Reluctantly rolling out of bed, chilled feet are delighted to find slippers in an increasingly familiar spot. Wood gently creaks under foot and there is a steady patter of rain on tin. Crossing the small living room out to the porch, I’m joined by Boni and her I’ve-had-a-long-life tits. We fetch some wood together. The fire roars in the wood-burning stove, strong coffee brews on the old but firm German stove.

Never in my life have I been so preoccupied by the various rattles, clicks and pings that a car makes while in transit, but having dumped a significant chunk of our operating capital into our Hyundai Galloper, we’re on pistons and needles every inch of the journey. She doesn’t fail us and it seems will be worth every peso. The landscape slowly transforms from a warm, dry Mediterranean climate akin to Napa Valley, into sweeping lush hills. We joke, but not without a hint of believing that we’re headed into the Promised Land.