I don’t envy Maltese real estate agents. True, there is a glut of vacant properties. However, if you’re after a quiet spot, then finding a house that is private is not so easy.

The combination couldn’t be worse. We have one of the highest population densities in the world, and the highest of the EU member states. Open spaces are rare and we are loud. And many of what used to be terraced houses, sometimes with both front and back gardens, are now apartments. The few houses that remain have less privacy, with penthouses overlooking their kitchens, gardens and bedrooms.

When my husband and I started looking for a house about seven years ago, my dream was set up home away from the crowd. I’m drawn to quiet living and privacy, to not having strangers drive past my house, and to knowing who my neighbours are, even though I’m not the type to spend half an hour chatting on my doorstep.

I blame my childhood, the first half of which I spent in an apartment in busy Birkirkara. Then we moved to a house in Mqabba, a tiny village in the south many people have never been to. I loved it. I had the freedom to walk my dog in fields just across the road. When the ice cream van announced its arrival with a happy jingle, I would run after it barefoot, even though the road wasn’t properly tarmacked. When studying for my O levels, I would walk to Wied iż-Żurrieq with my biology notes in my backpack, find an isolated field on a cliff, and study there.

But since then, Malta has changed. It has become one busy city. In most places, I wouldn’t dream of letting a child chase an ice cream van, even if they did have shoes on.

In some areas, there are rows of houses for sale. The limestone on their facade is filthy. Their front windows are never open. Some of them are abandoned. No wonder the remaining inhabitants want to leave.

I would love to live in a village in Gozo. Xagħra or Qala, for example. A pretty village with old houses, surrounded by valleys, with the sea close by. Where there is stillness on a Saturday afternoon and where the only smell at noon on a Sunday is of roast potatoes. Where people nod and smile as you walk past, and then follow you with their gaze to see where you’re going. Where everyone is not in such a hurry.

However, living in Gozo would mean we would hardly ever see our families and friends. And we would have a two-hour commute to work every day.

Since I’m not very keen to wake up at five in the morning, sadly living in Gozo is not practical for me. But this meant that we had to look even harder to find the ideal home for us in Malta.

After four months of viewing three properties every other day, we found a small townhouse in Dingli that had just been put up for sale. Of course, it was over our budget. This was 2006, when property prices were going crazy. But after some tough negotiations, we settled on a price with the owner (still over our budget, but manageably so), and a year later, the house was ours.

There are other villages where houses are still relatively isolated. For people who like solitude, most of Baħrija, Mġarr and Żebbiegħ, for example, are perfect. So are hamlets like Misraħ Suffara, limits of Dingli. They have open spaces where you can walk your dog, have a picnic, teach your children how to ride a bike. And all within walking distance of your front door.

In these places, the air is cleaner and the open space means there’s a light breeze even in summer. When you leave your windows open, your living room floor won’t be streaked with dirt in minutes. Your windows also won’t need cleaning every other week from all the traffic. The only smoke you may get inside your home is from your own kitchen. You know who your neighbours are, and have chatted with them several times on the doorstep. Once, for half an hour, I discussed back problems with my 80-year-old neighbour. A fascinating conversation. And no, I didn’t mind.

There’s a sense of community, even if it involves children’s talent shows and pig roasts on the side of the road. Even if it means you donate money to keep the band club and the small village feast you hardly ever attend going. There’s a sense that, although your house is private, you belong to something that’s bigger than yourself. That you have your own space, but you’re not on your own.

You do get some noise, but it’s from people talking to each other across the road. The occasional revved-up motorbike. And your neighbour’s son honking his car horn to let his mother know he’s home. Still, for me it’s preferable to the constant hum of traffic and passers-by. And it’s not so loud that you need to invest in double-glazed windows. That said, this lifestyle is not for everyone. You are likely to have a 30-minute drive to get to work – if there’s no traffic. And these isolated villages don’t have supermarkets. Your weekly shopping has to be done somewhere that’s 15 to 20 minutes away. Because your local grocery store doesn’t stock all the products you like. And you have to wait to be served at the cheese counter. Then wait in another queue while the cashier manually keys in the cost of each item. And these grocery stores are closed Wednesday and Saturday evenings. And of course on Sundays.

In small villages, there’s also very little nightlife. By 10pm the village is dark and there’s no one outdoors. It can be quite scary if you’re not used to it. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. The lack of activity means it’s calm and quiet at night, and I wouldn’t want to change that.

When you love the peace that comes with silence, you’re willing to make the effort to find a home in the perfect peaceful place. In Malta, it does take effort. But there are such places. And for people who appreciate privacy and the bliss of solitude, it’s well worth it.