Amay Properties

Moving to Spain and Building a Home – Our Experience with AMAY Properties

Why This Story Exists

What follows is our personal experience of moving Spain and building a home, and our experience with Amay Properties, set out in a chronological documented account, not to deter investment, nor to criticise a country or its culture, but to highlight how easily trust can be misplaced when transparency and accountability fall away. 

This story exists to inform, not to inflame. It is written so that future buyers can make decisions with their eyes open, armed with knowledge rather than marketing.

If this story causes even one reader to pause, ask better questions, or demand clearer answers before signing a contract, then it has served its purpose.

Master Disclaimer

This work is a personal account based on our lived experience.

It reflects our recollections, perceptions, opinions, and understanding of events as they occurred to us over time. Where dates, communications, documents, or timelines are referenced, they are drawn from contemporaneous records including emails, messages, correspondence, and personal notes.

This account does not allege criminal conduct, fraud, dishonesty, or intentional wrongdoing by any individual or organisation unless explicitly stated and supported by documentary evidence. Any references to third parties are made strictly in the context of describing our experience and the impact events had on us.

Statements of opinion are expressed as opinion only. Descriptions of events, delays, communications, or outcomes are based on what we experienced, observed, or were advised at the time. No inference should be drawn regarding motive, intent, or state of mind beyond what is expressly stated.

This work is not presented as legal advice, a technical report, or an authoritative determination of fault. Its purpose is to document a personal journey, to provide context for decisions made, and to allow readers to form their own views based on the information shared.

Where humour, irony, or reflection is used, it is intended as commentary on experience and circumstance, not as an attack on any individual.

All rights reserved.

INTRODUCTION 

This is not just a building dispute. It is our story, a deeply personal and emotionally exhausting account of what can happen when trust is misplaced, contractual obligations are not fulfilled as expected, and power is exercised without sufficient accountability. It documents our experience of entering into a contract in good faith, paying in excess of €600,000, and then living through a prolonged period in which certain contracted items, remained unresolved long after the agreed completion dates.

What followed was not a single failure, but a pattern. Over the subsequent twenty-eight months, those patterns included delay, deflection, shifting explanations, and what we experienced as an absence of urgency or responsibility. Rather than resolution, we encountered repeated resets of the conversation, as if time itself were the solution, rather than action.

This book is supported by written contracts, timelines, correspondence, and WhatsApp transcripts. Its purpose is not only to set out what happened to us, but to illustrate how systems can permit such situations to unfold, slowly, incrementally, and largely unchecked. Not through dramatic collapse, but through attrition. We did not set out to fight a battle. We set out to build a home.

Why We Chose AMAY Properties

Our decision to work with AMAY Properties was not impulsive. In 2019, we purchased our first villa through them. By most reasonable standards, that experience was professional and satisfactory. The construction quality was sound, the finishes met expectations, and the overall process appeared organised and competent. There were minor issues, as there are with most builds, but nothing that raised concern or undermined confidence. We moved from Ireland to Spain, moved into our new home and began living Spanish life. 

We returned to the market in 2022 to purchase a new home. Why? A realisation occurred for us while we lived in our first villa, that was, we had come from Country Ireland, where we lived on a 20,000 square meter plot of land, surrounded by mountains, now we were living on a 100 square meter plot surrounded by Villas, all withing two meters from us. 

We wanted more space. But we also wanted all the amenities we had locally. We went in search and eventually returned to the same developer, in the same development, only this time, the Villa was on the perimeter. We assumed the same build standards would apply, there was no reason to think otherwise. In many industries, a returning customer is regarded as someone to be valued. In our case, as hindsight has revealed, it appeared that familiarity worked against us.

We were not first-time buyers. Nor were we uninformed. We were not speculative investors, and we were returning clients, relying on precedent rather than suspicion. And that reliance, again in hindsight, created vulnerability.

The conversations leading up to the second purchase were reassuring. The language was familiar. The assurances were confident. Nothing suggested that this project would unfold differently from the first. If anything, we expected the process to be smoother; experience, after all, is meant to reduce friction, not increase it.

In retrospect, in our opinion, the company we were dealing with in 2022 no longer reflected the values or practices we had encountered in 2019. Beneath a surface of efficiency and routine lay what we later experienced as deflection, control of narrative, and a diminishing regard for follow-through. These were not immediately visible. They revealed themselves gradually, over time, through patterns rather than events.

This introduction does not seek to assign motive or intent. It exists to explain why we made the choices we did, how those choices were grounded in prior experience, and what unfolded after the contract was signed.

Customisations. Completion dates. Finishes. Payment milestones. Nothing was left to casual conversation or assumed understanding. These were not informal assurances or verbal nods, they were set out contractually, documented, and agreed by both parties. The contract, as we understood it, existed to protect everyone involved.

In practice, however, we came to experience the contract as something invoked selectively. When it suited Amay Properties, the contract was cited rigidly. When it did not, it appeared to be treated as flexible, optional, or open to reinterpretation. Plans were adjusted without consultation. Deadlines passed without explanation. Updates were skipped, and features we believed had been agreed were altered or removed.

From the outset, small but unsettling discrepancies began to appear. Details shifted, and progress slowed without clear cause. Communication, once professional, became strained and at times adversarial. Questions that would ordinarily invite explanation were met instead with firm refusals.

Only after prolonged persistence, sometimes bordering on attrition, would that “no” soften, or eventually reverse. It became a familiar pattern: resistance first, and maybe, resolution later, but only after unnecessary conflict. The irony was not lost on us, clarity could have been achieved in days what confrontation stretched into months. At that stage, we still believed these issues were temporary. Teething problems, misalignment or human error. We did not yet recognise the pattern for what it was.

During the Construction Period, a period that can only be described as a prolonged period of logistical and emotional strain and stress. Because we were no longer simply clients. In practice, we became unpaid project managers, quality controllers, compliance monitors, and full-time problem-solvers. Our involvement was not by choice, but by necessity. Left unattended, issues multiplied. Left unchallenged, errors hardened into permanence.

Prior to signing the deed in June 2024, we visited the site hundreds of times. These were not casual visits. They were interventions, to prevent mistakes from escalating, to identify missing elements, to document defects, and to follow up on commitments that had already been made, sometimes repeatedly.

We produced reports. Sent emails. Logged snags. Supplied photographs. Cross-referenced plans. Micromanaged a process that, under normal circumstances, should never require that level of oversight from a homebuyer. What should have been a professional collaboration became a full-time occupation, unpaid, unacknowledged, and unavoidable.

In total, we flagged over forty construction defects. Too many were substantial. Most remain unresolved to this day. The responses we received varied. At times there was indignation. At other times, dismissal. Occasionally, silence. There were periods when Amay’s representative ceased responding altogether. Even legal correspondence, when pursued, resulted not in explanation but in what we experienced as threats rather than clarity.

This was not, in our view, a simple case of miscommunication. It was a prolonged sequence of delay, avoidance, and inaction that created real cost, financially, emotionally, and psychologically. Problems were not solved; they were deferred, and deferral, over time, became a strategy in itself.

Dark humour crept in as a survival mechanism. At one point, we joked privately that we should add “construction supervision” to our CVs, if only to justify the hours we were spending doing work that was never meant to be ours.

Eventually, we sought legal advice. We read the fine print of Spanish building law. We learned, slowly and with increasing disbelief, that while legal routes do exist, the practical burden falls heavily on the buyer. Time, cost, evidence, and persistence sit squarely on the shoulders of the individual, not the developer. Even where contractual non-fulfilment is evident, progress through the system is slow, complex, and expensive.

For foreign buyers, unfamiliar with local processes and legal nuance, this imbalance is particularly acute. The result is a form of limbo: emotionally draining, financially exhausting, and structurally tilted against the person seeking resolution. The system offers remedies, but at a cost that often deters people from pursuing them fully. That imbalance leaves many buyers worn down rather than vindicated.

What is rarely acknowledged in disputes like this is the emotional cost. Living for years in a state of unfinishedness erodes more than patience. It affects sleep, relationships, health. The sense of safety one expects from a home. The constant vigilance required to monitor progress, chase updates, and anticipate the next issue becomes a background stress that never fully switches off.

We chose not to remain silent and this story exists because silence enables repetition. Because transparency is often the only leverage available to individuals when systems move slowly and organisations remain insulated. And because telling our story, carefully, factually, and openly,  is the only way we know to reclaim some measure of agency in a process that stripped it away.

This story is not simply about unfinished walls or delayed deadlines. It is about broken trust. About emails that went unanswered. About nights spent awake replaying conversations, rereading messages, and wondering how a process that began with optimism could deteriorate so completely. It is about disrespect, not shouted, but implied. Not dramatic, but persistent, and it is about the slow erosion of hope that occurs when resolution is always promised and never quite delivered.

It is also about time, over two thousand unpaid hours were consumed managing a project we had already paid to have completed. Hours spent documenting defects, preparing lists, visiting the site, chasing responses, clarifying misunderstandings, and preventing mistakes from becoming permanent. Time that should have been spent living in our home was instead spent supervising its unfinished state.

Stress accumulates quietly. It shows up in fatigue, in irritability, in the constant background tension of waiting for the next issue to arise. Over time, that vigilance becomes normalised. You stop asking when this will end and start asking what will go wrong next.

We signed up for a home, a sanctuary, a place of stability and rest. What we received instead was an education in misplaced trust, wrapped in stone, glass, and contractual fine print. It was not the lesson we wanted, nor one we would recommend.

Perhaps the most demoralising refrain we encountered throughout this journey was a familiar one, “Well, it’s Spain. What do you expect?”. Said casually by colleagues and people we met. Sometimes it was said sympathetically, but often dismissively, and almost always as if it were meant to close the conversation rather than open it. But this is not a defence. It is an excuse.

This is an explanation that enables poor behaviour, silences legitimate grievance, and normalises non-fulfilment. Shifting responsibility away from those with power and placing it squarely on those already affected. Worse still, it implies that expecting professionalism, accountability, and follow-through is somehow naïve.

We reject that entirely. This is not about culture, nor do we believe that this reflects Spanish culture. It reflects the conduct of specific individuals and organisations. There are many developers in Spain who operate with integrity, who respect their buyers, and who finish what they start. This account is not an indictment of a country. But it is a spotlight on one company, and on a system that, in our experience, allows such behaviour to persist without timely consequence.

One of the most revealing moments in this entire process came not through conflict, but through correspondence. In a written communication, Lea García, CEO of Amay Properties, stated that we were free to share our opinion and our experience “with whoever we wish.” At the time, the statement surprised us. In retrospect, it revealed something more troubling.

It suggested a confidence, perhaps even an assumption, that whatever was shared would carry no consequence. That it would be ignored. That no one would listen. That it simply would not matter. Whether that interpretation is fair, is for the reader to decide. But the message itself was unambiguous: permission was granted and we intend to use it. Not recklessly. Not vindictively. But carefully, factually, and with supporting evidence. Because confidence without accountability is not strength, it is exposure waiting to happen.

We believe in the justice system. We believe that no individual or company exists beyond the reach of the law. And we believe that spotlight remains one of the most effective correctives where formal systems move slowly.

We are not telling this story to attract sympathy. Nor are we doing so out of anger or spite. We are sharing it because stories like ours are rarely documented in full. Because silence benefits only those with power. And because accountability, however delayed, begins with transparency.

We are sharing this story because you, the next buyer, deserve to know what may be waiting on the other side of the glossy brochure, the polished show home, and the confident sales pitch. You deserve to be informed before handing over your life savings to any developer, particularly one that, in our experience, has demonstrated a concerning level of disregard for its clients once contracts are signed and funds transferred.

If the legal courts fail us, or delay resolution beyond reason, then perhaps the court of public conscience will not. We believe in justice in its truest sense: not only the technical application of law, but the restoration of balance. Moral balance and accountability. The simple principle that agreements should be honoured, and people should be treated with respect.

Our story is not unique, but it is ours, and it is true. It is supported by documentation, timelines, correspondence, and lived experience. We share it not to inflame, but to inform. Not to accuse, but to illuminate.

Let it stand as both a warning and a call for reform, because homebuyers in Spain deserve more than excuses. They deserve professionalism. They deserve protection, and most of all, they deserve the truth.

CHAPTER ONE

2022

Who Are AMAY Property Developers?

Amay Property Developers are a Spanish construction firm headed by Vicente Barberá and Carmelo Murcia. On the surface, the company presents itself as a reputable developer, offering premium off-plan villas in Spain’s Costa Blanca and Costa Cálida regions. Their marketing materials, show homes, and sales presentations convey confidence, professionalism, and experience.

Our personal experience, as clients and as business professionals, has been markedly different.

What follows is not written lightly. It is written with the awareness that words carry weight, and that public statements should be grounded in fact, documentation, and lived experience. In our view, Amay Properties demonstrated a consistent disregard for honour, integrity, and contractual obligation throughout our dealings with them. That is a serious statement, and it is made only after years of engagement, extensive correspondence, and repeated attempts at resolution.

As a company director myself, I understand the responsibility that comes with running a business. Leaders are accountable not only for outcomes, but for culture, communication, and conduct. When issues arise, how a company responds often matters more than the issue itself. It is from that professional lens, as much as from that of a homeowner, that this account is written.

Our First Encounter with Amay Properties

In 2018, as newcomers to Spain, we entered the property market relying on what we knew best: Irish business ethics, common sense, and life experience. Like many foreign buyers, we assumed that professionalism would translate across borders, even if processes differed.

We purchased our first AMAY villa off-plan, requesting a small number of billable bespoke modifications and paying our deposit in good faith. Over the following months, we travelled frequently between Ireland and Spain to monitor progress, keen to ensure that what had been promised was being delivered. Each visit was super positive. 

By 2019, we relocated permanently to Spain and moved into our new Amay home.

At the time, I remembered that process as broadly positive, albeit with minor glitches,  the sort of issues one expects when building a new home. However, when preparing this story and revisiting emails, notes, and WhatsApp exchanges from that period, I was taken aback. What I found was not a smooth journey with small hiccups, but a process already marked by ignored messages, repeated follow-ups, dismissive responses, and, on occasion, raised voices during telephone conversations with Amay staff.

The patterns were uncomfortably familiar. Perhaps the global uncertainty surrounding COVID-19 blurred my memory of that first build after sales support, or lack thereof. Perhaps, at the time, the excitement of a new home outweighed the frustration of the process. But the written record does not lie. The same themes that define our current experience were present from the beginning, only less visible, and easier to excuse.

Shared Experience Within the Urbanisation

Our urbanisation consisted of fifty villas, and it did not take long to learn that our experience was not unique. Conversations with neighbours revealed similar frustrations: feelings of being dismissed, misled, or spoken to with a lack of respect once contracts were signed and payments made, and yet, there was an important contradiction.

Despite these shared complaints, the villas themselves were undeniably well built. The construction quality was solid. The finishes were high-end. The location was excellent. It created a strange tension: dissatisfaction with the process, paired with satisfaction in the physical outcome.

That distinction matters. It is one of the reasons we remained open to working with Amay again. We believed, incorrectly, as it turned out, that improvements in communication and management were possible, even if imperfect.

Our Second Amay Home

After two years in our first villa, we began to crave more outdoor space. We viewed numerous properties across Alicante and Murcia, but none offered what we already had: a two-minute walk to a supermarket, a ten-minute walk to a hotel and its surrounding restaurants and bars, and an eight-minute drive to the beach. Reluctantly at first, and then decisively, we returned to Amay Properties.

In February 2022, we committed to purchasing a second off-plan villa from the same developer. At the time, it felt like a rational decision based on familiarity and location. In hindsight, it marked the beginning of a far more serious ordeal.

Amay Properties had begun constructing the final six new villas along the front line of our urbanisation. These were larger versions of our existing home, each with more generous plots. We selected the end villa, attracted by its privacy: open space to the front and no neighbouring property on one side.

This time, we approached Amay Properties directly, bypassing estate agents. From our previous purchase, we had learned that agents such as Keysol, who were the agents we chose for our first Villa, typically received commissions of around 10%. On our first villa, which amounted to approximately €33,000, a substantial fee for what was, in practice, an introduction.

Our intention was simple: if that margin could not be discounted, perhaps it could be reinvested into meaningful improvements to the home itself. On 7 February 2022, we met with Astrid Samper, Amay’s on-site sales representative. She confirmed that Amay Properties would neither discount the villa nor provide a cash equivalent of the agent’s commission. It made no sense, but it was what it was. 

We proposed an alternative – We presented a list of additional features and enhancements roughly equivalent in value to the commission. This was not an attempt to gain an advantage, but to redirect value into the build. We supplied sketches, notes, and explanations.

On 9 February, we met with Lea García, CEO of AMAY Properties, along with other members of their team. We were told, explicitly, that this would be a “custom structure created just for you.” Almost everything we requested was approved, with the exception of kitchen white goods, which we agreed to omit.

The agreement felt clear, the assurances felt firm, and we signed the contract that very day. At that point, nothing had yet been built. The site consisted only of marked plots. There was, by any reasonable measure, ample opportunity to incorporate the agreed modifications into the construction process.

When Expectations Begin to Crumble

Given the repeated assurances that our villa was being tailored specifically to us, we reasonably expected updated architectural plans reflecting those agreed changes.

After several requests, we received drawings on 15 February; however, these were standard plans, identical to those for every other villa. None of the agreed modifications was shown. We were disappointed, but relied on trust and the fact that we had a detailed contract. 

It was a small moment, but a telling one. The first quiet signal that what had been promised verbally and contractually was already beginning to diverge from what was being implemented in practice, and it would not be the last.

We raised our concerns about the lack of revised architectural drawings with Amay personnel, but the response was silence. With no updated plans forthcoming, we were left to rely on our own submissions, hand-drawn diagrams attached to the contract, clearly marked “not to scale.” They were never intended to replace professional drawings, but they became, by default, the only written evidence of what had been discussed, agreed, and approved.

It was an uncomfortable position to be in. Homeowners should not have to rely on annotated sketches to defend contractual expectations, yet that was now our reality.

In March, we were informed that Eva Llevara would become our primary point of contact, acting as head of Amay’s After Sales department. At the time, this was presented as a positive development, a move toward structure and accountability. In practice, it marked the beginning of a more confrontational phase.

Build Begins and So Do the Red Flags

Construction commenced on 18 April, with the pouring of the foundations. Almost immediately, we noticed a significant issue: the bathroom sump in the basement had been positioned incorrectly.

We flagged this without delay. Rather than dispute the issue outright, we proposed a workaround, a revised basement layout that would accommodate the error. On 1 June, Amay accepted this alternative solution. There was no acknowledgement of fault, no explanation, and no apology. The adjustment simply became the new reality. But it appeared that this change was quietly chalked up as a change we had made. 

At that stage, we still believed pragmatism would prevail. Problems happen. What matters is how they are resolved. Unfortunately, this would prove to be an exception rather than the rule.

Rejected Requests and Arbitrary Refusals

In June, we submitted a series of upgrade requests. Each was reasonable. Each was clearly defined, and for each, we explicitly confirmed our willingness to pay the full additional cost.

The requests were:

              A concrete storage shed at the rear of the property

              Covered beams on the rooftop solarium

              Extension of the stonework along the front façade

              Installation of solar panels

Every request was rejected.

No explanation was provided. There was no technical constraint cited, and no alternative suggested. Just a flat, unqualified “no.”

This response soon became familiar. Whether a request was new, previously agreed, or already documented, the default position appeared to be refusal. Only after prolonged challenge did refusals occasionally soften, but resistance was always the starting point.

It was as if “no” had become policy rather than a response.

The Pool and Jacuzzi Dispute

By early July, we had finalised plans and pricing for a custom-designed swimming pool with an integrated Jacuzzi. The process had involved multiple discussions and iterations, and we believed the matter had been settled.

On 25 July, that belief was abruptly undone. We received a short email from Eva Llevara, who was in the after-sales department, informing us that the pool design had been reverted to the standard layout, without consultation or explanation. The Jacuzzi element remained, but the overall configuration had changed materially.

Attached to the email was an ultimatum – Sign the revised plan by 5:00 PM that day, or lose the upgrade entirely.

Alarmed, we contacted Astrid for assistance. The following day, I received a telephone call from Eva. The call escalated rapidly. Her tone was aggressive, her volume raised, and the conversation became abusive. I ended the call.

I immediately informed the sales team and submitted a formal written complaint to CEO of Amay, Lea García, outlining the interaction and seeking clarification. No response was received.

This incident was not isolated. It revived memories of similar behaviour during our first build in 2019, incidents we had, at the time, minimised or rationalised.

A meeting was arranged involving Carmelo Murcia, co-owner of Amay Properties, their architect, the sales team, and me. The atmosphere was tense from the outset. Murcia reviewed the pool plans briefly, shrugged, signed them, and handed them back to me. There was no apology. No explanation. No acknowledgement of the events that had led to the meeting.

The meeting, held at the showhouse, was conducted via translation by Astrid. When the architect arrived, an argument erupted between him and Murcia, loud, animated, and entirely unfiltered. We then walked to the building site, where the architect placed markers on the ground while the shouting continued.

At one point, I asked if everything was alright. Astrid replied, “They are good friends. This is normal.” It did not feel normal. It felt chaotic and deeply unprofessional, and entirely inappropriate for a setting involving contractual decisions affecting a client’s home. Once again, the revised pool plans were signed off. Again.

Attempts at Documentation

In an effort to stabilise the process, a follow-up meeting was held on 28 July at Amay’s offices. Present were Eva, Astrid, Lea García, and ourselves.

During this meeting, all agreed elements, original contract terms and subsequent upgrades were consolidated into a single document titled “PRESUPUESTO 1.” This document was presented as the definitive reference point for the build going forward. It would later become clear that even this consolidation offered no real certainty.

The following day, a further issue emerged concerning the basement windows. We had agreed that all three basement windows would be 750mm deep, and had accepted an additional cost of €750 + IVA for all three enhancements. However, only one window had been constructed to the agreed depth. The other two measured 500mm.

On 29 July, without prior discussion, Murcia increased the cost to €750 per window, instead of all windows. Reluctantly, and in an attempt to keep progress moving, we agreed to upgrade one only additional window.

Compromise, once again, became the price of momentum.

Structural Oversights Continue

By 12 September, the villa’s concrete frame was well underway. As we reviewed the structure, we noticed something alarming: the agreed balcony was missing.

We raised this immediately. Amay assured us, in writing, that both the architect and builders had been informed. Yet two weeks later, the concrete skeleton was completed and still no balcony and no extension to the bedroom floor above the dining area as agreed.

Having watched twelve villas constructed along our road, we knew these elements should have been integrated into the initial structure. Retrofitting them later would be costly, complex, and entirely avoidable. In our view, the plans had either been ignored or forgotten, or perhaps, no updated plans existed, with the apparent hope that we would not notice.

Messages from Amay began arriving, vague and non-committal, requesting meetings with the architect. It was clear that the situation was unravelling.

Eventually, we were told: “Due to building regulations, the balcony must measure 1.2m x 1.8m, not the 1.5m x 3m previously agreed. Additionally, the extension of the bedroom floor over the dining area would require a step, due to support beam limitations.”

These explanations raised more questions than they answered, questions that would define the next phase of this build and this time, the stakes were no longer cosmetic.

The explanation we were eventually given did not withstand scrutiny. From our perspective, the justification offered, that building regulations prevented the inclusion of the balcony and extended floor, did not align with what we had already been told, nor with what we had observed during the construction process. Having watched multiple villas on the same road rise from foundation to completion, we understood how and when such structural elements are normally incorporated.

In our view, the more likely explanation was simpler: the structural provisions for the balcony and extended floor had not been incorporated when the concrete skeleton frame of the property was poured. By the time this became apparent, the opportunity to include them as originally designed had passed.

On 5 October, I sent a detailed email setting out our position, the timeline of events, and our concerns regarding what we believed to be a fundamental oversight. That correspondence prompted yet another meeting, attended by the architect, CEO Lea García, and members of the sales team.

During that meeting, the architect initially stated that the Town Hall had refused permission for the balcony. When we challenged this assertion, based on our understanding of the planning documentation and comparable neighbouring builds, it became clear that this explanation was inaccurate. The position then shifted.

Eventually, the architect acknowledged that a balcony could, in fact, be constructed, but only in a reduced form. Because the concrete structure had already been completed, the design would now be constrained by the existing pillar placements of the frame.

We were presented with a compromise, instead of the originally agreed balcony measuring 3.0m x 1.5m, we were offered one measuring 2.3m x 1.2m. It was not what had been agreed, nor what had been paid for in expectation, but by this stage, our priority had shifted from achieving what was promised to simply salvaging what was possible. We accepted the reduced balcony in order to move forward. There was no apology. No acknowledgement that an error may have occurred. No discussion of compensation or adjustment.

What remained was a growing sense that agreements, even when signed and documented, carried little weight once construction was underway. From our experience, the burden consistently fell on the buyer, to notice, to challenge, to chase, and ultimately to compromise. Buyer beware.

CHAPTER TWO

2023

This is not a story about money. It is a chronicle of trust eroded, professional standards undermined, and the experience of being drawn into a prolonged and exhausting process with a developer that, in our experience, failed to treat its clients with basic respect once contracts were signed and payments made.

Amay Properties, the builder behind what was meant to be our dream home in Spain, consistently interacted with us in a manner we found dismissive and, at times, unnecessarily confrontational. That experience is all the more troubling given that we were not casual observers, but the very clients funding the project.

While their legal representatives have since attempted to characterise this story as defamatory or insulting, what follows is grounded in verifiable records: photographs, architectural drawings, written correspondence, and WhatsApp messages retained contemporaneously. What we describe is not a single disagreement or inconvenience, but a recurring pattern of unresolved issues, shifting positions, and withheld follow-through, a pattern we feel obliged to document so that other prospective buyers can make informed decisions.

Walls, Warnings, and Withheld Promises

On 4 January 2023, during one of our routine weekly site visits, we encountered something genuinely perplexing.

Almost in the centre of the living room, adjacent to the staircase, stood a solid wall, approximately two metres wide and three metres high. It did not appear on any approved plans. That space had been designated for a glass balustrade, creating openness and light. Instead, we were faced with a monolithic structure that served no obvious purpose.

We raised the issue immediately. Amay’s sales executive assured us it would be “sorted.” A meeting was convened, notably without our attendance, and shortly thereafter, we received a text message stating: “All sorted, they are going to do it just the way you want.” This was confusing, as we had not requested anything new. We were simply expecting what had already been agreed and paid for. 

By 13 January, we were back on site discussing relatively minor cosmetic items, adjustments to the solarium kitchen, blind specifications, and, briefly, optimism returned. It felt as though progress might finally stabilise. That optimism was short-lived.

On 16 January, Janine Friedrich, Amay’s Head of Aftersales, sent an email stating that no further changes would be permitted. Apparently, Janine had taken over from Eva.

I replied promptly, clarifying that the items in question were not structural alterations but finishing details already contemplated within the scope of the build. I also referenced a basement doorway that had always been intended to be opened.

Her response was curt: “I am sorry, but we cannot respect the last changes that you sent me here by email”. That same day, Janine formally announced that she would be our sole point of contact, effectively removing Astrid, who until then had been professional, responsive, and constructive. The change was immediate and noticeable.

Bad Memories Resurface

The name Janine Friedrich triggered uncomfortable memories from our first build in 2019, telephone conversations that ended abruptly, raised voices, and phones being slammed down mid-call. At the time, we had chosen to minimise those incidents. Now, they resurfaced with clarity.

Despite growing unease, we attempted to continue working through Astrid where possible, simply because communication with her had proven effective. That option, however, was increasingly curtailed.

We proceeded to select tiles, items that were meant to be standard inclusions. We were surprised to be told that almost every option we preferred would incur an additional cost. More surprisingly, a tile identical to the showroom example, merely a different size, was suddenly described as no longer available. It was beginning to feel as though the goalposts were mobile.

Architects, Meetings, and Another Wall

In mid-January, the architect visited our existing home to refresh his understanding of how he had constructed the additional floor space over the dining room. He observed his previous work and indicated he would revise the plans for our new Villa accordingly.

A site meeting followed around 14 January, attended by the architect, Janine, Astrid, and ourselves. We discussed basement wall layouts and entry points. An agreement appeared to be reached. Everyone nodded. Notes were taken. Janine, however, spent most of the meeting focused on her phone. At the time, we thought little of it. In hindsight, it was perhaps indicative of the priority being assigned to the discussion.

On 30 January, another unexpected issue emerged.

We were informed that the 1-metre-wide shower, explicitly specified in the contract, would not fit,  and that only an 800mm wide shower was possible. This was perplexing. Just two weeks earlier, the architect had physically marked out the layout on the first floor with us, including the agreed shower dimensions. As we tried to reconcile these contradictions, another surprise surfaced.

In the basement stairwell, a second unexplained wall had appeared, a solid structure measuring approximately three metres by three metres, creating a corridor that led nowhere and served no discernible function. Seriously, another wall!!! Another surprise, another conversation explaining why what had been planned could no longer be done. 

At this point, confusion was giving way to concern.

Janine’s proposed solution to one of the unexplained walls was revealing in its simplicity. Amay would cut a hole through the structure, free of charge. However, if we wanted the wall removed entirely, despite it never appearing on any approved plan, we would be required to pay for that removal ourselves. In effect, we were being asked to finance the correction of an element that should not have existed in the first place. Our objections were noted, but not addressed.

Another Door Closes

On 1 February, Astrid sent a message that marked a turning point in our dealings with AMAY: “I’ve been told not to get involved in something that is not my problem.”

With that message, our remaining line of constructive communication was severed. Astrid, who had consistently acted professionally and pragmatically, was no longer permitted to engage with us regarding the build. From that point onward, all interaction funnelled through Janine. The change was immediate and difficult.

What followed was a succession of disputes over items that should have been routine. A kitchen upgrade became a prolonged battle. We were initially quoted €2,520 for changes that, in large part, were already included in the standard specification. After weeks of challenge and clarification, the cost was revised to €900, an adjustment that raised questions about how the original figure had been calculated.

On 6 February, we agreed to a blue tile line on the pool steps. That detail was never delivered, ever. The promised carport drainage was also never installed. Other issues accumulated – Incorrectly positioned lighting cables, misplaced television outlets, and recurring arguments over walls that, from our perspective, should never have been constructed. 

The cycle became familiar, with Janine, the initial response was invariably “no”. Only after extended contentious discussion, documentation, and insistence would positions shift, often reluctantly, once it became clear that what we were requesting was already paid for under the contract. The process was exhausting.

A dispute over CAT 5 network cabling escalated into yet another confrontation. Janine insisted it could not be installed in the location we requested. But when we met the electrician on site, he reviewed the request and saw no technical issue. The cabling was installed where we had originally specified. It was a recurring theme: objections raised administratively, only to be contradicted by tradespeople once work reached the practical stage. 

On 23 February 2023, I submitted a formal written complaint to Janine. I copied CEO Lea García, our lawyer, and eventually Carmelo Murcia, Amay’s director, whose contact details we had to actively pursue, as staff initially declined to provide them.

The resulting email thread, which remains on record, revealed a striking contrast between assertion and outcome.

Ms García stated that “the entire AMAY team,  including architects and surveyors, had been on top of our home”. And yet, fundamental elements had been missed:

a balcony omitted, a floor extension forgotten, and multiple walls constructed without reference to approved plans. These were not cosmetic oversights. They were structural.

At this point, the stress eclipsed anything I had previously managed professionally,  including overseeing twelve restaurants, a hotel and a property business in Ireland.

No Show Director’s Meeting

We were informed that Carmelo Murcia wished to meet at our home. I prepared accordingly, set the table, made tea, baked scones, and waited. A last-minute message informed me that Janine would also attend. I was uncomfortable, but agreed.

Carmelo never arrived.

Instead, we received a video call with Lea García and Janine. During that call, we were assured that all outstanding issues would be resolved correctly. We were promised wall removals and new doorways.

By this point, I was deeply distressed and emotionally exhausted. I expressed that I wanted the situation to end, and raised the possibility of terminating the contract altogether. Ms García indicated that cancellation was possible, but stated that Amay preferred to find a resolution.

I agreed to continue only on specific conditions – that the walls would be removed, that the contract would be adhered to, and that Amay would clearly communicate agreed works to all tradespeople involved.

I also stated that I would continue to inspect the site regularly and submit reports, as leaving the project unattended had already resulted in repeated errors. Ms García agreed to our continued inspections and reports.

I further advised that if Amay failed to comply with the contract or honour these assurances, I would share our experience publicly. Ms García affirmed our right to do so. This was the second occasion on which she confirmed, explicitly, that sharing our story was in order.

As part of this discussion, I requested a written apology and acknowledgement of the mistakes, mismanagement, and unprofessional conduct we had experienced. Amay agreed.

What followed was an email containing no acknowledgement of error and an apology prefaced with the word “if”. It was not, in any meaningful sense, an apology. Nevertheless, on the strength of renewed assurances, I reluctantly agreed to continue with the contract.

March to October — A Temporary Peace

April 20th, Amay agreed to install moveable shower jets. They were never installed.

Between April and October 2023, however, matters appeared to stabilise. Weekly site visits resumed. Minor corrections were made. Progress continued. We allowed ourselves cautious optimism.

The villa was due for completion in September. To me, it looked very unfinished to have a completion date as indicated. However, I was not over concerned. Our original plan had been to rent our first villa. Instead, we chose to list it for resale through Amay. The reasoning was simple: by granting them another commission, we believed we were reinforcing goodwill and trust, and that might incentivise the timely completion of our new home to coincide with the sale of our existing home. 

The outcome was so far from expectations. Not only was our new villa not completed on time, but our existing home remained listed exclusively with Amay for fifteen months, generating little discernible interest and no sale. Once again, loyalty was not reciprocated.

The outcome of our decision to remain loyal was simple and measurable. We lost rental income and we lost time. Later in July 2024, we transferred the listing to Casa Verano. The property sold within three months. The contrast required no interpretation.

More Wall Issues

As construction continued, so too did the surprises. We noticed that the wrong tiles had been installed in the showers. We had ordered long white strip tiles. What appeared instead were small brown square tiles. At that stage, exhausted by conflict, we chose not to challenge it. We let it slide, not because it was acceptable, but because we were trying to preserve momentum.

Shortly afterward, the solarium floor was tiled, with tiling in the kitchen area, that had a an inclining step, rising from 0mm to 10mm higher than the main floor space, creating a clear trip hazard. To Amay’s credit, this was corrected promptly once raised.

And then, once again, the walls.

Despite our contract specifying 2-metre perimeter walls, the finished heights varied significantly. The rear wall measured 1.6 metres. One side wall measured 1.8 metres, while the front wall and one side wall complied with the specification. So there were three different wall heights around the Villa. 

The pillars followed the same pattern, with inconsistent heights throughout. We were assured these would be corrected. They were not.

November brought yet another extended debate, this time about electric blinds. What was included? What was not? After an extended and protracted argument, the matter was eventually resolved.

We went on holiday. When we returned, we found it was truly unbelievably, you would never guess….. Yes!!! another wall.

This was the third unplanned, unnecessary wall constructed at our villa. It stood beside the Jacuzzi: a narrow structure approximately 3 metres long, 0.5 metres wide, and 1.3 metres high. I was simply speechless. 

I contacted Janine. She explained that the wall was essential for siphons. When I asked for clarification, I was told that the Jacuzzi technician required it. Having observed numerous Jacuzzis without such a structure, I questioned this explanation. I was assured, “The technician knows what he’s doing”. Now I have heard that statement before. 

I researched the matter independently. My findings: There was no technical requirement for the wall. When challenged again, the explanation changed. The wall, I was now told, was for privacy. I asked what privacy it could provide, given that the Jacuzzi sat less than a metre from the perimeter wall. No clear answer followed.

After many heated discussions, the wall was removed and no siphons ever appeared.

Planning Restrictions

We were then informed that correcting wall heights and pillar inconsistencies was no longer possible due to planning restrictions. This position contradicts earlier assurances and remains unresolved.

Concerns about the glass balustrade followed. The glass balustrade on the stairwell was 10mm thick, whereas the showroom model, and our understanding of the agreed standard, was 20mm. We raised this as a safety issue. It was dismissed.

Even the hand-painted headboard features walls, which cost €350 each, differed noticeably from the showroom examples. When we queried this, Janine confirmed they would match. They do not.

By Christmas, communication slowed and then stopped altogether. Work paused, questions went unanswered, and promises drifted into the background. What did not fade, however, was our resolve.

As we close this chapter with no resolution, a growing understanding emerges that the issues we were facing were no longer isolated errors or miscommunications, but part of a wider pattern that demanded to be documented, and so, we continued.

CHAPTER THREE

2024

From the moment we signed the contract with Amay Properties, our sense of excitement began to erode, not suddenly, but quietly, almost imperceptibly at first.

There was no dramatic rupture, no single defining incident that marked the turning point. Instead, it was a gradual accumulation of moments: unanswered emails, contradictory explanations, assurances given one week and withdrawn the next. Over time, these moments formed a pattern that became impossible to ignore.

What we encountered was not an isolated dispute or a handful of administrative errors. In our experience, it was a recurring cycle of commitments made and then diluted, reinterpreted, or quietly set aside. Issues were rarely addressed directly. Responsibility was frequently deflected, and resolution, when it came at all, often required persistence that far exceeded what any reasonable client should be expected to provide.

We did not feel treated as valued customers. We felt managed, controlled through delay, repetition, and attrition. This was no longer simply about service quality. It involved contractual obligations that were not being fulfilled within agreed timelines, and a growing sense that the burden of oversight had been transferred from builder to buyer.

This Story was Always About Integrity

It bears repeating – This is not a story driven by financial grievance; money is measurable. Integrity is not, but its absence is immediately felt.

We entrusted Amay Properties with building our home. In doing so, we assumed a baseline of professional standards: clear communication, accountability, and respect for signed agreements. What we experienced, instead, was a steady departure from those expectations.

When we began to share aspects of our experience publicly, Amay Properties responded not by addressing the substance of our concerns, but through legal representatives asserting defamation and insult. That response alone was telling.

Everything we have shared, and continue to share, is grounded in contemporaneous documentation: emails sent and received, photographs taken at the time, WhatsApp messages exchanged in real time, architectural drawings, and signed contracts. These are not accusations. They are records.

A Brief Glimmer of Professionalism

At the beginning of 2024, there was a moment, brief but noticeable, when professionalism seemed to return. Following the video call referenced in the previous chapter, communication from Janine became courteous, prompt, and cooperative. For the first time in months, we felt cautiously optimistic. Encouraged by this shift, we commissioned Amay to construct an outdoor kitchen, valued at €9,720 + IVA, to be completed after deed signing.

At the time, this decision felt reasonable. It suggested mutual goodwill, it made sense to have the works completed during construction, and it implied that the company was once again prepared to stand behind its work. In hindsight, this moment reads less like a turning point and more like an intermission.

As will be seen in Chapter Four, the outdoor kitchen later became entangled in further disputes, reinforcing a pattern we had already come to recognise: contractual agreements appeared to operate selectively, binding when convenient and negotiable when not.

Responsibility always rests elsewhere

In February, we once again raised concerns regarding missing boundary pillars, elements clearly specified in the plans and integral to both privacy and security.

Janine agreed to a site meeting on the 8th, during which she assured us that all pillars would be raised. The assurance was unequivocal. Within hours of that meeting, an email arrived stating that two key pillars would not be built. Then, fifteen minutes later, another email followed, reversing the position entirely: all pillars would be built.

At the time, we allowed ourselves to believe the latter message reflected the final decision. As of December 2025, those two pillars remain unbuilt.

Mid-February brought yet another illustration of how issues were handled. During one of our routine weekly inspections, we noticed that shower screens had been installed. This directly contradicted our contract requiring fully enclosed shower doors, specified specifically to prevent water from escaping onto the bathroom floor, an issue we had already experienced in our previous villa.

When raised, Janine informed us it was “a mistake by the worker.” Responsibility, once again, rested elsewhere. The poor workers, they appear to get the blame for everything. However, she agreed the screens would be replaced. On 5 March, we returned to inspect the changes. The guest bathroom had been corrected. 

The master bathroom had a sliding shower door which opened on the wrong side, rendering access impractical. Entering or exiting the shower required stepping over the toilet bowl, a design outcome that defied both logic and basic usability.

When we raised this, we were told the installation was correct and that the fixed glass panel must always be positioned on the water-jet side. After an argumentative lengthily discussion, and ten days of delay, it was finally agreed that a centre-split shower door would be installed, restoring basic functionality.

How Errors Compounded

We had specified a one-meter-wide shower in our contract. In addition to this, body jets were agreed on one wall of the shower. These were not unreasonable requests at the time, as the property had not been constructed. But to understand the significance of this, context matters.

The shower size, jet placement, screen type, toilet faucet, and floor tiles were all agreed upon before construction began

After the first floor slab was poured, but before walls were raised, we met the architect on site, who created the layout physically and marked out the bathroom area to demonstrate to us

Walls were then constructed in a manner that made the agreed-upon shower size impossible

None of that went according to plan and as a result, we were required to accept a shower approximately 20% smaller than specified in the contract.

This was followed by further disputes over the height of wall-mounted body jets. After a prolonged argument, they were lowered to function as body jets rather than face-level fixtures.

There was then a dispute regarding a missing toilet faucet. I met with Janine on site to discuss a possible solution with the plumber. During that discussion, the plumber threw his tools onto the floor and stated that it was too late for the faucet to be installed. I demonstrated a possible installation solution, after which the faucet was fitted.

Once again, resolution came not through foresight or coordination, but persistence.

When Errors Become Routine

None of these incidents, viewed individually, would justify the scale of stress that followed. Taken together, they reveal something else entirely: a project characterised by avoidable errors, inconsistent communication, and a reliance on clients to identify, document, and correct issues that should never have arisen.

By this point, the dream we had invested in, emotionally and financially, was no longer recognisable. We had learned something uncomfortable: not every mistake was worth challenging.

The floor tiles were wrong, both in colour and shape, but we chose silence. Not because we agreed with the outcome, but because we were exhausted. Every objection had become a negotiation. Every correction required proof, repetition, and persistence. It was becoming a greater ordeal than the build itself.

The shower door incident was just one small example of the absurdity of the entirety. The door was replaced three times. Three separate installations. Three separate attempts to correct what should have been one of the simplest fixtures in the entire house. This was not a complex system or bespoke structure. It was a shower door. Yet, it perfectly encapsulated the experience.

Small things were never small. Simple tasks were never simple. Nothing progressed without friction. Nothing was an isolated issue. It was a microcosm of how the entire project unfolded.

Steel Gates Wrong Size — More Explanations

Later that month, we discovered that the pedestrian gate had been installed nearly one metre shorter than agreed.

Janine explained that the correct materials were “on order.” The explanation was difficult to reconcile with what stood in front of us. The gate was already erected. It measured 2.4 metres. The contract specified 3.2 metres. Eventually, rather than replacing the gate, a static extension was added on top. We opted to accept and remain silent. 

The car gate presented a similar issue. It, too, was installed at the wrong height. We halted the installation and provided photographic evidence, alongside the original contract, clearly stating that all gates were to be 3.2 metres high.

Janine disagreed. We then provided documentation to prove our claim, and she finally agreed to “speak to the workers”. Once again, the poor workers and once again resolution stalled.

Towards the end of February, we noticed that steel railings had been installed on a boundary wall, but not on our boundary wall. Our own boundary wall, the one specified in the contract, remained untouched.

When we raised this, Janine replied that “the workers aren’t finished.” The explanation rang hollow. The railings were clearly installed, just in the wrong place. It raised a simple question: Why would a professional builder knowingly install elements incorrectly, only to remove or redo them later? This became another recurring theme, inefficiency layered upon error, followed by explanations that failed to withstand even basic scrutiny.

The Basement — Finishing Before Beginning

March brought another development that defied logic. During another one of our routine inspections, we discovered that the basement ceiling had been fully plastered and painted. At the same time, the air-conditioning system sat boxed on the floor, untouched.

When questioned, Janine explained that the air-conditioning would be installed “when the bathroom is reformed.”

We were confused. What reform? Why complete a ceiling that would inevitably need to be dismantled again? Unsurprisingly, that basement bathroom was not completed for another fifteen months. Work was being finished before prerequisite installations were even begun, a pattern that repeated itself throughout the build.

Mosquito Nets 

On one of our weekly visits in April, we discovered that the mosquito nets fitted to the sliding patio door sets had been installed, but not the ones we had agreed upon.

We had specified sliding nets, making more sense than pull down nets as the doors opened by sliding side to side. What appeared to have been installed were pull-down nets, three of them.

The result was impractical and visually incongruous. At that moment, the experience felt surreal. I remember thinking that I had somehow wandered onto the set of Candid Camera. As usual, Janine initially resisted the issue, arguing as the norm, then promised a solution. Another discrepancy was added to the growing list.

The Rear Wall — Compromise as Policy

By the end of April, attention turned to the rear boundary wall, which was built to a height of 1.6 meters, and the contract specified a height of 2 metres. After weeks of protracted argument and discussion, Amay proposed what they described as a “compromise”: the wall would be raised by way of adding a 400mm panel to the top of the existing railing. But that was fine for us, because with the wall 1.6 meters, we could look at our neighbours sunbathing and using their pool, as they could see us. 

This highlighted a deeper issue. With Amay, solutions were routinely framed as compromises, and those compromises almost always favoured the builder, not the contract.

Jacuzzi Overflow and Pool Leakage

On 27 April, the jacuzzi had been commissioned, and during one of our inspections, we turned on the Jacuzzi to assess its functionality. Water immediately overflowed onto the terrace and flowed into the shower waste drain.

We left the system running for five minutes to measure the loss. The result was clear: there was a water loss of 2 litres every five minutes, equating to 24 litres per hour.

At the same time, we observed a leak in the infinity pool overflow, draining into the carport below. We informed Janine immediately. Her response was brief: – “The pool will be perfect on handover”. At this stage, that assurance no longer carried weight.

By this stage, a familiar pattern had emerged. Issues were identified and documented in detail, concerns were raised, explanations were offered, and assurances were given. Yet despite repeated engagement, resolution consistently failed to materialise.

The dream had not collapsed in a single moment. It had been eroded, piece by piece, by repetition, inconsistency, and a reliance on reassurance in place of action. And still, we continued.

Delayed Handover

By the end of April 2024, the situation had moved beyond frustration and into something far more destabilising. Our villa had been contractually due for completion in September 2023. By April, more than six months later, the property was visibly unfinished. External walls were incomplete. Railings were missing or inconsistent. Fixtures remained unresolved. The basement, a fundamental part of the contract, had not progressed in any meaningful way.

We were living in a state of suspension, which needed to change, and so we formally requested a closing date, not as a formality, but as an attempt to anchor the process to reality. Ten days passed without a response. We requested a closing date again. At the same time, we asked for a formal joint site inspection, hoping that walking the property together might bring clarity and finality. Four days later, an inspection was agreed.

Walking the House One More Time

We met Janine onsite and walked through the villa room by room. I carried a printed list of unfinished works and observable defects, compiled over months of inspections. Janine had a copy of the same list.

As we moved through the property, there was little dispute about what remained outstanding. Walls, railings, fittings, finishes, each item was acknowledged. There were no arguments, no denials. At the end of the inspection, Janine confirmed that everything on the list would be completed prior to signing the deed, with the sole exception of the basement, which, as previously agreed, would be completed after deed signing.

For the first time in months, there appeared to be alignment. On 23 April, I sent Janine a digital copy of the unfinished works and snag list, ensuring there could be no misunderstanding about what had been discussed or agreed. That email felt important. It felt like a line in the sand.

It took Janinne until the middle of May to respond, with a proposed closing date of 31 May. We agreed, but not unconditionally. Our response was careful and explicit. We required – Written confirmation that all items on the snag list would be completed before deed signing, and a clear and realistic timeline for completion of the basement works. 

A week passed. There was no reply. We followed up, again asking for confirmation. By now, this pattern was familiar: progress only occurred when pushed, and even then, clarity was fleeting.

All the Work Is Complete — She said

We had a message from Janine on the On 23 May. She informed us that all works were complete, except for the basement. Wow, I thought, and then we read the message again. Because we knew nothing had been done. Why? Because we had been at the villa the day before. We knew this was not accurate. The boundary walls and railings had not been touched. When we challenged this discrepancy, Janine acknowledged that the walls and fence were not yet complete, but assured us that the materials had been ordered and that completion was imminent. But nothing else was touched either. 

At that moment, we understood something had shifted. Promises were no longer statements of intent. They were placeholders.

As of 31^stthe December 2025, more than eighteen months later, those same walls and railings remain unchanged, as does the majority of the list. We reiterated, once more, that we could not move into the villa until all contracted works were complete. We again requested specific completion dates.

Four days before the proposed closing, Janine requested another inspection on site, stating that this would demonstrate that everything was now complete. We attended, hopeful but cautious. Alas, the works were not complete.

When pressed for dates, the explanation changed again. This time, we were told that completion would depend not only on Amay Properties but also on the Town Hall and their inspection of the property, particularly in relation to the basement.

This was the first time that Town Hall involvement had been presented as a prerequisite for completion. It felt like the introduction of a new variable, one that conveniently removed control, accountability, and timelines from the equation.

When Trust Runs One Way

The following day delivered one of the clearest moments of the entire process.

This was our second purchase from Amay Properties. The first villa had cost over €400,000, and this one totalled €600,000.

To complete the sale transaction, due to time pressure from the bank on the total value of international transfers, in good faith, we had already transferred €530,000 over to Amay Properties. We proposed to pay the remaining €70,000 by bank transfer on the day of deed signing, a standard, transparent approach intended to align payment with completion. The response was immediate and unequivocal: “For us, for the deed, the money must be in our bank.”

In practical terms, this meant that unless the funds had already cleared into Amay’s account, they would not sign the deed. Trust, it seemed, was expected of us, but not extended to us. Trust was looking very much like a one-way street. 

To avoid further delay or confrontation, we arranged a bank draft, ensuring the funds would be immediately available.

A Shift in Atmosphere

The day before closing, we once again requested confirmation of completion dates for the outstanding works. This time, the reply was different again. Shorter. More guarded. Less accommodating.

The cooperative tone that had briefly resurfaced earlier in the year had evaporated. We sensed that we were being funnelled toward a decision point, one in which options were narrowing and pressure was increasing.

We returned to the proposed closing date of 31 May 2024, now eight months beyond the original contractual completion date.

Our lawyer advised us to proceed. She explained that she was confident that if she spoke directly with one of the principals of Amay Properties, a firm date for completing the outstanding works would be agreed. She further assured us that she would obtain a letter of undertaking, guaranteeing that the remaining works would be completed after deed signing.

We trusted her advice, and that, as transpired, was a mistake, not because she had done anything wrong, but because she did not know what was coming. On the day of closing, we attended our lawyer’s office one hour before our scheduled appointment at the notary.

By that point, we were emotionally depleted, financially exposed, and standing at a crossroads. What happened next would define everything that followed. When we arrived at our lawyer’s office, the atmosphere was already strained.

She explained that she had made several attempts that morning to contact Amay Properties, specifically seeking to speak with Vicente Barberá, whom she believed would be attending the notary’s office to conclude the signing of the deed. I clarified that Vicente Barberá was not simply a representative, but one of the two principal owners of Amay Properties.

She paused, then decided to call him again. What followed was wholly unexpected.

For context, our lawyer is a woman, though that should have no bearing in a world governed by professionalism and equality. In my experience, she is well educated, composed, and measured in her approach. She is not confrontational by nature, nor is she easily unsettled. She has practised law long enough to handle difficult conversations. 

However, this was different. The call was tense from the outset. Voices were raised. They spoke in Spanish, but I understood enough to grasp the substance and tone of the exchange.

As our lawyer raised the issue of the outstanding works, the same works that had been acknowledged repeatedly, Vicente Barberá became audibly agitated, at least from what we could hear. He told her that she could not possibly know whether the items on the list were complete, as she had not personally inspected the property. He further stated that we had already delayed the closing for months. Blame for delay, just got reassigned. 

The conversation escalated. He insisted that she had no standing to raise the issue without conducting her own inspection. At that point, our lawyer replied calmly but decisively: “There will be no closing today. Goodbye”. She ended the call, and the room fell silent.

She was visibly shaken, not angry, not defensive, simply unsettled. After a moment, she looked at us and said quietly: “What a strange man”. We were stunned.

The Day the Dream Stopped

That moment marked the collapse of something we had been holding together with effort and hope.

This was supposed to be a milestone, the day we received the keys to our new home. Instead, it became a lesson in the imbalance of power, absence of humility, and a tone that felt unnecessarily hostile given the circumstances.

There was no celebration. No sense of arrival. Only disbelief. Our lawyer advised us to contact Janine immediately and arrange another site inspection, one she would personally attend.

Following her advice, we contacted Janine. Her response was abrupt. She informed us that her involvement with our villa had ended on the basis that the deed had supposedly already been signed. It had not.

We made yet another request to have yet another inspection, so that our lawyer could attend and witness the unfinished works. We also made a specific request that Vicente Barberá attend the inspection, and that our own architect also be present.

The reply, received on 31 May 2024 at 13:36, was unequivocal. “No architect, not even our own, would be permitted onto the property”. There was no explanation. No discussion. Just refusal. That response alone raised serious concerns.

The Inspection and the Tradesmen

Despite the fact that Amay had refused an architect to be present, an inspection was scheduled for 5 June. By that point, Amay Properties had received in excess of €530,000 in payments under the contract from us, and we were increasingly aware of the practical and legal complexity involved in recovering funds should the dispute remain unresolved. 

We arrived at the villa with our lawyer. No great surprise – Vicente Barberá was not present, but several tradesmen were.

What struck us immediately was their confusion. More than one asked why they had been called to attend. They did not appear to have been briefed on the issues, the snag list, or the reason for the inspection. It felt improvised, as though attendance had been arranged without coordination or clarity.

Among those present was the Jacuzzi specialist. We demonstrated the overflow issue that we had previously documented: water spilling onto the terrace and draining away continuously. After inspecting the installation, he confirmed that this behaviour was not normal. He reviewed the explanation we had previously been given, that overflow into the drain was standard and rejected it.

He then agreed with the technical solution I myself had proposed, confirming that it would resolve the issue. For the first time in weeks, we experienced something approaching validation. The problem was real. The concern was legitimate. The solution was straightforward. What remained unclear was why it had taken this long to reach such a basic conclusion.

By the end of that day, the broader picture was impossible to ignore.

Inspections were being resisted, oversight was being discouraged and independent verification was unwelcome. And yet, we were being asked to prepay, proceed, and trust. The imbalance was no longer subtle. This was no longer about delay. It was about control, and we were no longer prepared to surrender either.

The inspection of 5 June proved to be one of the most revealing moments of the entire build, not because of what was argued, but because of what was calmly, professionally, and independently confirmed.

One by one, the tradespeople present addressed the issues we had raised over the preceding months. And one by one, their explanations did not align with the narrative we had repeatedly been given.

The electrician confirmed that no pre-installed cabling had been laid for the CCTV system, directly contradicting Janine’s earlier explanation that the infrastructure was already in place. Without hesitation, he asked for the contact details of our CCTV provider so that the issue could be resolved properly.

It was a simple, practical response, and it raised an uncomfortable question:

If the solution was this straightforward, why had the issue been allowed to linger unresolved for so long?

Next, the solarium blind installers examined the blinds that had been the subject of prolonged debate. They quickly identified the issue: the missing brush had become entangled in the roller mechanism. This explanation stood in clear contrast to the earlier assertion that only one brush was standard. Again, the issue was not complicated. It had simply not been investigated properly.

The painters then addressed the bedroom headwall. Without argument or defensiveness, they acknowledged the error and agreed to repaint it. This stood in sharp contrast to the earlier suggestion that we should simply purchase larger wall lamps to conceal the mistake. That suggestion, viewed in hindsight, felt less like a solution and more like avoidance.

Taken together, the inspection became something else entirely,  an unintentional exposé. Not of wrongdoing, but of a pattern where explanations offered to us over months were quietly contradicted by the very professionals tasked with the work.

The Fence Built on the Wrong Wall

Attention then turned to the steel boundary fence. The steel fabrication people were not in attendance. Our lawyer examined the installation and raised a serious concern: the fence had been erected on a wall that did not belong to us, leaving approximately 15 metres of our actual boundary completely unsecured.

During the discussion, I made an offhand remark that the fence could simply be moved from one wall to the other. It was intended as a conversational observation, not a concession. Amay, however, treated it as an agreement.

Within days, paperwork appeared reflecting this “solution”  paperwork that reframed the relocation of the fence as a negotiated outcome, rather than a correction of an installation error.

Once again, what was already contractually owed was being repositioned as a compromise.

A Contract to Enforce a Contract

What followed was perhaps the most surreal development yet.

We were presented with a new agreement, effectively a contract designed to enforce the original contract. It would be difficult to invent a clearer illustration of how far the process had drifted from normal commercial logic.

Our lawyer believed that, with this additional legal instrument in place, she had sufficient leverage to proceed. Exhausted and eager to avoid further confrontation, particularly with Vicente Barberá, we agreed to grant her power of attorney to close the sale on our behalf. At that point, confrontation felt pointless. Resolution, however imperfect, felt necessary.

The Closing — Without Ceremony

On 6 June, the sale was closed. We were not present.

Ironically, we were later told that Vicente Barberá was quiet and reserved throughout the notarisation process, a sharp contrast to the hostility and agitation we had witnessed during earlier interactions.

There was no acknowledgement of the journey to that point. No recognition of the strain involved. The transaction was completed, administratively and emotionally hollow, like going to the gas station to fill up your tank. At least in the gas station, they say “Thanks”. 

My Kindness – My Mistake

Despite everything, we chose to act with grace. That same day, we sent two bouquets, one to Janine and one to Astrid, as a gesture of goodwill and closure.

Astrid responded warmly, expressing genuine appreciation. Her message felt human, sincere, and kind. Janine’s response, by contrast, was brief and detached. It confirmed what we had come to understand: professionalism is not merely a role; it is a choice.

After the Sale — The Pattern Continues

In the days that followed, a handful of minor snag-list items were addressed. The majority were not. We continued to send weekly email lists, seeking updates and requesting a timeline for completion of the basement, which remained unfinished despite repeated assurances.

When pressed, Janine attributed the delay to the Town Hall, stating that their inspection was holding matters up. By now, this explanation had become familiar, and so, even after the deed was signed, the story did not conclude. It simply changed the chapter.

The explanation we were given, that delays were caused by the Town Hall, was repeated so frequently that it became almost automatic. Each time we asked for progress, the response was the same. Eventually, even our emails went unanswered. At that point, silence had replaced engagement.

By 27 June, three weeks after the deed had been signed, 21 items on the snag list remained unresolved. We had sent five follow-up emails without receiving a single reply. Finally, out of sheer frustration, I wrote to Janine stating that if we continued to be ignored, I would attend her office in person and wait until I received an answer.

Her reply was startling. Once again, it referenced the Town Hall inspection as the reason for inaction, an explanation we had already heard repeatedly. At that point, we strongly suspected that this account did not reflect the full picture. We would soon learn that our suspicions were well-founded.

An Attempt at Resolution — Rejected

We were exhausted and simply wanted our lives to calm down and to enjoy our new home, unfinished as it was. We still hoped to bring matters to a close without further escalation, I proposed to Amay.

We estimated that completing the basement ourselves would cost approximately €11,000. So I offered to accept €10,000, allowing us to manage the work independently and finally regain some control over our own home. Janine replied that she would raise the proposal with her directors.

Weeks passed. Eventually, a response arrived. Amay asserted that the works would cost only €7,000 and stated that they were awaiting our reply. By then, the context had changed, and our response was simple – “Offer rescinded”. The email exchange remains on record.

It was now clear that direct engagement was getting us nowhere. We engaged a litigation specialist lawyer, recognising that we were trapped in a cycle of repetition, delay, and deflection. A new lawyer was recommended to us. His name was Tanash Utamchandani. We chose him and not the lawyer that handled the sale, Mari Carmen Suarez Lorca of Javaloyes & Suárez, because Marie Carmen advised me that this type of litigation was not their speciality, whereas Tanash Utamchandani assured us this was his speciality. 

He advised to cease all direct contact with Amay Properties and handle it from here. Despite the lawyer’s initial formal communications seeking a resolution, Amay did not respond. At that point, the silence was no longer passive; it was strategic.

The Truth from the Town Hall

Determined to verify Amay’s claims, we arranged a meeting on 9 July with Sr. Javier Martín Quesada Pérez, Architect at the Town Hall of Rojales, accompanied by our translator.

What we learned was unequivocal. In early February 2024, Amay had submitted a Certificado Final de Obras. The Town Hall rejected it due to missing documentation. A registered letter was issued in March, clearly outlining what was required.

Amay received that letter, but did not respond. Señor Quesada Perez showed us the documentation on his computer screen. It was crystal clear where the problem lay, and it was not the Town Hall. 

While Amay continued to assert that the delays were caused by the Town Hall, Sr. Pérez was explicit: The delay lay with the builder’s failure to address the deficiencies identified.

Señor Quesada Perez even telephoned Don Joaquin, Amay’s architect, while we were in his office; the response was telling. The architect said he was about to go on vacation and would not be able to attend the matter until September. 

Blame continued to be assigned, even as the factual position became clear. We encountered the same explanation repeated over the following months, until January 2025, when the Habitation Certificate was finally issued, and again thereafter, including in correspondence received as late as the Burofax of October 2025.

Sr. Pérez explained the implications plainly. Without a valid Certificado Final de Obras, no Habitation Certificate could be granted. Without that certificate, we were not legally permitted to live in the property. This was no longer about snag lists or finishing touches. It was about legality. We owned a house we could not lawfully occupy.

Unlawfully Moving Into an Unfinished Home

On 8 August, with few alternatives left, we decided to move into the villa, despite 21 unresolved items still outstanding on the snag list and the unfinished basement.

By December, that number had increased to 34. This would be normal, as one lives in a new property, the opportunity to see at first hand becomes a reality, and indeed, some snags appear. 

We sent an updated email of snags every week to Janine, amounting to over 50 list updates, but eventually, we stopped sending them. There was no point. Even genuine emergencies were met with indifference. When the basement flooded in September, I sent Janine a WhatsApp message. Her reply was curt:

“I will only accept emails from you.”

After the argument, when I emailed, stating that Amay would be held liable for any resulting damage, a plumber arrived within 45 minutes, and remained on site for four days to repair a fault which transpired to be emanating from the guest bathroom. The leak was addressed but never repaired, as you will read later on. The basement ceiling, damaged during those repairs, was left unfinished for nine months, finally being addressed in April 2025.

Living Through a Spanish Summer Without Adequate Cooling

Moving into the villa in August, we expected heat, but not uninhabitable conditions. It quickly became apparent that the air-conditioning system installed by Amay was insufficient for the space it was required to cool.

The ground-floor unit struggled from the outset. With the thermostat set to 16°C and ambient temperatures hovering between 31–32°C, the system ran for eight to nine hours continuously, managing only to reduce the temperature to 24°C.

This was neither efficient nor sustainable. The situation upstairs was worse as the master bedroom on the first floor became effectively unusable.

Each night, the temperature hovered around 33.2°C. We set the thermostat to 16°C, only to wake at 7:30 a.m. to a room still measuring 29.6°C, a reduction of just 3.6°C after an entire night of operation. Sleep became impossible.

Eventually, we abandoned the master bedroom altogether, relocating to the ground-floor guest room, where the cooling, though still inadequate, at least rendered the space tolerable.

Of course, we reported the issue to Amay Properties. As had become routine by this stage, Janine’s response was brief and dismissive. According to her, the air-conditioning company “knew what they were doing,” and the system installed was, in her words, “working perfectly”. But nobody ever came out to check!!!!!

But we were no longer sleeping in our own bedroom. That reality alone made the claim difficult to accept. Determined to resolve the issue independently, we sought expert opinions outside Amay’s sphere of influence.

The first technician arrived, inserted a temperature probe into the air vent, confirmed that 16°C air was blowing out, and declared the system “perfect.”

Cost: €55.

Outcome: No solution.

All this proved was that the system was capable of generating a core temperature at the source – but not for the space. 

The second specialist finally introduced logic into the discussion. He assessed the room volume, insulation, and unit capacity, then confirmed what we had already suspected: the installed unit was simply too small for the space it was intended to cool.

Worse still, he explained that the pipework embedded within the walls was sized only for that smaller unit. Installing a more powerful system would require larger piping, which in turn would mean opening walls and major reconstruction. He promised to investigate whether a compatible alternative existed, another €50 for no immediate solution, but he did promise to research and revert but we never heard from him again.

The third expert arrived with a more cautious optimism. He agreed that the system was underpowered but suggested one final attempt of solution. Re-gassing the unit, which might yield a marginal improvement of one or two degrees. We agreed, paid €220, and hoped. There was no improvement. He concluded that the units were too small for the size of the space. By this point, we were €320 out of pocket, exhausted, and still unable to sleep in our own bedroom.

Frustrated and increasingly sceptical, I began researching HVAC systems myself. Technical specifications, load calculations, unit-to-room ratios, and industry standards.

The conclusion was unavoidable. Both air-conditioning units installed by Amay appeared undersized for the spaces they were expected to serve. While cold air was being produced, the systems lacked the capacity to meaningfully reduce ambient temperatures in the rooms concerned. In simple terms, the systems could blow cold air, but they could not cool the space.

Armed with this information, we once again approached Amay Properties, outlining the findings and hoping that evidence, logic, and reason might finally prompt a solution. The response was unchanged. Amay stood by its original position: “Our AC supplier knows what they are doing”. And still. Nobody ever came to check. With that, the matter was dismissed, another legitimate concern set aside, another unresolved issue added to an ever-growing snag list.

The Honourable Thing

I began to realise that reasoned discussion and appeals to empathy were not leading to resolution. This prompted a difficult internal question:

How do you address a situation where accountability does not appear to be a priority? For me, the only constructive response was to rely on truth and transparency, not as an act of hostility, but as an obligation to integrity.

That is when I decided to tell our story publicly, as a warning to others, as a record of events, and perhaps, optimistically, as an invitation for Amay Properties to act with the integrity they so frequently promote, but which we had yet to experience.

When I published Part One of our story on 2 December 2024, I wanted to ensure my actions were transparent and informed Lea Garcia, CEO of Amay Properties by email. I shared the link, explained our intentions, and outlined the substance of what had been written. There was no response. That silence was consistent with everything we had experienced to date.

By this stage, it felt as though Amay Properties considered itself untouchable, or at least beyond consequence.

In a moment of frustration, I shared a link to our story on Amay’s own Facebook page. It was not a decision I made lightly, nor one I felt particularly proud of. But it achieved what months of private correspondence had not: it got their attention.

Shortly afterwards, I received a call from our lawyer. Amay Properties had engaged a law firm and was threatening legal action for “defamation and insult.” They demanded that we cease publication, withdraw social media posts, and remove the story from our website.

They also proposed a meeting. Here is a short extract from their email to our lawyer: “I expect you to act and end this by talking to your client”. The correspondence was dated 16 December 2024. They added that they were willing to offer “an amicable solution, which is best for both parties”. No meeting ever took place, and no, I did not stop telling our story. 

In truth, I was uncomfortable with how that moment unfolded. Not because of fear, but because it did not align with my values. I removed the posts from Amay’s Facebook page, not under pressure, but out of principle. What struck me as curious was this: Amay could have hidden the posts. They could have blocked me, and to this day, they have done neither. Whether that was confidence, indifference, or miscalculation, I leave for others to decide.

Chapter three ends not with resolution, but with resolve. We did not exaggerate, nor did we fabricate, and we did not seek conflict. We documented what happened, supported by evidence, and spoke openly about our lived experience.

If telling the truth invites threats, then the problem is not the truth; it is the discomfort it causes, and so, we continue.

CHAPTER FOUR

2025

By sharing our experience, our intention is not to dissuade people from buying property in Spain. Spain is a beautiful country with extraordinary people, a rich culture, and many reputable developers who deliver quality homes with professionalism and care. But our story stands as a reminder that not every experience unfolds as promised.

The dream of owning a home abroad should never come at the cost of prolonged stress, emotional exhaustion, or financial vulnerability. Unfortunately, our journey demonstrates how easily optimism can be eroded when expectations are met with resistance, silence, and a lack of accountability.

This story exists for one reason only: to help future buyers make informed decisions before committing their life savings.

What We Wish We Had Known

Looking back, there are lessons we wish someone had shared with us, lessons learned not through theory, but through lived experience.

If you are considering purchasing a property in Spain, particularly off-plan, we strongly encourage you to consider the following.

1. Conduct Independent and Thorough Research. Do not rely solely on marketing material, sales offices, or reputation by association.

a. Research the developer independently

b. Seek out recent buyer experiences, not curated testimonials

c. Speak directly to existing homeowners where possible

d. Look beyond the finished show home, focus on after-sales experiences

A polished brochure does not guarantee professional conduct once contracts are signed.

2. Verify Legal Documentation Yourself. Never assume that documentation will “be sorted later”. Before completing any purchase, ensure that: –

a. The Habitation Certificate (or its legal equivalent) is issued

b. Final works certificates have been approved by the Town Hall

c. Any promises relating to future completion are clearly documented

Letters of undertaking may sound reassuring, but they are not a substitute for completion. If a property is not legally habitable at handover, the burden often falls on the buyer, not the builder.

3. Choose Legal Representation Carefully, and Stay Involved. A lawyer is essential, but no lawyer will care about your home as much as you do.

a. Ensure your lawyer specialises in Spanish property law

b. Ask direct questions and insist on clear answers

c. Request copies of all filings, submissions, and approvals

d. Do not disengage from the process simply because you have legal representation

Legal professionals guide, they do not manage construction realities.

4. Document Everything, From Day One. Keep meticulous records:

a. Emails

b. WhatsApp messages

c. Photographs

d. Site visit notes

e. Dates, names, and promises made

Documentation becomes invaluable if disputes arise. Memories fade. Paper trails do not.

5. Trust Your Instincts; they will not fail you, and Act Early.  If something feels wrong, it usually is. Repeated delays, evasive answers, shifting explanations, or resistance to transparency are not “just part of the process.” They are signals. Ignoring them only compounds future difficulty.

Address concerns early. Escalate when necessary. Silence benefits no one.

A Final Word to Buyers

We did not enter this process looking for conflict. We wanted a home, not a dispute, not a documentary, not years of stress. Our hope is that by sharing what we experienced, others will be better prepared, better protected, and better informed.

Spain deserves homebuyers who feel safe, respected, and supported, and homebuyers deserve developers who honour their commitments, not just in words, but in actions.

Another Year of Hope, Another Year of Betrayal

Moving to Spain was meant to mark the beginning of a new chapter in our lives, one defined by sunlight, balance, creativity, and peace of mind. It was supposed to be a time of renewal. A slower rhythm. Space to travel, to write, and to enjoy the simple privileges that come with choosing a new country to call home.

That was the plan. That was the dream.

But almost immediately after purchasing a villa from Amay Properties, that dream began to unravel. Instead of settling into a life of calm and possibility, we found ourselves plunged into a prolonged state of uncertainty and vigilance. What should have been a joyful transition became a daily exercise in stress management, chasing updates, clarifying contradictions, and defending agreements that had already been agreed, signed, paid for, confirmed and confirmed again.

This condition did not last weeks or months. It persisted year after year, and even when we believed the relationship with the developer might finally be coming to an end, it became clear that closure was not going to arrive quickly, cleanly, or with dignity.

The Normalisation of the Unacceptable

One of the most disturbing aspects of this experience was not just what happened to us, but how often it was casually dismissed by others.

There exists a widely accepted and troubling narrative among some foreign residents in Spain: that when non-nationals are overcharged, misled, delayed, or treated dismissively by builders, tradespeople, service providers, or even professionals, it is brushed aside with familiar phrases: “Ah well, it’s Spain”, or “What do you expect, its Spain?”.

These statements are often delivered with a shrug, as if inconvenience, stress, and diminished standards are simply part of the price of living abroad.

I reject that mindset entirely. Standards Should Not Be Conditional. I expect honour,  integrity, and  I expect respect. To be treated with professional standards that apply equally, regardless of nationality, language, or country of origin.

To mere suggest that immigrants or foreign buyers should quietly accept sub-standard treatment from companies that actively market themselves as professional, reputable, and premium is not cultural sensitivity, it is resignation. And resignation enables poor behaviour to continue unchecked.

Why should any company be considered beyond accountability simply because it operates within a system unfamiliar to the buyer? Why should stress, miscommunication, or prolonged delay be treated as an unspoken condition of doing business? and why should silence be expected from those who experience it?

The Purpose of This Account

As stated earlier, the purpose of this story is not to instruct, accuse, or dictate conclusions. It is to document. 

This account reflects our personal experience, perceptions, and opinions, supported by contemporaneous records and correspondence. It exists so that others, from anywhere in the world, can read what we have encountered with Amay Properties and decide for themselves whether they are prepared to accept similar risks.

If people are informed, they can prepare. If they are aware, they can protect themselves. Without that awareness, the process can feel, as it did for us, like navigating a system that is unpredictable, opaque, and difficult to challenge. At times, it resembled what was described to us more than once as a kind of “wild west” environment, where responsibility is easily deflected and accountability slow to arrive.

That description is not an accusation. It is an expression of how the experience felt from the position of the consumer.

Hope, Repeated — and Repeatedly Undermined

Each year brought renewed hope that matters would finally be resolved. Each year ended with that hope quietly eroded. Promises were made. Timelines were suggested. Reassurances were offered, and yet, a meaningful resolution remained elusive.

This cycle, hope followed by disappointment,  is one of the most exhausting aspects of prolonged disputes. It drains energy, clouds judgment, and tests patience in ways few people anticipate when they begin what should be a straightforward property purchase.

This story is not about bitterness. It is about clarity. It exists to challenge the idea that buyers must simply endure poor treatment in silence, particularly when they are far from their home country and navigating unfamiliar systems.

Respect is not cultural. Integrity is not optional, and accountability should never depend on where someone comes from.

2025: Hope Repeating Itself

The year 2025 began exactly where the previous three years had ended, still entangled with Amay Properties. Once again, it was characterised by waiting, expecting, hoping, and, regrettably, even praying that progress might finally materialise.

As with the preceding years, the early weeks of January passed without anything tangible occurring. On 10 January, I emailed our lawyer, Tanash Utamchandani, requesting an update. His reply arrived three days later, a delay that, in fairness, might ordinarily be understandable given the post-holiday period. He advised that he was expecting to meet with representatives of AmayProperties soon. At the time, this sounded cautiously promising.

I responded on 14 January. Another three days passed. There was no reply. Silence resumed until 29 January, when Tanash Utamchandani informed us that Amay’s lawyers wished to resolve the matter but were still awaiting instructions from their client. Based on our prior experience, this explanation felt uncomfortably familiar, a recurring refrain that had accompanied many previous delays.

Later that same day, Tanash Utamchandani advised that Amay’s lawyers were now in possession of the Habitation Certificate and were seeking a date to complete the outstanding works, including the long-awaited bathroom installation.

In theory, this should have been good news, and objectively, it was. We had waited seven months for confirmation of either item. Yet the relief was immediately tempered by a new and very real concern: the prospect of allowing contractors back into our home, contractors whose involvement over the previous three years had caused significant stress and emotional strain. By this stage, trust had been eroded to the point where even “progress” felt threatening rather than reassuring.

A Missed Opportunity to Resolve Matters

Through our lawyer, we made what we considered a reasonable and proportionate proposal. We offered AMAY Properties the opportunity to resolve matters amicably through:

  •  a simple apology, and

  •  a modest gesture of compensation to demonstrate genuine intent.

In return, we were prepared to absorb the remaining costs ourselves and bring the matter to a close. That proposal did not lead to a resolution. Instead, communication once again stalled.

On 3 February, I contacted Tanash Utamchandani seeking an update. His reply arrived eight days later, on 11 February, advising that Amay were requesting a date to carry out the works. We immediately submitted the final snag list and again requested clarity on timing, duration, and scope, information we had been seeking consistently for months.

At some point thereafter, Amay indicated that they had not received the snag list or that it had not reached them. Whether this was a failure of transmission or internal communication, the effect was the same: further confusion and further delay.

Around this time, we also received the Acta de Inspección, which we were advised would allow us to collect the Habitation Certificate. As events later demonstrated, this understanding was not entirely accurate,  a matter that would become clearer as the year progressed.

Waiting Without Progress

On 18 February, we were informed that AMAY’s lawyers were requesting an inspection date. Our concerns at this point were neither new nor unreasonable:

We still had no clarity on what work would be carried out

No indication of how long it would take

No confirmation of who would be responsible

Despite repeatedly raising these questions through our lawyer, they remained unanswered. Nevertheless, in an effort to move matters forward, we agreed to an inspection and provided for the convenience of Amay, a wide range of availability, offering multiple dates between 21 and 29 February, from 10 am to 3 pm.

For nine consecutive days, we remained at home, waiting. No one from AMAY Properties arrived.

On 27 February, Tanash Utamchandani  wrote to us:

“I have asked them to specify the works to carry out, and they are not sure… so they will contact Amay for that and also know how long the works will take. The Layers agree that the snag list is a minor issue, and Amay should not have a problem addressing them.

In any case, they are insisting on a specific day and time to start moving this forward. Which would be the best day for you for next week?”

Yet by early March, there was still no progress. I contacted Tanash Utamchandani again. He responded:

“What I can say is that the paperwork issued by the Town Hall is at the moment in order, so we are progressing after they have remedied the application. Now they must conclude the pending work.

I just got a call from their Lawyers, and their client has not given them an answer yet. What they are telling me is that they have third-party constructors and have to confirm the date and timing. Also, they want their personal technician to inspect the snag list damages in person. I requested an immediate answer to our questions, so I expect a reply today o tomorrow.

Whatever has to be done will be at an agreed day and time and in front of you, so you will always be there. In any case, I expect the work to be solved”.

By this point, we had heard similar assurances many times before. Hope, once again, was being asked to repeat itself.

On 10 March, at 7:54 pm, I received a telephone call from Tanash Utamchandani, advising that a meeting would take place at our villa on the 24th, at 8:00 am, for the purpose of commencing the outstanding works. On the surface, this sounded like progress. In reality, it felt like déjà vu.

During that call, I voiced my concerns openly and clearly. These concerns were not abstract or theoretical; they were shaped by three years of unfulfilled commitments, missed timelines, shifting explanations, and the cumulative emotional strain that accompanies prolonged uncertainty. We were being asked, yet again, to place blind faith in a process that had consistently failed to deliver, without any meaningful safeguards, defined scope, or reliable timeline.

There was no written schedule. No confirmation of duration. No clarity on who would attend or what would be completed. We were simply expected to trust — again.

It was during this same conversation that Tanash Utamchandani informed me he would not be present at the meeting. In that moment, my confidence in him as our legal representative collapsed entirely.

After everything that had occurred, after months of delays, unanswered questions, and unresolved issues, his absence felt less like a scheduling choice and more like abandonment. Legal representation, particularly in a situation as protracted and sensitive as this, is not merely about paperwork. It is about presence, advocacy, and accountability. That sense of representation evaporated in a single sentence.

Request for Correspondence and a Growing Unease

In the days that followed, I formally requested a complete transcript of all correspondence that Tanash Utamchandani had received from Amay Properties and their legal representatives. I explained clearly that this request was not adversarial, but practical. I needed full clarity and accuracy in order to properly understand the history of communications and to ensure our account was complete. Despite this, he appeared reluctant to comply.

After repeated requests over the course of five days, he eventually sent what he described as all correspondence received from Amay. What arrived, however, consisted of only a small handful of emails. From my perspective, this raised serious concerns.

There were only two possible explanations. One was that very little communication had taken place between the parties over an extended period, or, that correspondence had gone unanswered, unshared, or otherwise omitted. Neither explanation inspired confidence.

I continued to request the remaining emails, asking simply for transparency. No further documentation was provided. At that point, it became clear to me that continuing under the existing legal arrangement was no longer appropriate.

A Necessary Change of Legal Representation

I began seeking alternative legal representation and was referred to CHAPAPRIA NAVARRO Y ASOCIADOS by a businessman we had come to know. We arranged a meeting with Tatiana Tsur on Friday, the 14th, and after discussion, we formally engaged her and her firm that day.

From the outset, the difference in approach was immediately apparent. She acted decisively, professionally, and without hesitation. She promptly notified Tanash Utamchandani that her firm would be assuming responsibility for the case and formally informed Amay’s legal representatives of the change.

This transition was handled with clarity and courtesy. Coincidentally, and notably, on that same day, the 14th, Tanash Utamchandani emailed me to confirm that works were scheduled to commence on the 24th. Once again, I used this opportunity to request the full email transcripts, emphasising that I required them solely for clarity and accuracy.

His response was unexpected. He stated that the information was sensitive and that he did not want his name published. In an effort to resolve this impasse, I gave him my word that if he provided the requested documentation, I would omit his name from our account entirely. Despite that assurance, the information was never provided.

I wrote to him one final time, reiterating my request for the correspondence and explaining, once again, that this was about transparency and understanding, not attribution or blame.

In that same message, I also suggested that he consider refunding the fees we had paid, as we felt his service had fallen short of what we reasonably expected given the duration, complexity, and seriousness of the matter. His reply, which I perceived as unnecessarily aggressive in tone, marked the definitive end of our professional relationship. 

Legal representation is built on confidence, transparency, and advocacy. When those elements disappear, continuing the relationship serves no one. By mid-March 2025, after three years of delays and disappointment, and after exhausting every reasonable avenue for resolution, we were forced to accept a difficult truth – The system we had trusted, legal, professional, and procedural, had repeatedly failed to protect us.

But there was still hope, I believed in our new Lawyer. I believed in Tatiana Tsur. 

A Comparison of Legal Engagements

During the entire period that Tanash Utamchandani acted on our behalf, his direct engagement with us was limited. We met with him only once, on the day we initially instructed him. Over the course of several months, we had two telephone calls, and email responses were often delayed, and on some occasions, not received at all.

By contrast, the difference following our engagement with Tatiana on 14 March was immediate and striking.

By 5 May, she had:

    Met with me three times in person

    Contacted me by telephone six times

    Responded to every email within 24 hours

This contrast was not simply about availability. It reflected a fundamentally different level of engagement, diligence, and client communication. In a situation as prolonged and complex as ours, that difference mattered greatly.

Proceeding with the 24th Inspection

Despite the change in legal representation, we remained committed to the scheduled inspection date of the 24th. Tatiana advised that cancelling or altering the date would not be appropriate and could be misconstrued. We accepted that advice and agreed to allow events to unfold as planned.

On 21 March, Tatiana informed me by email that Sergio Correas, Amay’s lawyer, along with Amay technicians, would attend the villa at 8:00 am on the 24th to carry out an inspection and comment on the works.

That same day, I received a WhatsApp message from Astrid, asking whether it would be acceptable for her and Janine to attend at 8:30 am to commence work on the basement. I sought clarification, asking explicitly whether the basement was the sole focus of their visit. Astrid confirmed that it was.

This immediately created confusion. We had been told to expect a legal inspection at 8:00 am, followed by work at 8:30 am, yet no one had clarified the scope, duration, or authority.

Believing this inspection to be pivotal, we prepared thoroughly.

We printed the final snag list, translated it into Spanish and produced multiple copies so that all parties would be working from identical information

The list had already been sent to our lawyer, who had forwarded it to Amay’s lawyer in advance.

During these preparations, we recalled that we had not used the guest bathroom shower since it had been repaired the previous October. That repair had followed a significant leak which had caused water to escape into the basement, requiring Amay plumbers to excavate the shower floor to reseal the waste.

Out of caution, we tested the shower. It was still leaking. In the basement, water visibly escaped from the guest bathroom and travelled through the ceiling, precisely the area where the new bathroom was now scheduled to be constructed.

While deeply disappointing, we were also relieved to have identified this issue before any further work commenced. We immediately informed our lawyer and sent an updated snag list clearly documenting the active leak as a defect. The revised lists were printed and ready for distribution on the day of the inspection.

On the morning of the 24th, we were expecting the attendance of Sergio Correas, Amay’s lawyer, who, incidentally, had failed to attend nine previously scheduled appointments, along with Amay’s technicians. Once again, no one arrived.

At 8:30 am, however, Astrid and Janine arrived, accompanied by two tradesmen. They informed us that the tradesmen were there to begin construction of the basement bathroom, as per the contract. Astrid confirmed upon arrival that their visit was limited to the basement.

I immediately raised the issue of the ongoing leak and visible dampness, explaining that proceeding with construction under those conditions would be inappropriate and potentially negligent. Astrid suggested that the dampness could simply be dried using a dryer. I objected.

I explained that drying visible moisture without identifying and repairing the source would not resolve the problem and that recurrence was inevitable. I also pointed out that the issue had already been documented on the updated snag list sent in advance.

To ensure clarity, I physically demonstrated the source of the leak and the areas affected by dampness. At that point, it became apparent that Janine was working from an outdated snag list. I handed her the updated version.

This moment crystallised a pattern we had experienced repeatedly:

 Incomplete information

 Misaligned expectations

Works are scheduled without proper inspection

Decisions made without reference to the most current documentation

Despite our efforts to prepare thoroughly and communicate clearly, we once again found ourselves explaining fundamental issues on the spot, issues that should have been identified and resolved long before tradesmen arrived.

The inspection we had anticipated never materialised. Instead, what unfolded was yet another example of fragmented communication and procedural confusion, with real consequences for the integrity of the works.

Janine stated that she had never seen the updated snag list. She appeared visibly frustrated and explained that she worked half-days on Fridays and had therefore not received it. According to her, the arrangements for the day had been made based solely on the version of the list already in her possession.

She further stated that she had not read the list in detail. Given the repeated confusion surrounding documentation, this interaction was recorded for transparency and clarity.

Astrid then explained that they would not have attended the villa had they been aware of the active leak. She also confirmed that the contractors present did not have the materials required to complete the bathroom works as intended.

After further discussion, Astrid outlined that only limited work would be undertaken that day. She stated that Amay would return once the leak and dampness issues had been resolved. During this discussion, Janine disengaged and left the immediate area. She was later observed speaking on her mobile telephone. We subsequently learned that she was speaking with Vicente Barberá, one of the principals of Amay Properties.

Astrid advised that Janine would arrange for someone to address the leak and dampness. She apologised for attending the villa without full awareness of the outstanding issues. I reiterated that all relevant information had been sent well in advance and that we had reasonably expected a prior inspection to take place before any works commenced. That inspection never occurred.

During the visit, I explained that, based on observation, I suspected the dampness originated from the guest bathroom shower. Astrid confirmed that, given the circumstances, only structural work would be undertaken that day, with plumbing and electrical works to follow at a later stage once repairs had been completed.

I asked whether the workers would attend on a daily basis until completion. Astrid confirmed that they would only be present that day, returning at some unspecified point after the electrical and plumbing works were addressed.

We then raised concerns regarding the fact that the ceiling had already been installed, plastered, and painted, while the air-conditioning system remained boxed on the floor. From our perspective, this appeared inefficient, as the ceiling would likely need to be removed to allow installation of the system.

During this discussion, the contractors present also expressed concern that the existing ceiling height was already limited. Astrid indicated that she would arrange for the installation of the air-conditioning system, as she understood that it had already been installed.

At this point, I reminded Astrid that I had raised these same concerns with Janine over a year earlier, at which time I had been told that the builders “knew what they were doing.” Astrid acknowledged that she recalled that discussion.

To ensure clarity, I handed Astrid a copy of the updated snag list.

Janine later returned and stated that she had spoken with her “chief”. She reiterated that the only list she had was the earlier version. When I sought clarification, she confirmed that she did not have the updated list.

She explained that communications were taking place between lawyers and not directly with her, and that the list she was working from was the one supplied to her by Amay’s lawyer. She reiterated that the work being carried out that day would be limited strictly to the wall structure.

When I again raised concerns about dampness, active leaks, and ceiling clearance for the air-conditioning system, she replied that her superior knew how these matters would be addressed, even if she herself did not.

Astrid confirmed that wall construction would proceed that day and that remaining works would follow at a later stage. Before they left, I requested advance notice of any future attendance so that we could ensure we were present. Janine responded that our lawyer would inform us.

It appeared, therefore, that communication would flow from Amay to their lawyer, to our lawyer, and only then to us, rather than by direct notification. This approach made little sense to me at the time. However, by this stage, very little about the process did.

Perspective and Experience

I am not Spanish, nor am I deeply familiar with construction practices in Spain. However, I previously ran a construction business in Ireland and have firsthand experience of Irish building standards, sequencing, and professional accountability.

The contrast in approach, particularly in relation to documentation, communication, and coordination, was difficult for me to reconcile.

The schedule below sets out the dates and times during which we made ourselves available for the completion of the basement bathroom. In my estimation, based on prior professional experience, if this work were taking place in Ireland, it would typically be completed within two weeks or less, depending on sequencing and material availability.

What followed instead was a prolonged and fragmented process, a Timeline of Delays and the Illusion of Progress. 

Basement Bathroom – A Record of Attendance

What follows is a factual timeline of attendance and activity relating to the basement bathroom works. It reflects the dates on which we made ourselves available and the limited progress that occurred.

24/03/2025 – Works commenced but could not progress as intended. A partial wall was constructed, pending plumbing repairs to resolve an active leak.

25/03/2025 – No tradespeople attended.

26/03/2025 – No tradespeople attended.

27/03/2025 – No tradespeople attended.

28/03/2025 – No tradespeople attended.

01/04/2025 – Plumber attended to address the leak – The leak was not resolved.

02/04/2025 – Plumber and air-conditioning technician attended – the leak remained unresolved.

03/04/2025 – Plumber arrived at 8:00 am and left at 9:00 am.  We were informed he could not fix the leak and did not know when he would return

04/04/2025 – Plumber arrived without prior appointment at 11:00 am.  He opened a hole in the utility room wall and carried out works that, on that day, appeared to resolve the leak.

07/04/2025 – No tradespeople attended.

08/04/2025 – Contractor arrived at 8:40 am, left at 1:45 pm, and returned at 3:05 pm. Some wall structures were constructed.

09/04/2025 – Contractor arrived at 8:00 am and completed the shell of the bathroom. We were informed that their part of the work was complete.

10/04/2025 – No tradespeople attended.

11/04/2025 – No tradespeople attended.

What remained was a bathroom shell, first-fix plumbing and electrics, and an installed air-conditioning component. That was the full extent of the work. The 21-day deadline referenced in correspondence had passed without completion.

From our perspective, this pattern, brief bursts of activity followed by prolonged absence, unclear scheduling, and no continuity, had by then become familiar throughout our dealings on this project.

Nothing further occurred in relation to the basement bathroom until 20 May.

Town Hall Follow-Up on the Habitation Certificate

In the interim, our lawyer arranged another meeting at the Town Hall with Señor Quesada Pérez, this time specifically to follow up on the status of the Habitation Certificate.

As previously outlined, our former lawyer, Tanash Utamchandani, had obtained an inspection document which we were advised represented a step toward securing the certificate.

The meeting at the Town Hall was cordial and informative. We were advised that the inspection document we had already had since mid-February was, in fact, the Habitation Certificate itself.

We left the office feeling both relieved and confused.

Relieved — because the certificate existed.

Confused — because we could not understand why the situation had been presented to us as unresolved, or why the document had been described as something other than what it was. This discrepancy would become relevant again later.

Meeting at the Villa – 5th May with Amay Properties

The scheduled meeting on 5 May proceeded, with all parties in attendance:

Our lawyer, Tatiana and her assistant

Amay’s architect, Joaquin

Amay’s quantity surveyor

Sergio Correas Ferrer, Amay’s lawyer

Roy and myself

At the outset, the atmosphere was largely polite and formal, greetings were exchanged, and introductions made, with one notable exception. Señor Sergio Correas Ferrer did not acknowledge Roy or me, and appeared to avoid eye contact throughout the visit.

He positioned himself on the terrace and delivered what felt like a prepared statement, lasting approximately eight minutes, in a manner more reminiscent of a formal address than a collaborative site meeting. He spoke entirely in Spanish. However, we are English-speaking clients.

While I accept that living in another country carries with it a responsibility to learn the language, something I was, and remain, actively engaged in, I nonetheless required clarification on several points. Tatiana’s assistant provided translation where needed.

Based on the translation provided, the key points conveyed by Señor Correas Ferrer were as follows:

He stated that he was the superior of Antonio Lorente. Neither my lawyer nor I were familiar with this individual at that time.

He suggested that delays in the basement works were related to Town Hall inspection and approval matters, and stated that he was willing, during the meeting, to review what needed to be rectified.

I struggled to reconcile this explanation with our own understanding following our Town Hall meeting, where we were shown documentation indicating that Amay had not responded to a registered letter issued in March 2024.

He also stated, in substance, that I was “badmouthing” the construction company online or on various platforms. From my perspective, this set a defensive tone at the outset of the meeting.

For clarity, I do not consider myself to have “badmouthed” Amay Properties or its staff. What I have done, and continue to do, is document our experience as it occurred, supported by contemporaneous correspondence, timelines, and site observations.

That documentation of our experience includes:

repeated delays

changing explanations

inaccuracies

construction errors

and interactions we experienced as dismissive or disrespectful

Conduct, Accountability, and the Weight of Repetition

As previously noted, Amay’s CEO, Lea García, stated in a 2023 email that I was free to share my opinions with whomever I chose. I include this here only as context, to explain why the reference during the meeting to “badmouthing” the company felt misplaced to me.

I have not sought to disparage Amay Properties or its staff. What I have done is document our experience as it unfolded, supported by contemporaneous correspondence, site observations, and records. From my perspective, that distinction matters.

During the meeting, Señor Sergio Correas Ferrer also stated that our current lawyer was the third firm involved in the matter. Whether or not this was intended as commentary, I experienced it as having the effect of undermining our position in front of our new legal representative, rather than contributing constructively to resolving the outstanding issues.

In my opinion, Señor Correas Ferrer’s demeanour and body language throughout the inspection suggested impatience and a desire to conclude matters quickly. He took several telephone calls during the walkthrough and moved through the property at a pace. The overall impression was that insufficient time had been allocated to properly review the issues that had been outstanding for a considerable period.

As we walked through the terrace and into the villa, addressing each item on the snag list, I observed repeated dismissive gestures in response to points I raised. From my perspective, this manner of engagement had the effect of minimising issues that we considered significant, documented, and unresolved.

When we reached the first floor to discuss the air-conditioning system, or more accurately, a system that was not performing adequately, he appeared visibly uncomfortable due to the heat and was perspiring heavily. Despite these conditions, he maintained that the system presented no problem.

This was difficult for me to reconcile with our lived experience of the space, particularly given that the room temperature was demonstrably uncomfortable even during the inspection.

When we arrived at the car gate, I explained our concern clearly: there was no effective safety sensor, and the gate continued closing regardless of human or other obstruction. In our view, this represented a safety risk. He did not appear to regard the issue as significant.

In order to illustrate the concern, not as confrontation, but as a demonstration, I asked him to stand in the gateway while I initiated the closing sequence, stopping the gate just before contact was made. The purpose was to show that, without an effective safety mechanism, the gate would continue closing and could potentially cause injury or damage.

Shortly thereafter, he said goodbye to our lawyer and left the property without formally concluding the inspection or resolving the key issues raised. This abrupt departure compounded our frustration and left several matters unresolved.

Following his departure, we continued the inspection with Amay’s architect and quantity surveyor. During this discussion, multiple items were reviewed and, in large part, agreed upon.

I want to record this clearly and fairly: Joaquin, one of Amay’s architects, has consistently been courteous and professional in all of our interactions. In my experience, he has been a gentleman and significantly easier to engage with constructively than others involved in the process.

Reflecting on the prior disputes, particularly repeated assertions that certain works were “not in the contract”, it was encouraging to find that, during this meeting, Amay’s lawyer and architect largely accepted that the items we had been raising were, in fact, contractual obligations requiring action.

There were a small number of items on which further clarification was sought, including: The wall height and the air-conditioning system, with a commitment to revert on those issues.

In most areas, there was reluctant agreement to proceed. 

Almost a year after signing the deed and transferring a substantial sum of our hard-earned money, we were again left with what appeared to be a credible promise that the remaining work would finally be completed.

As I write this, I am conscious of how often we have heard similar assurances before, sometimes followed by promises, sometimes by agreements, sometimes by written confirmations, and yet still followed by delay and non-activity.

I do not record this to dramatise events. I record it because repetition changes people.

Repeated cycles of hope and disappointment wear down optimism and replace it with guarded expectation. That is where we now find ourselves, hopeful but cautious; willing to engage, but no longer able to trust without verification.

Return to the Bathroom Works

Returning to the unfinished basement bathroom, now three weeks into what was supposed to be a clearly defined and time-bound process, Janine requested a meeting at the villa with the tile store manager.

I will be honest. By this point, I found Janine extremely difficult to deal with. On this occasion, I was not pleasant towards her; my patience and tolerance had finally caved. I regret the way I expressed my frustration, because I mostly ignored her. I am not proud of that moment, but I include it deliberately, because it illustrates how prolonged stress, repeated delays, and constant friction can erode even the most patient and reasonable person. This process had worn me down.

During the meeting, Janine stated that the skirting tile required to match the existing basement skirting was no longer available. According to her, the only option now was a 600mm tile, whereas the original skirting tile measured 950mm.

I struggled to understand why this could not be resolved through cutting, matching, or sourcing an equivalent. After three years of similar explanations, my tolerance was gone. I responded curtly: “It’s not my problem”. I advised her to simply ensure that the finished tiles matched the room as originally agreed. She abruptly ended the meeting and asked the tile store manager to leave. To his credit, he remained courteous throughout, said goodbye politely, and departed.

Further Delays — and Then, Unexpected Progress

On 13 May, Sergio Correas emailed our lawyer stating that he would have a commencement date for all agreed-upon works within one week. This sounded promising.

Eight days later, our lawyer followed up. The reply was depressingly familiar: he was still awaiting instructions from his client.

At that moment, my heart sank. Based on everything we had experienced over the previous three years, it felt as though the familiar pattern had resumed, progress promised, then deferred, then quietly abandoned. I cannot state motive as fact. I can only describe how it felt. It felt like a process designed to frustrate, exhaust, and ultimately outlast us.

Bathroom Completion Timeline

Nearly two months after the bathroom “commencement,” the plumber finally attended on the 17th to install the bath. His assistant constructed a wall around the bath base, but without an inspection hatch, an omission that immediately raised my concerns about future access and maintenance; however, I remained silent.

Then, unexpectedly, momentum began to build. On Friday, Astrid texted asking if tilers could attend on Tuesday, 20 May, at 8:00 am. For the first time in a long while, we felt genuine relief. They arrived on time.

Tiles were delivered by finger crane, and the tile store manager attended in person to confirm grout colour and feature-tile placement. During this visit, something significant happened. He also delivered the skirting tiles. The same skirting tiles that Janine had previously stated were unavailable were now delivered, on site, and ready for installation.

The tilers worked for two full days, and by Wednesday, 21 May, the wall tiling was complete. The following morning, a carpenter arrived to measure for the bathroom door. The door was later fitted on 22 May, though not completed that day. Once again, I found myself wondering how such a straightforward task had become so drawn out.

The Wall Re-Measured — Again

On 3 June, Joaquin returned to re-measure the boundary wall that had already been agreed as undersized. This confused me. He had measured it on 5 May and agreed that it was 1.8 metres high. Had something changed? 

Approximately an hour later, he returned and asked to measure it again. The moment felt surreal, a kind of Groundhog Day repetition that had come to define this entire project. Nevertheless, I welcomed him and allowed access without complaint. He measured the same location again.

Between 5 and 11 June, a succession of trades attended the villa to complete the bathroom: a carpenter, plumber, painter, and electrician, each addressing isolated elements of the outstanding bathroom. While progress was visible, it remained fragmented, lacking coordination or any sense of structured scheduling.

On 12 June, our lawyer informed us that AMAY’s lawyer had once again promised to contact his client to urge the subcontractors to complete the remaining time-eternal list. To us, this explanation felt familiar. Responsibility appeared to drift perpetually between lawyers, directors, and subcontractors, while accountability remained elusive.

Between 13 and 19 June, the bath glass was installed, the window frame was sealed, and the basement bathroom was finally completed on 19 June. It had taken almost three months to complete a relatively small bathroom.

Measured purely by on-site trade attendance, and based on our prior experience with similar projects, this work could reasonably have been completed in approximately two working weeks, had it been properly planned, sequenced, and supervised. Instead, it became another drawn-out process marked by long absences, intermittent attendance, and repeated follow-ups.

Jacuzzi — New Failures, Familiar Silence

By 23 June, our lawyer was struggling to obtain dates for the remaining promised works. She wrote again to Amay’s lawyer, clearly listing the unresolved issues and requesting confirmation as to whether Amay intended to complete them. She emphasised that the air-conditioning issue was urgent and required a timely solution.

Two days later, the jacuzzi stopped working. I contacted Astrid to ask whether it could be repaired. Her response was brief: Janine had advised that the issue should be added to the list and communicated through the lawyers.

As of December, Amay Properties has never repaired the jacuzzi. We eventually arranged the repair ourselves. I do not speculate as to the reason. I simply record the sequence of events as they occurred.

Escalating Heat 

By early July, our lawyer continued to report difficulty in obtaining meaningful responses from Amay’s lawyer. At this stage, the air-conditioning issue had become critical.

As outdoor temperatures increased, the temperature in our master bedroom rose sharply. We ran the air-conditioning unit for ten consecutive hours overnight. The result was marginal at best: a reduction from 30.2°C at 11:00 pm to 26.6°C at 9:00 am the following morning. (Readings taken 3rd July PM and 4th July AM.)

Eventually, the situation became untenable. We were forced to abandon our master bedroom and sleep in the guest bedroom on the ground floor, which, while still warm, was at least marginally more tolerable.

Our lawyer proposed a further step: commissioning an independent technician’s report, including calculations demonstrating that the installed air-conditioning system was insufficient for the volume of space it was required to cool. This was suggested as a practical means of resolving the issue. This also did not lead to a resolution.

The Words That Would Not Leave Me

As I write this chapter, my thoughts keep returning to a single statement, one that, in hindsight, should have stopped me in my tracks. In May 2024, when I asked Janine to ensure that Vicente Barberá attended the pre-deed closure inspection and requested that our own architect also be present, her response was unequivocal.

On 31 May 2024 at 13:36, we were told that no architect,  not even ours,  would be permitted onto the property for the pre-deed closure inspection.

At the time, I dismissed it. I told myself that this was simply “how things were done,” or that pushing the issue would only create further conflict. I chose pragmatism over instinct. Now, writing this nineteen months later, I recognise that moment for what it was. It was a clear warning sign. An alarm bell, and I ignored it.

That decision remains one of my deepest regrets in this entire process.

Amay Properties lawyer gives us advice on Air Conditioning Protocols

During the first week of July, Amay’s lawyer contacted our lawyer to say that he was “looking into” the air-conditioning issue and would revert shortly. When no response followed, our lawyer attempted to contact him again. His phone was out of service. She left a message requesting an urgent return call, emphasising that the air-conditioning issue could not continue unresolved.

Later that week, he did call her back. However, he again provided no substantive answers. He explained that the decision was not his to make. Nevertheless, he assured her that he would have clarity by Monday or Tuesday.

On Monday, 7 July, our lawyer forwarded us a transcript of what had been communicated to her. It read as follows:

“Today I called the lawyer of the builder, and he told me the following:

1. Regarding the air conditioning, he told me that it is standard 

An air conditioning system is installed in all houses of this type.

He also told me that for houses in very hot areas, the rules of prevention should be applied:

• Keep windows open only for a couple of hours in the morning and then keep them closed

• Install awnings on the windows

• On the solarium on the roof, put a shading net. 

• Regarding the fence, he said that when the technician came, he measured the fence and, according to his measurement, it has a height of 1.80 metres as foreseen in the contract.

3. He also said that some of the things on the list have already been rectified.”

I read and re-read that email several times to ensure I had not misunderstood its meaning or tone. To me, the response felt dismissive and inappropriate.

We were not asking for lifestyle guidance. We were asking for a contracted home to be completed correctly, including an air-conditioning system capable of cooling the space it was installed to serve. Being advised to keep windows closed, install awnings, and apply shading nets to the solarium felt like an attempt to normalise a technical failure rather than address the problem.

The statement regarding the wall height caused similar frustration. Yes, the wall measured 1.8 metres. That fact was never in dispute. The issue was that the contract specified 2 metres. Repeating the existing measurement did not resolve the discrepancy; it merely restated it.

Finally, the assertion that “some of the things on the list have already been rectified” did not align with what we could see with our own eyes at the property at that time.

After taking time to regain composure, I replied to our lawyer and later spoke with her by telephone. She confirmed that she had spoken directly with Amay’s lawyer and formed the clear impression that the company was preparing to refuse to undertake any further works.

She also told me that he had indicated a burofax would be sent setting out that position, so that we could commission an expert report and, if necessary, proceed to court. She raised the air-conditioning issue again and asked a simple, logical question:

If an independent technical report demonstrated that the installed system was unsuitable for the space, would Amay then replace it? The answer relayed to us was unequivocal: “No.”

By July 2025, we had already paid Amay Properties over €600,000, only thirteen months earlier, for a villa that remained incomplete. We were now being told, in effect, that completion would not occur.

Why This Matters for Future Buyers

I am aware that many people have heard difficult stories about property development and post-completion issues in Spain. However, the question that continues to trouble me is this:

Why should any buyer, particularly one unfamiliar with the language, administrative system, or legal culture,  be placed in a position where they must fight simply to have contractual obligations honoured?

In our experience, the cost was not limited to money. It was months of stress, uncertainty, disrupted living arrangements, and constant vigilance. That is precisely why this story is being documented, not to instruct others on what to think, but to provide the level of detail we ourselves wish we had been given.

A Familiar Pattern: Promises Without Delivery

Ten days passed. No burofax arrived. No written position was received, and nothing followed. By this stage, a recurring pattern had become unmistakable: assurances, timelines, promises, followed by silence or non-fulfilment. I do not frame this as an assertion of intent; I describe it as the consistent experience we encountered.

Our lawyer then requested Amay’s business address so she could formally issue a burofax. In response, Amay’s lawyer asked for “a couple of days” so he could speak with his client again. Viewed in isolation, that request could be interpreted as a genuine attempt to resolve matters. Viewed in the context of the preceding three years, it felt like yet another pause inserted into an already protracted process.

No follow-up call came, and no clarity was provided.

The Court Process Begins

By mid-July, the cumulative weight of the previous three years had taken its toll. I was exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I was attending the Doctor more frequently, I was not sleeping, I was stressed, and I was increasingly impatient with this entire process, not because I wanted confrontation, but because the cycle of delay, explanation, and inaction had become intolerable. I communicated this openly to our lawyer, who suggested a call to outline, in clear terms, what the legal path ahead would involve.

During that call, our lawyer explained the formal steps required to bring a claim for breach of contract against the builder. Central to that process was the requirement to engage an independent, qualified architect who would inspect the property and certify whether the villa had been completed in accordance with the contract. That architect would then be required to prepare a detailed expert report, identifying defects, non-compliances, unfinished works, and the economic value of rectifying those issues.

The cost of commissioning such a report was high. The architect’s fees were not insignificant, and at that stage, we had already incurred substantial costs, both direct and indirect. Nonetheless, it became clear that without an expert report, we could not proceed meaningfully through the courts. Reluctantly, but decisively, we agreed to move forward.

By this point, my motivation had shifted.

It was no longer solely about recovering financial loss. It had become about accountability, ensuring that the issues we had experienced were examined formally within the legal system, and that our experience could be documented accurately and publicly so that others might make more informed decisions than we had been able to make at the outset.

Our lawyer also explained the boundaries of what could realistically be claimed. We could not claim our time, approximately 2,400 hours spent managing, monitoring, correcting, and pursuing completion of the build. We could not claim for stress, emotional strain, or moral damage in the way one might reasonably expect under other legal systems. The focus, she explained, was primarily on measurable financial loss and demonstrable contractual breach.

The fact that the villa had been due for completion in September 2023, and that we were now deep into 2025, appeared to carry far less legal weight than the costed value of remedial works.

Nevertheless, we chose to proceed. Not only for ourselves, but because we believed that documenting this process and making it public information might help others navigate similar situations with greater awareness and preparation.

A New Legal Hurdle

We were also advised that a new legal requirement had recently been introduced. Before initiating judicial proceedings, an additional burofax was now mandatory. The purpose of the legislation was to encourage resolution between parties and reduce the burden on the courts. In principle, this seemed reasonable when dealing with reasonable parties. In practice, for us, it introduced yet another delay: an additional 30-day window.

On 29 August, during one of the hottest summers Spain had experienced in years, our lawyer issued the required burofax. It granted thirty days for the completion of the thirty-four outstanding items on our snag list. These included, crucially, the air-conditioning system, which, based on observed performance and independent technical opinion,  appeared inadequate for the space it was intended to serve.

Our lawyer confirmed that the construction company’s solicitors received the registered letter and contacted her to say that they would provide a response in the first week of September.

Under the law, it appeared that Amay now had thirty days not merely to discuss dates, but to complete the works. In practical terms, that deadline fell on 29 September.

An Unexpected Message

On 24 September, I received an unexpected WhatsApp message from Astrid, sent from her private number, something that had not occurred before. The exchange unfolded as follows:

09:45 am – VOICE MSG: “I’m texting you here because I’m on vacation for two weeks. I have been asked by the workers: can the workers come to your house at 4.30 to look at the humidity?”

09:45 am – VOICE MSG: “Is that OK?”

09:46 am – Me: “Humidity?????”

09:46 am – VOICE MSG: “Ehhhhh, they tell me humidity, I don’t know, maybe it’s a different thing. If you want, you can explain me, but this is what they tell me.”

09:49 am – Me: “I need to check with the lawyer as we are way past giving time to Amay. We are preparing for court action at this point. So let me check, and so they can’t come until the lawyer tells me. Is that ok.”

09:50 am – VOICE MSG: “OK, David, thanks very much. But I will wait for your answers and check with the workers and check with Janine to see what the problem was, if it’s not humidity, maybe it’s something bad in the translation. Thank you very much, have a good day.”

My understanding of “humidity” is dampness. At that point, the only dampness issue we had experienced was in the basement, and we believed it had already been addressed before the bathroom work progressed.

I contacted our lawyer immediately. She had no prior knowledge of any proposed visit and confirmed something that had become central to our position: it was no longer useful for Amay to fix isolated issues, at times of their choosing, without written acceptance of the full list of unresolved contractual obligations.

We had a defined list. We had given time. We had followed the process. By this stage, the construction company had not accepted responsibility for completing the works fully or within any credible timeframe.

Our lawyer offered to call the construction company. I declined. We had been there before. Informal conversations, partial fixes, and vague assurances had led us repeatedly back to the same place. 

This time, the decision was clear. No more informal arrangements. No more isolated visits. No more cycles. We would proceed with litigation.

Our Architect Visit

On 26 September, our newly engaged architect arrived at the villa at 9:20 am. He was polite, professional, and spoke good English. We showed him around the property and then gave him space to conduct his appraisal independently. He advised that he would revert if further clarification was required.

In early October, my sister came to stay with us. For the first time in months, there was a brief sense of calm. Then an email arrived from our lawyer. It was 13 October, fourteen days after the thirty-day deadline set out in our burofax had expired.

Once again, I found myself thinking: What does a deadline actually mean in this process? In our experience, deadlines had often appeared to carry little practical consequence.

Our lawyer wrote: “We received a burofax from Amay in response to ours. I have attached it”.

She summarised its contents as follows:

“The burofax refers to a possible offence of libel and slander and alleged defamation due to the posts made on social media. Consequently, AMAY is requesting that you cease these actions, which the construction company considers to be ‘allegedly defamatory, sexist, misleading and libellous’, and is asking you to delete the posts already made within 15 days. If you fail to do so, AMAY states that it will take appropriate legal action with regard to the posts.”

My initial reaction was one I had come to recognise. Rather than addressing the outstanding contractual issues, it appeared that the focus had shifted toward the act of speaking out about them.

I want to be very clear: I am not stating motive as fact. I cannot do that. What I can state is the effect of receiving that burofax. To me, it felt like pressure. It felt like an attempt to discourage public discussion rather than resolve substantive problems. From my perspective, the timing did not feel coincidental.

Shortly before the burofax was issued, our architect had contacted Amay’s lawyer requesting a technical document that would normally form part of a completed property file. In simple terms, this document functions as a building “logbook”, a set of technical schematics and structural records relating to the villa.

Amay’s lawyer did not refuse to provide the document. Equally, he did not confirm when it would be supplied. The practical effect of that delay was that Amay became aware that we had not disengaged and that we were preparing a case supported by independent expert evidence.

That awareness appeared to mark a shift. Whether that shift was strategic or reactive, I cannot say. What I can say is that the tone of engagement changed. And with it, any remaining illusion that friendliness equated to safety quietly disappeared. This part, I’ll discuss at the end of the chapter.

Family and Friends Pressure 

When I told my sister about the legal threat, she became deeply upset. Her reaction came from fear, not disagreement. She urged me to take the story down, to delete the social media posts, and to make it all go away. Friends expressed similar concerns, not because they believed I was wrong, but because they could see the toll the situation was taking on our lives.

Their concern was understandable. The stress had been relentless. The pressure was real, and the risks felt unfamiliar and unsettling. But my response came from a much deeper place.

As a child, I experienced bullying at school, including physical and emotional mistreatment from both peers and authority figures. Later in life, I encountered further attempts at intimidation and marginalisation related to my sexual orientation. These experiences are part of my personal history. They shaped how I understand fear, silence, self-respect, and resilience.

Over time, rather than retreating inward, I learned to stand firm. I made a conscious decision many years ago that I would not remain silent in the face of behaviour that felt unjust or harmful, toward myself or, where possible, toward others.

Today, I try to live by the values of honour and integrity. I believe in speaking carefully, honestly, and responsibly when something matters.

That led me to ask myself a difficult but necessary question:

Who would I be if I removed my story simply because I was being pressured for telling it?

My account is a factual record of our experience. It is supported by correspondence, timelines, and documentation. It was not written to attack, insult, or defame anyone. It was written to document what occurred, as we experienced it.

To remove it entirely would have felt like denying not only our experience, but my own sense of self.

The Legal Reality of Criminal Defamation

I did not know it existed, but it does in Spain. In truth, I was so consumed by the shock of the threat that I barely read the burofax properly at the time. Fortunately, my lawyer acted quickly. She referred me to her firm’s criminal law division.

I learned something that surprised me: in Spain, defamation can be pursued as a criminal matter. That revelation distressed my sister even more.

I met with the criminal lawyer, who reviewed my story and the social media posts associated with it. He did not identify criminal intent. He did, however, recommend adjusting certain language to reduce risk. I took that advice seriously and made the changes.

What stayed with me most was not fear, it was insight. I learned that even when telling the truth, language matters. Tone matters. Precision matters.

It is not only what is said, but how it is framed. I already understood the distinction between fact and opinion. What surprised me was how easily truth can become vulnerable when phrasing is careless, and how quickly accuracy can be reframed as “problematic” if language lacks restraint. It was, for me, a revelation.

Confusing Contradiction

One detail continued to trouble me. In an email dated 23 February 2023, Lea García, CEO of Amay Properties, wrote the following:

“If, for that reason, you do not take into account the attention given, the speed of problem solving and our best wish that your home is done correctly, it is your opinion and as such you can express it to the groups of people you consider.”

To me, this appeared to be explicit permission to express my opinion publicly, including on social media, and to do so through any groups or communities I chose. I struggled to reconcile that statement with the later burofax threatening legal action for doing precisely that.

My feeling, and I state this clearly as my perception, not an assertion of intent, was that the tone and timing of the later communication had the effect of discouraging public discussion rather than addressing the substance of the issues raised.

Misplaced Trust

There is something quietly unsettling about how easily we can become blindsided when someone appears kind, friendly, and approachable, particularly when we are already worn down by conflict, stress, and prolonged uncertainty. In such circumstances, friendliness can feel like relief. Politeness can feel like protection, and familiarity can easily be mistaken for loyalty.

As I had earlier mentioned, I did not fully read the burofax on its arrival, but as I sit and complete this chapter on the 31^st December, for absolute clarity and to ensure no misunderstanding, I read the burofax intently. I noticed something that stopped me cold. Embedded within the legal document was a partial reference to Astrid’s WhatsApp message about “humidity.”

Seeing that message there felt like a punch to the stomach. Not because of any wrongdoing or lack of understanding of the word, but it suggested that a communication I had understood to be “informal” had been relayed onwards. It forced me to confront a difficult and uncomfortable realisation:- if that message had been shared, then it was possible that other personal exchanges may also not have been private in the way I had assumed.

I want to be clear and precise. I do not claim to know what information was shared, when it was shared, or with whom, and I make no assertion of fact in that regard. What I can describe is the personal impact of seeing a private exchange referenced within a formal legal document as purported context for a discussion about “humidity.” Experiencing that moment felt as though a personal boundary had been crossed, and it caused me to reflect on whether trust had once again been misplaced.

I had a friendly rapport with Astrid. Business-related matters were communicated through her professional WhatsApp account, while occasional personal conversations took place via her private WhatsApp. Those personal exchanges did not relate to or discuss our issues with her employer, Amay Properties.

Our personal conversations had been human. They were not about contracts or disputes. They were about everyday things: her life, her vacations, her dog; my dog; our vacations, small, ordinary moments shared between people that had come to know and like one another, while at the same time, navigating a difficult situation. At the time, I believed she genuinely cared and was uncomfortable with how we were being treated. Perhaps I misread her, or perhaps I misread the situation.

Either way, the emotional impact was real.

Betrayal is difficult to process at the best of times. It becomes even harder when you have spent decades working with people, counselling, listening, observing body language, reading tone, and relying on intuition. Betrayal presents a fork in the road for us all. We either close ourselves off entirely, or we continue to believe that goodness exists within humanity and that trust, cautiously given, still has a place.

In this instance, I chose the latter, and it felt, painfully, like the wrong choice.

Reflection

As I step back and reflect on the year that has just passed, I realise that 2025 taught me new vocabulary, not because the words were new, but because they became normalised. Words like misdirection, misinformation, problematic, and inappropriate became common currency.

To me, 2025 became the year where truth was everywhere, yet meaning was constantly contested. Where accountability was replaced by performance. Where distraction became a strategy.

When truth exists but attention is diverted, misdirection and misinformation have already succeeded, and so, for me, 2025 was not a failure of intelligence, but a warning about attention, courage, and the cost of looking away.

Read my article on 2025 The Year of Misdirection

CHAPTER FIVE

2026

Will publish as it unfolds.

Read our other Trade and Services experiences.