Residents are free to go where they want within the neighbourhood, when they want, without a carer. There is a supervisor watching out at the entrance gate.

Visitors, including from local areas outside, are welcome. Many would be hard-pressed to tell residents with dementia from the staff or volunteers who look out for them.

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Similar projects that share the vision of The Hogeweyk’s founders have opened since. But Spiering says: “We were lonely for a long time. Change is slow – traditional nursing homes continue to dominate the landscape of dementia care.”

Why aren’t there more places like The Hogeweyk and the 10 others whose efforts are in line with theirs, including Ageing Asia, an ageing market consultancy social enterprise?

Spiering says they wondered that too, but the vision on how to support people with dementia is “so medicalised”, it’s hard to change.

People need to understand that those who suffer from dementia are still individuals, Spiering says. They still have wants and needs and likes and dislikes. They shouldn’t be smothered by the shroud of a diagnosis.

At Le Village Landais, a village in France whose approach is in line with that of The Hogeweyk, “people can live as if they were at home, come and go as they wish”, says Mathilde Charon-Burnel, its project manager for major social and medico-social projects. People are not just viewed through the lens of their illness.

Spiering and her colleagues came up with the idea for an approach that was – and still is – radically different from the usual system of nursing homes because they weren’t happy with the traditional model. Thirty years ago, they asked themselves: how would you want to live if you were diagnosed with dementia?

You would want support and structure and security – but you wouldn’t want to be confined. And the environment at The Hogeweyk offers all of this.

The buildings and layout are mindful of the practical and physical support dementia sufferers need. But it’s a holistic approach, a humanising of care that is integral to the founders’ belief.

At The Hogeweyk, they work to create an environment that enables people to socialise and connect on their own and on their own terms, “in the supermarket, say, or on a walk or in the restaurant”, and in so doing they support normal human behaviour.

“Even in the final stages of Alzheimer’s, we see that old people seek to make their own choices and exhibit social behaviour,” Spiering says.

“Lost in their cognition, they may have a conversation which might not be understandable to us, but it is to them. And it’s important for connection and engagement.”

There are so many advantages to dementia sufferers of a living situation like this. The freedom residents enjoy is a huge and positive change for many of them, says Charon-Burnel.

“The available physiotherapy and occupational therapy are very important and help them maintain their abilities and skills for as long as possible,” she says.

I consider the photos of The Hogeweyk with its pleasant rooms, pretty gardens, activities for the elderly. But what strikes me most is the sense of community. This is a group of people at a similar age and stage in life, living together, independently.

My mother, who has dementia, lives with me. She has the advantage of care and love, and a home. But I am often aware she is not part of a like-minded community, where people have the time to sit down and talk or take a slow, gentle walk, or linger over a meal.

In my home, because we are younger and working, we’re obliged to move at a much quicker pace. Sometimes I think, even in the heart of family, that must be isolating for her.

Given what seem glaring advantages to this sort of living arrangement, why are there not more places like this for dementia sufferers?

There are several reasons, Spiering says: “One is the risk aversion, which is ingrained in traditional nursing homes. Instead of allowing people to get on with their lives, enjoy a certain freedom, to be outside, do what they want when they want, people are restrained, contained.”

Litigious culture is partly to blame: “Say an elderly person in a nursing home takes a walk and has a fall, that person’s family may sue.” No wonder traditional nursing homes lock inmates up, then.

My mum has Alzheimer’s. What caring for her has taught me about dementia

But in the real world, in a normal life, a person would be allowed to have a walk alone in a safe space. We believe, Spiering continues, that yes, if that person has a walk, she may fall. But that’s part of life.

I think about what she says and make a mental note to fret less every time my mother wants a potter in the garden. I vow to let her go alone and keep a close, distant eye on her instead. She does and I immediately notice a lift in her mood.

The other reason there aren’t more places like The Hogeweyk, Spiering says, is the completely medicalised view on delivering care for people with dementia.

“We wanted to get away from this and change it to what we called a social-relational model of care instead. We try to balance living, well-being and care because, after all, all humans need this, not just dementia sufferers.”

The power of the medical model is one of the things that hampers change to a social approach, she explains. “So much is to be gained from normalcy but we are hampered by rules and regulations.”

At The Hogeweyk and Village Landais, “nothing looks like a hospital. The staff don’t even wear white coats,” Charon-Burnel says.