can come together. Meanwhile, Alvaro amazed his doctor with the progress he was making. Once he commits to something, he gives it everything he has.
In the weeks before we left the Netherlands, I asked the children to give their lives a score out of ten. Without hesitation, they both gave it a ten. They were extremely happy in the Netherlands. Of course, it is wonderful to know that your children are so happy. But when you also know that you are about to turn their entire lives upside down, it creates mixed feelings. Things could almost only get worse. We had consciously chosen this adventure, but they did not need it. Had we believed that the move would make the children less happy, we would never have done it. Even so, it remained nerve-racking, because you only discover how things will turn out once you actually take the leap. The bar was high. Last week, I asked them to give their lives a score again. They did not need long to think about it. A ten! There will undoubtedly be many more obstacles along the way, but together, we have made it through our first year.
We are incredibly grateful for all the help we have received. We live in one of the most beautiful places in the world—or at least, that is how it feels every single day.
Financially, we have not yet fully recovered from the setbacks, but the four of us are happy together. Or rather, the nine of us: this year, two dogs and three cats joined the family. For the foreseeable future, hardly a month will go by without friends or relatives from the Netherlands coming to visit. We work hard and put in long days, but we do it with a smile. I would not want it any other way.
