Dona Cecília

As I was walking to the Land, my neighbour started chatting to me, and then insisted on showing me round her house - I think it's some sort of badge of acceptance when they do that; another neighbour out the back has done it as well.

With the showing comes the life story. Her husband died 36 years ago, suddenly; as she said, they had plans, but they all finished then. She had two kids to raise, her son has epilepsy, badly - we often see him standing at the crossroads below our balcony, just standing there.

She's the second youngest of eight, her parents were farmers, but well off, she showed me a photo and pointed out how well dressed they all were. They never went hungry, many in the Alentejo did.

She had a café in her (large) front room, but with the coming of the Alqueva Lake, the road outside (between her house and ours) ceased to be a main thoroughfare, so they had to close it. Such a shame.

So many here seem to have lost hope in the future. Not that she's a misery, she's not - we've had a few laughs since we moved here seven months ago.

Didn't really have the right lens to capture the interior, but want to remember this visit. She's standing in her kitchen which, typically, is within the old fireplace - you can see the bottom of the schist beam across the front. Most Alentejanos and I walk in, no problem; others like my husband, have to be reminded not to bang their heads.

Also, typically for houses here, it was like the Tardis, far bigger inside than you imagine from the outside, complete with an inner garden.