People say that those who live in the Alentejo remember what the rest of the world has forgotten. I have used that line more than once in writing about the region. But after spending nearly two months there with my family, I began to understand how true it is.

We had bought an old rural farmhouse, a monte, not far from Estremoz. For seven weeks, we transplanted ourselves into a community where we knew no one and tried to experience the Alentejo not simply as visitors, but as residents.

I had not spent an entire month in Portugal since college, more than 30 years ago. At that time, Portugal was being transformed by its membership in the European Union. It was far from appearing on international bucket lists or rankings of the world’s best places to retire.

Much has changed since then. Portugal has become more modern, prosperous and popular. Yet through all that change, it has somehow continued to be unmistakably Portugal.

Life on the Farm

Our farmhouse monte sits among olive groves in the rolling countryside outside Estremoz, sharing the hills with vineyards and cork forests. The local economy is surprisingly diverse. In addition to olive oil, the area has approximately two dozen wineries, numerous marble quarries and a growing tourism industry.

Estremoz itself rises above the landscape like a white ship, its tall marble castle keep visible for miles. Although much of the city remains enclosed within its 17th-century walls, Estremoz is far from frozen in time.

The Rossio, its large central square, is lined with shops, cafés and excellent restaurants. Every Saturday, it fills with an enormous market offering antiques, collectibles, cheeses, sausages, flowers, produce and even a few live birds.

From the Rossio, the streets climb toward the historic upper town. You pass through ancient gates and walk alongside convents, monuments and walls before reaching the castle at the top.

Estremoz offers an impressive mix of traditional restaurants and more contemporary dining, yet it remains largely untouched by mass tourism. Unlike Évora, where the old city’s streets are often filled with visitors from around the world, Estremoz is lively but still deeply Portuguese.

From a relocation perspective, it offers just about the right balance. There are four major supermarkets, a public health clinic, an outdoor market, a municipal swimming pool and direct highway access to Lisbon. Hiking trails begin only minutes from town, while the larger stores and services of Évora are within easy reach.

In the opposite direction is Badajoz, just across the Spanish border. Because the border is open and the currency is the same, it is remarkably easy to drive into another country for shopping, dining or simply a change of scenery. Estremoz feels peaceful and rural, but it is hardly disconnected from the modern world.

During the summer, friends emailed to ask how we were coping with the heat and whether we were worried about wildfires.

The Alentejo is known for its long, dry summers, with daytime temperatures often reaching the 90s before falling into the 50s or 60s at night. The heat is real, but the region is far better adapted to it than many places.

The countryside around us is covered primarily by olive trees, cork oaks and holm oaks. The trees have broad crowns, with considerable open space between them. Cork oaks—sobreiros—and holm oaks—azinheiras—are remarkably resistant to heat and drought. Together, they form the montado, the traditional cork-oak landscape that supports agriculture while preserving wildlife and the natural environment.

Our monte sits in the middle of a centuries-old olive grove, alongside a magnificent stand of old azinheiras. The resilience of this landscape, combined with cooler nighttime temperatures, made the hot, dry summer surprisingly tolerable. So did the fact that a swimming pool or river beach was never very far away.

Then there were the people.

Shepherds, retired military officers, farmers and local business owners came to introduce themselves. Within days, people were helping us clean the house, cut the overgrown fields and haul away bales of hay. A cold Sagres was always welcome, and no one ever seemed too busy to stop for a conversation.

We met expatriates as well, some from New England and others from old England. We shared coffees, dinners and stories. By the end of our stay, we had a growing list of people we could genuinely call friends.

There was plenty of wildlife, too. A pair of foxes visited every few days. Wild rabbits appeared everywhere. We saw local weasels—and even a scorpion, which I had not realized lived in Portugal.

The house itself was extraordinary. It held more than 200 years of history, yet had a warm and happy feeling. Its massive walls kept the rooms cool during the day.

We learned that our herdade, or estate, had once been much larger, producing wine and olive oil and raising cattle. Our kitchen had been the place where breakfast was prepared and bread was baked each morning for the farmworkers. Its enormous old oven once turned out fresh loaves and meals for everyone working on the property.

There always seemed to be something else to discover: a Roman tomb, fig trees, oranges, lemons, centuries-old olive trees and enormous holm oaks whose branches created their own islands of shade.

We were never short of things to do. We toured marble quarries, tasted wines at a nearby winery, visited the new tile museum, hiked to castles and explored nearby towns such as Elvas and Veiros. Every Saturday, we returned to the Estremoz market. We even attended a bullfight and watched a running of the bulls.

One of the most pleasant surprises was the food scene.

Estremoz is a good-sized small city, but the quality and variety of its restaurants are remarkable. There is refined Alentejo cuisine, young chefs experimenting with local ingredients, and everything from sushi and pizza to deeply traditional dishes. Even at the more sophisticated restaurants, prices were well below what we would expect to pay in the United States. At the traditional establishments, it would be difficult to prepare the same meal at home for less.

We sampled countless versions of migas and grilled pork. We ate elegant pizzas, carpaccio with seaweed mayonnaise, rich stews and generous plates built around local cheeses and cured meats. Add affordable wine, cold beer and an easygoing atmosphere, and it becomes difficult to have a bad meal.

After a few weeks, however, our children began to tire of traditional Alentejo food. Many restaurants offer variations on the same beloved classics, and grilled pork, migas and coriander are everywhere. The kids began craving Asian and Italian food and were happy to prepare their own meals in our newly renovated kitchen.

Food, however, is something close to a form of nationalism in Portugal—and I mean that in the best possible way.

Portugal is one of Europe’s oldest nations, approaching nine centuries of history. Its borders have remained largely unchanged since the 13th century. It is also a nation shaped by survival: formed by Roman and Arab occupation, established through struggles with a larger and more powerful neighbor, invaded three times by Napoleon’s armies, and tested by civil war, colonial conflict, dictatorship, revolution, isolation and economic hardship.

The world into which Portugal emerged in 1143 bears almost no resemblance to the world in which it exists today. Yet Portugal endured.

Over generations, people learned how to manage hardship, make something beautiful from limited ingredients and hold tightly to the traditions that gave their communities meaning. Portuguese food reflects that history. It is local, practical and deeply rooted in place. It evolves, but it rarely abandons its essential character.

A shared pride in food and wine is certainly a healthier expression of national identity than many alternatives. Perhaps it also helps explain why the Portuguese remain among the most welcoming people in Europe.

There is sometimes a melancholy beneath the surface—a sense of identity shaped by past difficulties—but it is nearly always accompanied by hope. Portuguese people may debate and disagree about almost everything, but when their communities are threatened, they have a remarkable ability to pull together.

So bring on the grilled pork and migas, the sheep’s-milk cheese and a cold Sagres. Portugal may strive to be modern, but it remains confident in what it is.

On the hottest days, we escaped to the water. We visited the newer river beach at Azenhas d’El Rei, on the Guadiana, and the beach below Monsaraz, set within sight of two fortified hill towns. Even these outings reflected the character of the Alentejo: beautiful, uncrowded and closely connected to the surrounding landscape.

After seven weeks, was living in the Alentejo worth it?

Absolutely.

The people were warm and welcoming. The pace of life was slower, but we sacrificed very little. We arrived as strangers and found ourselves gradually drawn into the life of the place. We also became disconnected, at least for a while, from the daily worries we had left on the other side of the Atlantic.

To those who want to live in Portugal for reasons they may struggle to explain, I would offer this advice: Do not simply run away from something. Aspire to something.

Learn Portuguese, even when it is difficult. Read the poets, playwrights and novelists who helped define the culture. Celebrate Portugal for what it is, rather than trying to turn it into a less expensive version of the place you left behind. Embrace its slower pace, its subtle rhythms and its powerful sense of continuity.

Portugal is not perfect. No country is.

But it is absolutely wonderful, and yes the Alentejo still remembers why.