A few years ago, in any given summer… ☀️ We received a reservation for 7 nights in the suite for a “slightly older” person… or so the reservation said. The day arrived and, at about 12 o’clock, a car appears. 🚗 Out of it comes a girl of about 40 years old, and from the passenger seat, a lady of about 80… looking great and leaning on a cane. 💁‍♀️👵

They approach the house, I introduce myself and show them around: the bar, the lounges, the chillout, the bedroom…. On the way out, the young woman says: “Mom, I’m going to get the suitcases”. 🚶‍♀️ She leaves, comes back with the suitcases and says: “Okay mommy…. there you go…. I’ll come get you in a week!” 🚶‍♀️

My face at that moment was a poem! 😳 Eyes like saucers. 🍽️ COOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRR?! 😱 And yes, indeed, the girl walked away, leaving me with the lady. “Everything ok?”, I ask her. “Yes, I’m just going to put my little things and then I’ll go out for a little while”, she answers very calmly. 😌

Meanwhile, I, who was having a few beers with friends 🍻, I say: “Oh God, what are we going to do? 😵‍💫”This lady could hardly fend for herself, let alone walk to Bàscara in the heat of the day… I’m sure she would get lost! 🌞 And at that time, we neither gave food nor had options. A poem, I tell you! 📜

MasTorrencito Schedule. Mrs. Mayor, her family and La Perla’s panties. 👵💼

After a while, the lady comes out and asks me, “What time do you eat?” 🍽️ I ALREADY KNEW THAT! This was going to happen to me… 😅 I explain to her: “We don’t serve lunch here, only breakfast and dinner…”. And she, with a face of “what do I do now?”: “And what do I do?” 😰 OUY! What a 7 days ahead of me… 😵 So I propose to her: “I have to go down to the village, if you want I’ll bring her closer, I’ll indicate places where she can eat and then she calls me, and I’ll come and pick her up.” 🚗

So I did. I take her to Bàscara, she eats at Portal de Bàscara, and after a while Xavi, the owner of the restaurant, calls me: “Miguel… this lady is not very well…” I ask him: “Why? 🤨 I ask him: “Why?” And he tells me: “She doesn’t like anything… she has put her foot down on everything… She has finished and told me to call you…”. 🤷‍♂️

Like the good Uber that I am, I stop what I’m doing and go to Bàscara to pick her up. 🚖 I pick her up, leave her in the yard and go upstairs to eat. She didn’t even thank me, but well, that’s the least of it… 😒 I thought so.

I’m eating quietly, and suddenly… I hear a scream! 😱 “SEÑOOOOOR SEÑOOOORRRRRR!” I run downstairs, thinking she might have fallen or something serious. When I get there, I ask her, “Did something happen?” and she, very serious, says, “Which is my room?” 🫠

Here is the full story with a humorous touch and more emoticons to bring it to life:

I show her the room again, and it was the suite… which is right at the entrance! 😅 The lady must have taken a nap because we never saw or heard her again… 😴 Well, at about 20:00 we went out to the terrace, it was possible to be outside, the temperature had dropped. 🌅 We started to drink some beers 🍻I asked the other customers if they had seen the lady… Everyone said no. 🤔

Is she alive? Mrs. Mayor, her Family and the Panties of La Perla 👵💼

UUUFFF… my little head was starting to think too much! 😨 I try to call her on the phone 📞, but she doesn’t answer. After 15 minutes, I decide to go to the room and call her… and I hear nothing. 😳 I call again… and nothing. 😟 I start to get annoyed… 😤 I call louder, and nothing! So I open the door and go in… 😬 I ask out loud if he was there… and he doesn’t answer. 😰 I walk to the room, open the door slowly… and… 😱

And there I was, watching TV 📺 and lying on the bed 🛏️. So I leave without saying anything, close the door and think: “Well… so until tomorrow”. Hahahahahaha, SUCK! 😆

It was almost eleven o’clock, and thank goodness Meme, the girl who cooked and gave the dinners, was there. 🍽️ He saw her coming out of the room and asked her, “What time is dinner?” 😅 Meme, who is a sweetheart, prepared a table for him and gave him dinner, yes, the lady complaining about everything. 🙄 But Meme, with infinite patience, calmed her down, the lady ate her dinner and went back to the room. 🛏️

The next morning, she went out for breakfast around 9:00. 🕘 She was super absent-minded, as if she didn’t know where the fuck she was…. 🤯 So we explained to her, she sat down to breakfast and, well… When she finishes, she had already had her room done. He comes in and, after a while, he calls out to me loudly, “LORD, LORD!” 😱 I approach, and he starts telling me that HE HAD BEEN STEALT. 😨 Imagine the situation… I ask him, “What is it you can’t find?” and he says, “My gold bracelet!” 💍

The loss of the ring. Mrs. Mayor, her family and La Perla’s panties. 👵💼

JOOOODERRR, what a brown! 🌰 I call the girl who had done the room and ask her, but she hadn’t seen anything. So we start checking the whole room from P to P: the bathroom, the bed, the mattress… and NOTHING. 😬 At that, one of the clients, who had already heard about it, goes to me and says: “Are you looking for this?” And yes… she was carrying it in her hand! 🤦‍♂️ The lady had left it on the breakfast table. So, all settled, he goes to the room and that’s how the morning went. 🌞

At lunchtime, I asked her what she was going to do, and she told me that she would eat at home. 🏡 I explained again that we were not doing it, and that if she wanted to, we could take her to Bàscara. 🚗 She said yes, so I took her back to the Portal, and exactly the same thing happened: complaints, rudeness… but ok. 😒 I brought her home and, at about seven o’clock, she starts calling me screaming, telling me that the “girls” had stolen her lace underwear… “UNAS BRAGUITAS DE ENCAJE DE LA PERLA”. 😱

I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, kick…or what. 😂 And she was going on and on about her underwear. So I decide to call her daughter and tell her: “COME AND SEE YOUR MOTHER… SHE IS NOT WELL”. 😬 And she answers me: “We are at the beach…”. 🏖️ With an amazing patience and temper, I replied: “Either you come and look for your mother and take her with you, or I call 112… by yourselves”. 😤

And yes… within the hour, HOUR, no more, the daughter was here and the husband, who didn’t even deign to get out of the car. 🚗 I spoke to the daughter and she says: “AGAIN?” And I, to myself, thought: “ARE YOU ONE OF THOSE WHO LIKE FRUIT?” 🍇 I leave her the bill, she takes out a card, pays… gathers her things, takes her mother by the hand… and takes her away. 😐 No apology, no “I’m sorry”… NOTHING! Flipante… 😳

I really wanted to denounce it. It is in these moments when you realize and reaffirm the idea that HUMAN BEINGS are the worst of nature. 🌍 No matter how much of a FRUITFUL CHILD her mother was with her, you don’t do that… You take her to a nursing home or to one of those assisted trips and that’s it. Although, of course, almost certainly, as the lady was, she would have been kicked out of INSERSO! Hahahahahahahahahaha 🤣

From Mas Torrencito we wish you a good day and that your dog accompanies you !!!!

—
If you want, you can see our vouchers for weekends, retirees vouchers, at an incredible price …enter www.mastorrencito.com or if you want you can read more history and anecdotes that have happened to us in Mas Torrencito … Click here

La entrada Mrs. Mayor, her family and La Perla’s Panties 👵💼 se publicó primero en Casa Rural con Perros Girona.

It was something I couldn’t explain, like an intuition that haunted me every time I passed by the fireplace in the living room. That crescent moon at the top, that strange design, seemed to scream at me that something didn’t fit.

I had been thinking about it for weeks, until I finally decided I couldn’t ignore it any longer. Vicente was around that day, taking the opportunity to “give me a hand,” as he puts it, even though we all know that means criticizing everything I do over coffee. Luckily, Manuela, our four-month-old golden puppy, was there to bring enthusiasm. Although, of course, her enthusiasm usually ends up with something broken or bitten.

-Vicente, I’m serious,” I said, pointing to the chimney. There’s something behind this wall. I can feel it.

-I’m sure there’s dust and spiders,” he replied, crossing his arms over his belly, “I’m sure there’s dust and spiders. I’m sure there’s dust and spiders. Do you really need more problems? You already have enough leaks and plugs that don’t work.

-You don’t understand, Vicente. This is different. Look at that shape, it doesn’t make sense. Besides, every time I pass by here I feel watched.

-Maybe it’s Manuela, who won’t take her eyes off you because she thinks you’re going to feed her,” he laughed, shaking his head.

Manuela, of course, didn’t help my argument, as at that moment she was running around in circles with one of my socks in her mouth, as if it were the best toy in the world.

-Let me prove it to you,” I said, grabbing the mallet I always keep handy.

-Come on, Miguel, this is not a professional demolition,” complained Vicente, standing up. If you break something important, don’t come crying to me later. I’m a driver, not a bricklayer.

–I reminded him, with a mocking smile.

He gave me one of those “you’re looking for me” looks, but he just stood there, folding his arms, while I started banging on the wall. With each blow, the noise echoed throughout the house, and dust fell from the ceiling as if MasTorrencito himself was complaining about what we were doing. Manuela excitedly barked and scampered around us, convinced that this was the best game of her young life.

Finally, after a final blow, the bricks gave way, exposing a dark hole.

-There it is,” I said, pointing the flashlight inside.

A cold air came out of the hole, laden with a smell of old stone and dampness. Vincent approached, more curious than he wanted to admit.

-Okay, Miguel, this doesn’t seem so normal anymore,” he admitted, peering into the hole with suspicion. What’s in there?

-That’s what we’re going to find out.

I turned on my flashlight and stepped into the dark space, with Vicente following close behind and Manuela, as always, leading the expedition with her overflowing enthusiasm. What we found on the other side was stranger than I had imagined.

It was a hidden room, clearly abandoned for decades. The walls were covered with mold and cobwebs, and the stone floor showed worn marks, as if someone had worked there at some point. But what caught my attention most were the stairs spiraling down into the depths.

-What now? -asked Vicente, with his hands on his hips. This is no longer normal. Do you really want to go down there?

-Of course I did,” I replied, excited.

-Come on, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Manuela didn’t even wait for an invitation. She was already at the edge of the stairs, sniffing excitedly and barking as if she had found the find of the century. I couldn’t blame her. I, too, felt we were about to discover something important.

The air grew thicker as we descended, and the echo of our footsteps echoed throughout the space. When we finally reached the end, what we found left us speechless: a solid wooden door, with a rusty iron lock and carved markings on the surface. It looked as old as the rest of the house, but also strangely intact.

-And this? -asked Vicente, pointing to the marks on the door. What the hell does it mean?

-I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” I replied.

While I examined the lock, Manuela sat in front of the door, panting and wagging her tail, as if she knew something we did not. Vicente, on the other hand, didn’t seem so enthusiastic.

-Miguel, I’m serious. I don’t like this anymore. What if we find something we shouldn’t?

-That’s exactly what I want.

And, with that determination, I pushed open the door. I could not imagine that what was on the other side would change everything I knew about MasTorrencito.

The door opened with a deep creak, as if MasTorrencito himself was sighing after years of keeping this secret hidden. An icy air rushed out from inside, making my skin crawl. Vicente, who had been grumbling all the way, fell silent. Even Manuela, who until then had not stopped wagging her tail, seemed to hold her breath.

I turned on the flashlight and illuminated the room on the other side. It was a stone room, large but charged with an oppressive air. The walls were bare, except for some marks that looked like they had been carved with rudimentary tools. But what caught my attention was a table in the center of the room. It was large, dark wood, with something covered by a black tarp.

-I told you, Miguel. I don’t like this at all,” muttered Vicente, standing behind me as if that would protect him from whatever we might find.

-Don’t be a chicken,” I replied, even though I felt a knot in my stomach.

-Wow, let’s go, let’s go! -cried Manuela, excited, running to the table.

She, at least, was not afraid. But I couldn’t take my eyes off that tarp. There was something about the shape underneath, something that didn’t fit what I expected to find in an old farmhouse. I approached slowly, Vincent right behind me.

-If there’s anything dead under there, I’m out of here,” he muttered nervously.

-Vicente, this is history. Don’t be exaggerated.

-History, he says. This is how all horror movies start.

I took a deep breath and grabbed the tarp. I lifted it carefully, fearing what I might find. At first, I saw only dust and cobwebs. But underneath was a trunk, a solid piece, decorated with carvings in the wood that I didn’t recognize. The lock was rusted, but it still seemed functional.

-A trunk… Right, because that’s not suspicious at all,” snorted Vicente, while I tried to open it.

-Vicente, someone hid this here. This is important.

-Important to whom? Because for me, important is not waking up to something I’d rather not know.

Manuela, of course, did not share Vicente’s concern. She was sitting next to me, panting and staring at the trunk as if expecting a prize inside. Finally, after struggling a bit with the lock, I managed to open it.

Inside the trunk were several objects wrapped in old cloth. I took out the first thing carefully: a leather diary, worn by time. Vincent, though feigning disinterest, could not help but move closer.

-What does it say? -he asked, leaning over my shoulder.

I opened the diary carefully. The pages were yellowed and brittle, but some words were legible. I ran my fingers over the first entry, written in hasty handwriting.

“I have closed the room to protect it. What we discovered here must not go out into the world. I could not destroy it, but at least I can hide it. If anyone finds this, I ask them to be careful. What we kept here should never have been unearthed.”

-Okay, Miguel, that’s enough. This is crazy,” said Vicente, taking a step back.
-Don’t you want to know what they found? -I answered.
-No, what I want is to get out of here. This smells like trouble.

Manuela, meanwhile, was sniffing a small object at the bottom of the trunk: an old key, wrapped in a cloth. I took it out and held it in front of the lantern. It was heavy and had an intricate design, as if it had been handmade centuries ago.

-This doesn’t end here,” I said to Vicente, showing him the key.
-Well, I say we leave it here. This is your house, not mine.

While we were arguing, Manuela started barking. I turned my head to see her sniffing one of the walls. She thumped her paw on the floor and then sat down, facing us with her tail wagging.

-What is it, little one? -I asked, approaching her.

-Come on, Miguel, you’re already seeing ghosts,” Vicente snorted.

But then I saw it: a crack in the wall that was not in plain sight. It was thin and vertical, right in the corner opposite the door where we had entered. It looked like an opening… or a door.

-This is an entrance,” I said, pointing at it with the flashlight.
-Don’t tell me you’re going to use that key,” replied Vicente, holding his hands to his head.
-Of course it is.

Manuela barked again, as if encouraging me, as I inserted the key into the barely visible slot in the crack. It turned with a dry click, and the wall slowly moved, revealing a dark passage that descended even further.

-Miguel, this is as far as I go. You can be as brave as you want, but this is already too much,” said Vicente, backing away.

-Vincent, think about it. This is a unique discovery. If someone hid this, it had to be for an important reason.

-Yes, so that people like you wouldn’t find it.

Manuela, oblivious to Vicente’s doubts, had already started down the passageway, her tail wagging frantically.

-I’m not going to let her go down alone,” I said, turning on the flashlight.

Vincent snorted, but finally followed me. -I’m always getting into your trouble. This has to end with a good barbecue, huh?

The passage was narrow and descended more than I expected. Each step echoed in the silence, and the air was colder and damp. When we reached the end, we encountered another door. This one was different, simpler, but seemed much older.

-What do we do now? -asked Vicente nervously.

-Enter, of course,” I replied.

I pulled the key out again, but this time, before I could turn it, we heard a noise on the other side. A thud, as if something had fallen. We looked at each other in silence, our hearts pounding.

TO BE CONTINUED………

From MasTorrencito we wish you a good day and that your dogs accompany you !!!!

—
If you want, you can see our vouchers for weekends, retirees vouchers, at an incredible price …enter www.mastorrencito.com or if you want you can read more history and anecdotes that have happened to us in Mas Torrencito … Click here

La entrada MasTorrencito’s Hidden Room: se publicó primero en Casa Rural con Perros Girona.

That weekend came with a tingle in my stomach. It was Friday and, as usual, I had sent the messages to the clients who were coming. But this time, something made me uneasy: four PPPs, those potentially dangerous dogs they talk so much about, would be gathering at the house.

I knew that everything could go well… but also that, if something went wrong, it could be complicated. One of the owners wasn’t at ease either. You could see it in the way he was looking at his dog, the way he was holding the leash in his hand, not letting go of it at all. Did he not trust his dog? Or was he afraid of what might happen to the others? No one knew.

But after thinking it over, we took the most logical decision: let them play and, if something went wrong, they would be tied up .

And then the real story began…

The first contact

The dogs looked at each other. There was tension in the air. Manuela, the golden of the house, wagged her tail excitedly and approached the group of newcomers.

-Welcome to Mas Torrencito, everyone plays here! -he greeted with his usual sweetness.

One of the PPPs, an imposing American Staffordshire, looked her up and down, cocking his head to one side.

-Play? I don’t know… They always say I’m dangerous.

Mastiff, the 80-kilogram giant who ruled the house with his presence alone, approached with his leisurely gait and his deep voice boomed like quiet thunder:

-Here it doesn’t matter what humans say. Here it matters how we behave.

The PPPs looked at each other – was it possible, could they just play without being judged?

One of them, a Rottweiler, dusted himself off and smiled:

-Well, if playing is the norm, let’s get the party started!

And so, in a matter of minutes, the dogs that many feared were running around the yard, sharing runs, jumps and romps as if they had known each other all their lives.

The Chihuahua takes action

But of course, the real protagonist of the drama was missing.

From the terrace, a tiny Chihuahua, with more ego than size, watched the scene with an indignant face.

-This is unacceptable! -They invade us! They want to dominate us! We, the little ones, cannot allow this!

Manuela, who was rolling in the grass, raised her head.

-What are you saying, little boy? We’re playing.

The Chihuahua, chest puffed out, leapt down from the chair and planted himself in front of the group of giants.

-I am the leader here! And I demand respect!

The PPPs looked at him. Then they looked at Mastiff. Then they looked at each other.

Mastiff, with infinite patience, gave him a gentle nudge with his muzzle.

-Go to sleep, little guy.

But the Chihuahua would not give up. He ran around the big ones, barking at the top of his lungs.

-I warn you, don’t make me angry!

The PPPs, at first puzzled, began to find it funny. One of them lay down on the floor, staring at him.

-Okay, okay, don’t get angry, great warrior. What do you propose?

The Chihuahua went blank. No one used to take him seriously.

-Eh… well… obey me! -he said, trying to make his voice sound deeper.

The big ones burst into doggy laughter. Manuela wagged her tail sweetly.

-You’re a case, little guy.

But of course, every time one of the PPPs got too close, the Chihuahua would run like lightning to its owner’s lap, trembling.

-Protect me, humans! They are too big!

And that’s how the day went: the big ones playing in total harmony and the Chihuahua barking at everyone and then hiding when they responded.

The final lesson. The weekend of the ppp and the chiguagua.

By the end of the weekend, the dogs were exhausted, lying in the sun, breathing easy after so many runs.

Mastiff, with his stately bearing, looked at the PPPs and nodded approvingly.

-You have shown that the danger is not in the race, but in the heart of each one.

Manuela settled next to him, sighing with satisfaction.

-Yes, and also that size doesn’t matter… even if some find it hard to accept.

Everyone looked at the Chihuahua, who pretended to be asleep, ignoring the stares.

-I always knew everything would be under control,” she murmured, hiding even more in her owner’s lap.

We humans looked at each other and smiled. We had been worried for nothing. In the end, the dogs knew what they were doing. The danger was not in them. It was in our own misconceptions.

And so, between games, barking and the inexhaustible theater of the Chihuahua, we learned something important: coexistence is possible, as long as we put prejudices aside and listen to what dogs teach us every day.

From MasTorrencito we wish you a good day and may your dogs be with you!!!!

—
If you want, you can see our vouchers for weekends, retirees vouchers, at an incredible price …enter www.mastorrencito.com or if you want you can read more history and anecdotes that have happened to us in Mas Torrencito … Click here

La entrada The weekend of the ppp and the chiguagua by MasTorrencito se publicó primero en Casa Rural con Perros Girona.

As you know, in Mas Torrencito we do raffles all year round. A few, not few. That if stays for you and your furry 🐶, that if unique experiences to disconnect during the week …. we go, great gifts designed for people who love dogs, tranquility and things well done. ❤️ By the way, today we would like to thank all the participants of the @mastorrencito raffle with @Travelguau and congratulate @Vicky.vic.84, the winner, who won 4 nights in MasTorrencito for this summer…

Well, a few days ago … the phone rings 📞

Hello, is this Mas Torrencito?
-Yes, tell me
-Look, I’m the winner of the draw for the two nights’ accommodation…
-Ah, congratulations! 🥳
-Yes… you see… it’s just that I can’t go and I don’t like dogs very much, the truth is …., so… Can you make me a Bizum for the value of the prize?

😶😶😶

I’m sorry. WHAT?

Just like that, like someone asking for change for bread. Without mussing your hair. Pim pam. “Hey, I can’t go, so pass me the dough.” 🤑

Let’s see, my dear:
This is not The Price is Right.
It’s not a scratch card from the tobacco store.
It’s not a Zara gift voucher.
IT’S A DRAW!!! And the prize is an experience, not money.

I explain to him, very politely, that no… that the prize is not exchanged for money, nor for vouchers, nor for likes, nor for caresses. That if he can’t come, well, hey, he’s sorry and he loses it. And that’s it. 🤷‍♂️

But hold on… he says to me:
-So then I’ll sell it.

HOW?!!!!!!

If he can sell it, he says. As if it were a microwave.
And then, I swear, the vein in my forehead swelled up like a fairground balloon. 🎈

I told him very clearly NO.
❌ That the awards are NOT transferable.
❌ If she doesn’t come, no one else can come.
❌ It’s not Wallapop or TicketSwap or anything like that.

And then it starts:
-This is a scam!
-I’m going to denounce you in networks!
-I’m going to put it everywhere!
-You are thieves!

And I already, with all the peace I had left in my body, I told him:

-Look, do one thing…
-What?
-Fuckit.
And I hung up on him.

🧘‍♂️

Since then, no complaint, no publication, no nothing. One of two things: either he got over his anger, or he realized he was making a fool of himself.

And all this makes me think… 🤔

People who participate without knowing what they are participating in: STOP NOW! 🚫

If you see that the prize is a two-night stay during the week, in a pet friendly accommodation, surrounded by nature, designed to disconnect … and you neither can, nor want, nor like dogs ….

DON’T PARTICIPATE, DAMMIT! 😤

Because there are many people who DO want it. Who DO get excited. Who DO take advantage of it. And you’re taking it away from them by filling out a form without looking. 😩

And this goes also for those who then want to change the dates, bring more people, bring the brother-in-law, the children, the in-laws, the cat, the canary… NO, AMIGA, NO!
It is for two people, in a double room, with their dogs. Point. 🐾

Don’t like dogs?
Can’t travel during the week?
Think you can resell the prize like an iPhone?
Then this is not your sweepstakes.
Go to the food processor sweepstakes. The one for the coffee maker. The one with the sausage basket. 🍖 But not the one for Mas Torrencito.

Here we raffle something that goes beyond “winning something”. It is to disconnect, enjoy, share with your furry friends and have a nice time. And if you’re not into that… well, that’s okay, but don’t sign up!

End of relief.

Thank you for coming to my rural TED Talk, and please: read well before participating.
And may those who really want it win! 💚🐶

🤡 The golden era of “I participate for the sake of participating” (and if I win, I’ll see what I do).

We live in wonderful times. Times in which people do not read, do not listen, do not understand? but participate. Because why get informed when you can click like a trained chimpanzee and expect a stay in Tuscany, a Thermomix or a house on the beach to fall from the sky? 🧠✨

But of course, then comes the script twist:
“Have I won two nights in a rural accommodation to go with my dogs?”
– I don’t have a dog.
– I work during the week.
– I just wanted to win something, anything.
– Will you make me a Bizum?

And therein lies the heart of modern drama: people who are used to everything being tailored to their whim, even if they have no idea what they are asking for. Or worse: people who think they can participate in anything because, “I’ll figure out how to fix it if I win”.

Hey, you got a Baltic cruise and you have vertigo, salt allergy and motion sickness?
NOTHING HAPPENS: sell it, exchange it, auction it on Wallapop or tell the organizer to transfer you the equivalent in fuel. 🚢💸

Of course, who do you think you are to give a prize that cannot be monetized? A romantic of emotional bartering? An idealist of experiences?
Please. This is Instagram, not Heidi’s house.

The fault, in part, lies with ourselves: we have become accustomed to giving good things away and assuming that everyone understands what “non-transferable,” “for two people,” “midweek,” or – get this – “accompanied by dogs” means. 🐕‍🦺

But no. It is too much to ask.

Because in the parallel universe where some people live, everything is negotiable: rules, dates, logic… even common sense. And if you tell them no, they get offended. They call you a scammer. They threaten you with social networks (where there are already more prosecutors than influencers). And you, who just wanted to give away something nice, end up telling them: “fuck it”. And hanging up. ☎️

Satirical moral of the day:
If you are going to participate in a raffle without even knowing what it is, at least have the decency not to win. Because we already have enough with bills without having to do basic pedagogy with confused adults who believe that a prize is a Corte Inglés gift card.

And if it’s your turn and you can’t enjoy it, the only thing you have to do is a very difficult thing to do in this day and age:

Resign with dignity.

That, to this day, is worth more than the prize.

From MasTorrencito we wish you a good day and may your dogs be with you!!!!

—
If you want, you can see our vouchers for weekends, retirees vouchers, at an incredible price… go to www.mastorrencito.com or if you want you can read more history and anecdotes that have happened to us in MasTorrencito… Click here … https://casaruralconperrosgirona.com

La entrada 🎁 The story of the winner who wanted the prize in BIZUM 😂 (Spoiler: NO) se publicó primero en Casa Rural con Perros Girona.

Two of the workers looked nervously at each other beside the hole they had dug, while I approached with Jordi. Their dogs, Lluna and Quinto, stayed close by, alert, while mine-Masto, Maky, Mastitwo and Mamas-were restless, something unusual for them.

-What’s the matter? -I asked, my tone more annoyed than curious. The work was already behind schedule, and the last thing I needed was another problem.

-Look at this, Mr. Miguel,” said one of the workers, pointing to the floor.

What lay beneath the rotten plank they had erected was a gaping hole. Not a simple sinkhole, but the entrance to something much deeper. Iron stairs descended into the darkness, rusted but intact, as if they had been there for decades.

-This was not in the plans. -Jordi’s voice sounded firm, but the surprise was evident.

I leaned into the hole, trying to illuminate it with the flashlight of my cell phone. I could barely make out the stairs descending into pitch blackness.

-Did anyone come down? -I asked.

The workers quickly shook their heads. One of them even backed away, muttering something about “not wanting any trouble.”

-There’s no reception down here,” said Jordi, picking up his cell phone. -Nothing. Not even a bar. I don’t like this.

I looked at my dogs. They were usually the first to explore any corner, but now they were restless. Mamas even backed away, growling low. Lluna and Quinto weren’t much better; Lluna stood next to Jordi, ears straining.

-This is stranger than it looks,” I muttered, feeling a mixture of curiosity and uneasiness.

First steps. The Enigma Under More Torrents

We decided to go down. We tied a rope to one of the rafters at the entrance, but the stairs seemed firm enough. Jordi insisted that he would go first, but my usual stubbornness made it clear.

-I’m going down. You stay with the dogs. If anything happens, go upstairs and call for help.

Jordi let out a nervous laugh.

-We have no coverage, and I doubt the workers will volunteer.

-That’s why it’s better if only one of us goes down. -I tried to sound more confident than I felt.

The stairs were cold and slippery to the touch. I descended carefully, step by step, as the air grew heavier and more humid. Every sound I made as I stepped echoed, amplifying in the darkness. My cell phone’s flashlight barely illuminated enough to see the bottom of the stairs.

-All right? -Jordi shouted from above, his voice sounding far away.

-Yes, but this… is deep. Very deep.

As I reached the ground, I pointed the flashlight around. What I saw left me speechless. A narrow, elongated tunnel stretched in both directions, with walls of packed earth and roots hanging down like twisted claws. The air was laden with a metallic smell, mixed with moisture and something I couldn’t identify.

Jordi came down shortly after, his flashlight illuminating the tunnel with nervous flashes.

-This is no mere cave,” he said, inspecting the walls. -It looks… built. As if someone had carved this.

-Built for what?

We advanced cautiously, our flashlights illuminating just a few meters ahead. After walking about twenty meters, the tunnel widened, revealing a small room. There was a worn wooden table in the center, surrounded by benches. On one of the walls, glass bottles were embedded, forming something that looked like a sort of makeshift wine cellar.

-This is surreal,” Jordi muttered, approaching the bottles. Some were filled with a dark liquid, while others were empty or broken.

-It’s as if this were a meeting room… or something like that.

I approached one of the walls. There were engraved symbols, marks that I could not recognize. They didn’t seem to be decorative; there was something more intentional about them.

-This has been here for decades, if not longer. But why didn’t anyone know about this? Jordi illuminated another part of the room, where dust-covered boxes were piled up.

The boxes. The Enigma Under More Torrents

We opened the first one. It was empty, but when we opened the second one, we found something wrapped in a cloth. Jordi unfolded it, and we both stared at it in silence.

-Is it… a grenade? -he asked, although we both knew the answer.

It was an old grenade, with rusted metal but intact. We kept opening boxes: some contained more grenades, old guns and other things we could not identify.

-This is not a simple cellar. It’s a hideout,” I said, feeling the tension rise in my chest.

Suddenly, a thud echoed from the tunnel through which we had come. We both turned at the same time, pointing our flashlights into the darkness.

-What was that? -asked Jordi, taking a step back.

-I don’t know, but I don’t like it.

Then we saw it: a metal door, half hidden behind some fallen planks. It looked old, with rust covering the frame. We tried to open it, but it was locked. Jordi found an iron bar next to the table and, after several attempts, we managed to force it open.

On the other side, a second tunnel extended downward. This one was narrower and seemed much older. The air was freezing, and the metallic smell was even more intense.

-This leads to the forest. I’m sure,” said Jordi.

-And… the other tunnel? -I asked, pointing to a fork that was barely visible in the gloom.

Before we could decide what to do, we heard something new: a steady drip coming from the darkest tunnel. The sound mingled with the barking of our dogs, which now echoed from above, like a chorus of warning.

-Miguel, let’s get out of here. This is not normal.

-Let me take a quick look in the dark tunnel. If we don’t find anything, we’ll come back.

-That sounds like a lousy idea, but do what you want. I’ll wait for you here.

I took a step into the darkest tunnel, but before I could go any further, a deep noise, as if something heavy had fallen, interrupted us. It came from the distillery room.

Jordi looked at me, and his expression said what I didn’t want to admit: we were not alone down there.

Echoes of the Unknown

The crash echoed through the tunnel as if something immense had collapsed. We both pointed our flashlights toward the way back, but the darkness seemed to devour the light. The air became thicker, and the temperature dropped a few degrees palpably.

-What was that? -asked Jordi, in a whisper that barely hid his nervousness.

-I don’t know, but I don’t like it at all. Maybe… something fell out of the boxes.

I tried to sound reasonable, but deep down I knew that explanation didn’t fit. There was no wind, no air currents moving anything down there. Slowly, we made our way back to the distillery room, our ears alert for any other sounds.

When we arrived, nothing seemed out of place. The boxes were still where we had left them, the rusty still remained in its corner, and the bottles embedded in the wall were still covered in dust. But then, I noticed something different: the metal door we had forced was now slightly closed.

-It wasn’t like that before,” Jordi muttered, taking a step back.

-It’s impossible. There was no one else down here.

I approached slowly, with the flashlight focused on the rusted frame. The door wasn’t closed all the way, but it had shifted position, as if something-or someone-had pushed it. The thought gave me goose bumps.

-Miguel, let’s go out. This is no longer a curious adventure. This is fucking weird.

-Hold on a little longer. I want to know what’s beyond.

Jordi looked at me as if I was crazy, but he agreed, more for not leaving me alone than for enthusiasm.

We crossed the metal door and followed the descending tunnel. The ground was cleaner, as if someone had maintained it. After a few meters, we came to a fork. One path seemed to lead up into the forest, where we could already feel the distant breeze and the rustle of dry leaves. The other, narrower and darker, descended into the depths.

-This one seems to lead outside,” said Jordi, pointing to the upward tunnel.

-And this one… I don’t know. But if someone used this place, the important thing would not be near the exit.

-Are you listening to yourself? This is not a game. We already found guns, grenades… what more do you need to realize that this is dangerous?

Despite his words, Jordi did not leave me alone. We went down the darkest tunnel, where the air was getting colder and colder. After a sharp turn, the flashlight illuminated something new: a second room.

New rooms. The Enigma Under Mas Torrencito

This one was larger than the previous one, and much more disturbing. In the center was a long table, surrounded by worn benches. It looked like a meeting space, but it was covered in dust, as if it hadn’t been used in decades. Strangest of all, however, were the walls.

Throughout the room, bottles were embedded in the ground, forming almost perfect rows. Some were filled with dark liquids, while others contained what appeared to be rolled up papers. It was as if someone had hidden messages or records in them.

-This is no longer just a hideout. It’s… something more. -Jordi approached one of the bottles, but didn’t dare touch it.

I inspected the table. There were marks, scratches and symbols carved into the wood, similar to those we had seen in the first room. There was also something that looked like ash accumulated at one end.

-What were they doing here? -I asked aloud, although I knew no one had an answer.

Jordi checked a corner where more boxes were stacked. When he opened one, he found something that made him call me immediately.

-Miguel, come take a look at this!

Inside the box were more weapons, but this time in better condition. There were knives, several pistols and what appeared to be some kind of map, although it was so deteriorated that the markings were barely distinguishable. Among the weapons was also a small, leather-covered notebook with yellowed pages.

-This is the strangest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. -Jordi flipped through the notebook, but the pages were full of scribbles and notes in a language we didn’t recognize. Some were stained with what appeared to be dried blood.

Suddenly, another thump resounded, this time from the tunnel we had come through. But it was not an isolated sound. It sounded like something slowly crawling toward us.

-Miguel? -Jordi’s voice was a whisper. We both instinctively turned off our flashlights.

The tunnel was in total darkness, and the only sound was the echo of something approaching.

-We are not alone…” I murmured.

-What do we do? -asked Jordi.

-Take the notebook and anything useful. We’re going through the tunnel that goes up to the forest.

Left or right…? The Enigma Under More Torrents

We both moved quickly. Jordi put the notebook and a knife in his backpack, while I grabbed the flashlight and shone it into the tunnel leading outside. The cool breeze was a relief, but it also made our shadows dance on the walls.

-Run! -I shouted, as I heard the dragging sound getting louder.

We ran toward the ascending tunnel, our breaths echoing in the narrow space. The barking of our dogs sounded distant, as if sensing something was wrong.

When we finally saw the exit, the light outside seemed like a beacon of hope. We hurried toward it, emerging into a small clearing in the forest. The dogs, who had been barking desperately from above, surrounded us, relieved to see us.

-What the hell was that? -asked Jordi, panting.

-I don’t know. But we’re going to find out.

We turned toward the tunnel entrance, expecting to see something come out. But nothing happened. Only the breeze and the rustle of the trees broke the silence.

-It’s not over, Jordi. Something is hidden down there. And I don’t know if I want to know what it is.

Traces of History

The forest greeted us with an eerie silence. Daylight filtered through the treetops, but the atmosphere was still charged with tension. The dogs surrounded Jordi and me, uneasy but relieved to see us out of the tunnel.

-What do we do now? -asked Jordi, still breathing heavily. -All this… I can’t get that noise out of my head, as if something was following us.

-We have to go back. But this time better prepared. -I took out the notebook Jordi had put in his backpack and flipped through the pages. The text, mostly illegible, was dotted with drawings that looked like blueprints or diagrams.

There was something peculiar about one of the maps: it depicted a subway route that coincided with the farm. A symbol marked in the center caught my attention: a star surrounded by arrows. I didn’t know what it meant, but something told me that we hadn’t seen everything down there.

The next day, with better equipment and a small handheld camera, we returned to the tunnel. This time, the dogs did not accompany us. It was evident that they sensed something that we could not perceive. Jordi and I descended the iron stairs, with more powerful flashlights and a mixture of fear and determination.

We quickly advanced to the room where we had found the weapons and grenades. Upon closer inspection of the walls, we noticed that some recessed bottles contained small cylinders of rolled paper. Carefully, we opened one. The paper, yellowed and brittle, had a message written on it in Catalan:

“Lluitarem fins al final. Ningú podrà apagar la llum de la llibertat.”
(We will fight to the end. No one will be able to extinguish the light of freedom).

-This is not just any hiding place,” Jordi murmured, looking around with renewed interest. -It’s as if they had left traces on purpose.

-This is from the Civil War, maybe even from the years of Franco’s repression,” I added. My voice trembled, not out of fear, but because of the magnitude of what we were discovering.

We continued advancing towards the second tunnel, the one that descended deeper. This time, we went more slowly, stopping to inspect every detail. A few meters away, we found something that left us speechless: a second, much larger room, with a solid wooden table and papers scattered on it.

There were rolled-up posters with anti-Franco phrases and drawings depicting political figures. In the center of the table, a dossier bore a name written in red ink: Lluís Companys.

-This… This can’t be true. -Jordi took the dossier with trembling hands. Inside were a series of documents: handwritten letters, signatures of different leaders of the Republican exile and annotations mentioning secret meetings.

-If this is authentic, we are in front of something historic. -My voice barely came out, caught between disbelief and excitement.

In one of the letters, we read something that made our blood run cold:

“This refuge is safe. Here, the Romanian hope will be hidden until Catalonia is able to change again”.
(This refuge is safe. Here, hope remains hidden until Catalonia can rise again).

The room also contained a wall with hidden compartments. Opening one, we found more papers, this time filled with anti-Franco propaganda: pamphlets denouncing the regime and calling for resistance.

As we explored, another sound echoed from the tunnel: a deep echo, like an approaching creak. We immediately switched off our flashlights, standing still in the gloom.

-Miguel, tell me this is not what I think it is. -Jordi whispered, his eyes fixed on the darkness.

-I don’t know… But we can’t stay here.

With the dossier and some of the most relevant documents, we began to backtrack towards the exit. But when we reached the junction where the tunnel ascended into the forest, we noticed something strange: the metal door was closed.

-Who closed it? -asked Jordi, looking around in panic.

-I don’t know, but if someone is down here with us, I’m not going to stick around to find out.

We forced the door with all our might until it finally gave way. As we ran towards the exit, one last detail caught my attention: an engraving on a nearby wall. It was a rudimentary portrait, carved in stone, clearly depicting Lluís Companys.

When we reached the forest, the fresh air was like a balm. The dogs ran towards us, as if they knew something had been wrong. Jordi and I collapsed on the ground, exhausted, but we knew this was just the beginning.

-This can’t stay down here,” I said, looking at the documents in my hands. -Someone has to know what we found.

The Reward of the Past

That night we couldn’t sleep. We spent hours going through the documents, trying to make sense of it all. One of the most revealing texts mentioned a secret meeting in the last days of Lluís Companys before his capture. Although there was no definitive proof, it seemed to suggest that he had used that place as a temporary refuge.

We also found a map indicating an exact point inside the tunnel, marked with the same symbol we had seen before: a star surrounded by arrows.

-We have to go back. -My determination was unshakable.

The next day, we returned to the tunnel, this time accompanied by a metal detector and digging tools. Following the map, we reached a point where the ground seemed softer. After hours of work, we discovered a hidden compartment.

Inside was a metal box, sealed but in good condition. We opened it carefully, and what we found inside took our breath away: a personal diary of Lluís Companys. Each page was filled with entries about his exile, his thoughts on the struggle for freedom and strategies for keeping hope alive.

But there was something else: a golden medal with the coat of arms of Catalonia and an engraved message:

“La llum no es pot apagar.”
(The light cannot be turned off.).

We decided to hand over the findings to a trusted historian, who confirmed the authenticity of the documents. What we had found was not only an invaluable testimony of the anti-Francoist resistance, but also a direct connection to the figure of Companys.

Months later, the find was officially recognized, and Mas Torrencito became a historic site. The estate, which had harbored secrets for decades, was now a symbol of the struggle for freedom.

Jordi and I, together with our dogs, used to visit the tunnel, although we could never get rid of the feeling that we were not alone. But this time, fear was replaced by a deep respect for those who had risked everything to keep hope alive.

And so Mas Torrencito ceased to be just a farm. It became a refuge of memory and resistance.

____________________________________

From Mas Torrencito we wish you a good day and that your dog accompanies you !!!!

—
If you want, you can see our vouchers for weekends, retirees vouchers, at an incredible price …enter www.mastorrencito.com or if you want you can read more history and anecdotes that have happened to us in Mas Torrencito … Click here

La entrada The Enigma Under More Torrents se publicó primero en Casa Rural con Perros Girona.

Because as a person, I understand it perfectly.
But as a rural house, as a self-employed, as a worker, as the one who gives EVERYTHING to make his project work… I don’t understand anything.

💣 There is a brutal, real, deep crisis…
But yes: silenced.
Nobody talks about it. It does not appear on the news. There are no graphs or round tables or ministers recognizing that everything is going down the drain.

But it is there. You can feel it. It is drowning us.

💔 July has been a disaster. Just like that.

And I am not saying it alone. We have discussed it among colleagues in the area and … ALL the same.
Especially those who have rural houses for rooms, we are the ones who give more work and less margin we have.

In my case, in the 20 years that I have been in charge of Mas Torrencito, I have never experienced such a bad July.

👉 Almost 50% of the bookings have been for one night only.
Yes, ONE.
Which means:

• More sheets
• More towels
• More thorough cleaning
• More cost
• And to top it all off, having to put in bids… and say thank you.

😩 And the loyal customers? Even they are suffering…

This weekend we had 5 repeat customers. The usual ones.
And what happened?

• The one who used to come 5 nights… now 4.
• The 4… now 3.
• The 3… now 2.

And it’s not because they like us worse.
They just can’t do it anymore.
They can’t make it.
And what used to be a disconnection getaway, now becomes a “we do what we can”.

🧱 And meanwhile, the system squeezes us to suffocation.

We pay more than 70% of what we earn in taxes:
IRPF, self-employed fees, VAT, waste disposal fees, inspections, water charges, air and holy spirit fees…

And while you are crunching numbers,
💥 the electricity bill arrives,
💥 they raise your gas bill,
💥 and the IRS sends you a “friendly” letter to remind you that if you miss a day in filing the 303, they will crunch you.

And you think:

“But didn’t we have enough of being robbed by the Bourbons?”

Well, no. Now also the top of the government.
And you, paying your taxes and VATs, and watching how those at the top distribute envelopes, per diems, bribes, commissions, briefcases and black cards.

💬 As they say out there:

“From Aznar’s wedding only the dolls of the cake are still to be charged…”

And you putting washing machines.
With two balls.

🔪 What about HUTs? The ultimate dagger

Because if fiscal pressure and institutional hypocrisy already had us on the ropes…
They arrived.
The Tourist Housing.
The HUTs.

Apartments with zero regulation.
Zero taxes.
Zero inspections.
Zero soul.
But with swimming pool and QR code to enter without seeing anyone.

And of course… who wouldn’t prefer to pay less for a bed without human treatment and without rules?
Who is going to choose a rural house where the dogs run free, the breakfast is homemade and you are received with love… when for 40€ less you have an apartment with a view of the parking lot?

They are killing us. They are killing us. And nobody does anything.

⚖️ And the SMI? Of course, it has to be raised… BUT…

Does no one in government really consider that raising the minimum wage WITHOUT reducing the tax burden makes it unfeasible to hire anyone?

Large companies can.
But how many SMEs and freelancers do you know who have closed their business to leave as salaried employees?
And you know what they all say?

“It was the best decision of my life. Fuck them. I now have my salary, my vacations, and no VAT, no income tax or anything else…”

And of course it is. Because this is unsustainable.

🐾 In the meantime… we are here to stay.

With the doors open.
With the field full of happy dogs.
With our usual customers, shortening stays but coming with love.
With the heart in a fist and the current account trembling.

But there will come a day when we will say:

💭 “Either change things… or we do some thinking.”

And it will not be an outburst.
It will be an act of survival.
Because dreams also die, when you bury them in taxes, injustices and institutional abandonment.

🙏 Thanks to those of you who keep coming back.

To those of you who bet for the real.
For the human.
For the rural.
For the doggy
For For……

Reflection

💣 “The future ahead: between loose bitches and tied hands.”

For years we were told the story that being self-employed was to be free.
Free from schedules, free from bosses, free from depending on anyone…
Bullshit.
Today, the self-employed is the new slave of the system.
A system that demands everything from you and gives you nothing back.

We were promised that with effort we would go far.
But in this modern jungle, effort without cronies, without privileges and without cheating is not worth shit.

Those of us who work with soul, those of us who do not cheat, those of us who bet on closeness, sustainability, legality and honesty…
we are becoming lonely.
Lonely, squeezed, unprotected.

The future?
It is the soulless Airbnb.
It is the faceless tourism.
It is the customer who seeks price, not experience.
It is the Spain emptied not of people, but of values.
It is the self-employed who leave everything because they prefer to collect 1.400€ than to live with ulcers because of the Treasury.

And meanwhile, those at the top -the usual ones- handing out envelopes, lifetime salaries, armored pensions and other people’s embarrassments that are no longer disguised.
The same people who talk about entrepreneurs with their mouths full… and their hand in your pocket.

If there is no real change -deep, urgent and courageous-, this country will be a wasteland of stolen opportunities.
A graveyard of illusions where only opaque businesses, legal scams and those who know how to dance the tango of bribery and “I don’t get caught” flourish.

Maybe there will come a day when you look at your empty rural house, the dogs asleep on the sofas, the silence in the dining room…
and think:

“We gave everything. But they didn’t let us live.”

And that, dear friends, is not a failure. It is a historic swindle.

From MasTorrencito we wish you a good day and may your dogs be with you!!!!

—
If you want, you can see our vouchers for weekends, retirees vouchers, at an incredible price… go to www.mastorrencito.com or if you want you can read more history and anecdotes that have happened to us in MasTorrencito… Click here … https://casaruralconperrosgirona.com

La entrada And I wonder… what’s going on? se publicó primero en Casa Rural con Perros Girona.

Imagine this: your dog runs free through 7 hectares of countryside, takes a dip in the pool, takes a nap under an olive tree and at night curls up next to you. That’s MasTorrencito! The first rural lodging where dogs rule (and humans too, a little bit 😉).

Here there is no “no dogs”, “small breeds only” or “must sleep outside”. Here the rule is: “If you are furry and happy, welcome you are”. You want your golden retriever to swim in the pool? Okay. You want your mastiff to walk around as if he were the owner of the estate? Perfect. Your Chihuahua will get on the couch? Of course!

And the atmosphere is so relaxed that even the most nervous dogs end up sunbathing on the porch as if they were little gentlemen.

Walks in Girona: Where dogs also have their favorite route

Girona is a city that loves dogs (and not only because there are more dogs than children in some neighborhoods!) It has signposted routes for stress-free walks with your furry friend:

• La Ruta del Ter: For those who like to walk along the river and stop every two meters to sniff.
• Hortes de Santa Eugènia: Ideal for instagrammers dogs (lots of greenery, flowers and beautiful photos).
• Sant Daniel – Font del Ferro: For the adventurers who are not afraid of a little ascent.
• Ribera del Onyar: If your dog is more of a short walk and terrace afterwards.

And the best: there are fountains, benches and garbage cans! (Because picking up poops with a view of the old town of Girona has its charm, right?).

Banyoles Lake

20 minutes from Girona is the Lake of Banyoles, a place so beautiful that even your dog will stare at the water as if he understood landscapes. You can go all around the lake (6 km) while your furry one sniffs everything, gets his paws wet and, if he’s brave, even goes for a swim!

There is also a dog park nearby, so if your dog is more into socializing than extreme hiking, he or she can make four-legged friends here.

Beaches where your dog can surf (or at least splash around)

Yes, there are beaches on the Costa Brava that prohibit dogs, but there are also hidden gems where your furry one can run through the sand as if it were its own Fast & Furious: Mission Arena.

• La Rubina (Empuriabrava): The most famous pet-friendly beach. Wide, with shallow water and full of happy dogs.
• Rec del Molí (L’Escala): Ideal if your dog is more for relaxing on the beach than partying on the sand.
• Playa de las Barcas (Colera) and Sant Jordi (Llançà): For those who want to combine sea and mountain in the same day.

If you want a vacation where your furry friend is not a problem, but the protagonist, Mastorrencito is your ideal place. With nearby trails for walking, beaches to run and lakes to cool off.

So now you know: pack your suitcase, food bowl and toys… we are going on a trip to Mastorrencito! What do you think of these proposals for tourism with dogs?

Ready to live an adventure of barking and purring?Book now at MasTorrencito and plan your route through Girona to discover why it is the favorite destination for four-legged travelers! 🐾

La entrada What are the proposals for tourism with dogs for a good vacation? se publicó primero en Casa Rural con Perros Girona.

MANUEL LUQUE from the Colon, from the 80’s, SAID IT AS IT WAS IN THE 80’s…. Search, compare and if you find something better…. BOOK ITOOOOOOOOOOO

I DON’T SEE IT. I really don’t.

🎯 Try it out for yourself.

👉 Go to mastorrencito.com and search for a week in July, for example from the 7th to the 13th. There is still availability. Price: XXXX euritos. A whole week.

Now open another tab, you go to booking.com. Me being Genius 3 and all… with super discounts and blah blah… and you know what?

💸 OVER 200 EUROS DIFFERENCE. Yes, yes, 2️⃣0️⃣ 0️⃣ € less on my website.

And now I will explain why:

1. I raise the price on Booking for two reasons:
   • Because I don’t want you to book that way.
   • Because they charge me a 17% commission (and on top of that I don’t get a tax deduction 😤). So I have to raise the price by 27% or more… otherwise I’ll be ruined!

🔺OF COURSE IT SEEMS EXPENSIVE ON BOOKING OR EXPEDIA! 🔺
CLAROOOOOOOOO! But if you compare it with my website, well… you’re in for a shock.

And then the typical sentence:

“Oh, I just didn’t know… I was afraid of running out of room…”

😮‍💨 BUT THERE ARE MORE THAN TWO MONTHS LEFT! In some cases up to 6 months before the reservation is already made.
It annoys me, of course… but I can’t go calling all of you who book through Booking to tell you: “Hey, it’s MUCH cheaper through my web…”.

Sometimes I have done it, I confess. Once, some foreigners booked 15 days for three people through Booking. I wrote to them and said:

👉 “If you want, cancel and book through my website. It’s cheaper and I’ll include free breakfasts.”

💡 NOTE: I was not lowering the price by one euro. Same conditions, same room, only cheaper through my website. Just like that Trivago ad that keeps coming up…

And you know what they did?

📢 I WAS REPORTED TO BOOKING 😐

Yes, as you read it.

Karma is wise… because that reservation was non-refundable, paid in advance…
And just a week before coming… I don’t know what happened to them, but they asked to cancel it free of charge.

And what do you think I did? 😏

👉 I’ll tell you tomorrow…

Reflection

Yes, come on… I admit it: Booking is a useful tool.
For an impromptu trip, an express getaway, a night out… it’s great.
It gives you quick options, locates you on the map, shows you photos, ratings, filters for whatever… it’s good!

🔎 It can serve as a guide, even as a showcase.

But be careful… that does not mean that you have to book blindly there.
Because many times, it is NOT the cheapest option. Not by far.

👉 Use Booking to look, compare, discover… but when you find something that fits you, look for it also on the accommodation’s website.

📉 Many times you get a surprise:
The same place, the same room, the same dates… and 100, 200 euros less.
And why? Because Booking charges high commissions, and many accommodations are forced to raise the price there in order not to lose money.

⚠️ So it’s not about hating Booking. No.
It’s about being smart. It’s about comparison shopping. About supporting the small business directly if you can. It’s about thinking outside the box.

Because sometimes, for not giving two clicks more, you end up overpaying…
And then, of course, come the regrets:

“Oh, I didn’t know…”
“I was just afraid of running out of room…”

🎯 Well, Booking yes… but with head.
It is not always the best option. Sometimes it is only the first step. Not the last.

From MasTorrencito we wish you a good day and may your dogs be with you!!!!

—
If you want, you can see our vouchers for weekends, retirees vouchers, at an incredible price… go to www.mastorrencito.com or if you want you can read more history and anecdotes that have happened to us in MasTorrencito… Click here … https://casaruralconperrosgirona.com

La entrada 🤯 I don’t know if I’m dumb… or VERY dumb. se publicó primero en Casa Rural con Perros Girona.

I’m Miguel. And this story starts with shit. Literally. The good kind, accumulated over the years, the kind that sticks to the boots and to the soul. Because Mastorrencito, you know, has its rural charm and its weight in history, but it also keeps secrets under dust, mud and oblivion. What I didn’t know is that, when I finally decided to clean out the barn, I was going to unearth something that would change everything.

Mastorrencito has the main house, of course. That’s where we live. But he also has two outbuildings that have always intrigued me: the barn, and that other kind of giant hut, with an architecture that gives a thousand turns to any magazine chalet. With its central column, majestic, in the middle of nowhere, as if to say: “I endured wars, storms and oblivion. What about you?”

Since I arrived here, many years ago, I always wanted to reform them. But renovation costs money. And here, between roof repairs, dogs, life itself… money always goes where it’s tightest. I calculate about 80,000 euros per space. So I left them. And they, like everything that is left behind, began to rot. Broken windows, damp to the marrow, beams eaten away by time. But that column was still there, planted like a sentinel.

Until one day, not long ago, I said: enough. If I can’t reform them, at least I’m going to empty them. Clean them. Take out everything that was left over. Because it was already embarrassing. A giant storage room of things I didn’t even know I had. And besides, every time I walked past it, I felt a kind of tug, as if the place was asking me to look at it again.

I set up a crew. Good kids. One of them, Javi, told me that his grandfather had worked in Mastorrencito during the postwar period. That he had once heard about “strange things” stored in the barn. I laughed at the time. Now it’s not so funny anymore.

We entered the spaces like someone entering an ancient womb, with respect but with brooms, wheelbarrows, gloves and masks. We took out broken sofas, bicycles without wheels, sacks of petrified cement, empty paint cans, an armchair half eaten by rats, an absurd collection of glass jars with colored liquids that I didn’t even dare to open. We sorted as in a ritual: this is pure garbage, to the container; this I have no idea, intermediate pile; this can be sold, for my gypsies.

While they came and went to the junk shop, I was rummaging through the objects I didn’t understand. A couple of times, Masto wandered into the piles, sniffing curiously. Mamas barked as if to say “watch out!”, while Maqui and Mato played chase each other through the rubble. Their energy gave me a little hope. As if they, with their instinct, knew something was uncovering.

We found, among broken boxes and boards, an oil portrait. Covered with dust. We cleaned it carefully. It was the face of a serious man, with piercing eyes, an old medal on his lapel and a background I recognized immediately: the facade of Mastorrencito, but with a shield that is no longer there. I left it leaning against the wall. I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t even know who he was. But his gaze, I swear to God, seemed to follow me.

The first construction we emptied was that of the column. Little by little, the floor became visible. And then it happened. After sweeping for hours, and removing layers of hardened soil, we saw tiles appear. Not just any tiles. They were terracotta, like those in the main house, but many had a mark that left us frozen: four bars and a date.

I knelt down. I ran my hand over one of them. It was perfectly preserved. The red clay had a shine that seemed impossible after so many years hidden. It was as if time had passed over them without daring to touch them. As if something, or someone, had protected them.

That night, I didn’t sleep well. I kept thinking. 1714. Not just any year. The War of Succession. The fall of Barcelona. A before and after in the history of Catalonia. Why were those tiles there, hidden, as if waiting to be discovered? Who put them there? Why?

The next morning, I went back to the barn with the dogs. Mastitwo was ahead of me, as usual. Mamas was beside me, serious. Maqui and Mato, playing at biting each other’s ears. We entered the building. The light came in through the high windows and the dust floated like in an old movie. There were the tiles, shining as if they wanted to tell me something.

And they did.

Right in the center of the floor, under the column, was a slightly more sunken tile. I bent down. I touched the edges. It was loose.

I lifted it.

Underneath there was no earth. There was a hole. A square of about 60 by 60 centimeters, perfectly delimited by old bricks. Inside, a box. Black wood, old, with rusted but intact hardware. It weighed little. I took it out carefully. The dogs approached, restless. Mamas growled. Maqui stood still, her gaze fixed. Even Mato sat down, which was rare for him.

I didn’t open it. Not yet. I sat with the box on my legs, heart pumping hard. I felt that what was inside wasn’t just old. It was important. Like I’d been waiting for that moment for centuries.

Chapter 2: The box

The box weighed less than it looked. It had that texture of old wood that almost creaks under your fingers when you touch it, as if protesting at being disturbed. I sat on a block of stone while the dogs clustered around me, expectant.

With the small knife I always carry in my pocket, I carefully forced the latch. The metallic creak echoed throughout the barn like a dry gunshot. Masto gasped. Maqui jumped and took two steps away, but stood watching. I opened the lid slowly, as if I were unearthing an ancient promise.

Inside, the first thing I saw was a package wrapped in cloth. Thick, gray cloth, with frayed embroidery. I unwrapped it and a book appeared. Small, dark leather, no title in sight. I opened it.

It was a diary.

The first page was handwritten, in faded ink, in old Catalan, beautiful and somewhat difficult to understand. “Per a qui trobi aquesta caixa…” it read. From there began the story of one Bernat Jorba, dated 1713. Soldier. Refugee. Hidden in Mastorrencito.

I could not believe it. The diary spoke of the war, of how they hid in houses scattered around the area, of a network of messengers and of an object they had to protect at all costs. “El cor de la terra”, it called it. He never explained what it was, but he did explain where it was: under the column.

I looked up at the column. I stood up. So did the dogs. It was as if they knew. As if all those years hanging around had been part of something bigger.

I went back to the hole. I took a closer look. In one corner, almost fused with the bricks, was a carved symbol. Four bars. Above it, a small keyhole.

The box had a double lid. Underneath the diary, a small rusty key rested wrapped in a red ribbon.

I took it. It fit.

I turned.

The ground shook. Not like an earthquake. As if something, inside the earth, responded to that key.

The dogs started barking all at once. Mamas, especially, started scratching at the floor near the column as if she knew exactly where. The brick creaked. An entire slab began to move.

And then I knew that what I had discovered was not just a diary. Nor a box. It was an entrance. To something much bigger.

But that… that I’m still not sure if I should have opened it.

Chapter 3: The passageway

The slab shifted with a thud, as if someone was pushing it from the inside. The dust that rose was thick, almost untouchable, as if it hadn’t moved in centuries. I froze for a few seconds. Masto was barking insistently. Mamas growled low, with that tension she only brings out when something really doesn’t sit right. Maqui and Mato stood behind me, restless, but not moving.

Under the slab, a dark hole. It was not very deep, barely a meter, but deep enough to reveal a stone floor and, beyond it, a tunnel that was lost in the blackness. It didn’t smell musty. It smelled… closed. Of frozen time. Of old earth.

I looked for a flashlight. I had to run up to the house. I grabbed a headlamp, a small handheld one, and went down with a rope just in case. The dogs were waiting for me right where I had left them. No one had moved. Not a hair.

-Shall we go in or what? -I said, more out of fear than courage.

I unhooked the rope and let myself fall. As I touched the ground, I felt the coolness. It was a different climate down there. I crouched down so as not to hit my head. The passageway was no more than five feet high. It started in polished stone, like a small Roman vault, and continued, little by little, transforming into something more rustic, with walls of compacted earth.

I moved forward. Slowly. I didn’t want the dogs to come down yet. Every step was a crunch. The air was charged with something ancient. Not fear exactly. But yes… memory.

About ten meters ahead, the tunnel turned slightly. And there I saw it.

One door. Iron. Reinforced. With a symbol engraved in the center: the four bars. This time, crossed by a horizontal line that I had not seen before.

TO BE CONTINUED………..
_______

From MasTorrencito we wish you a good day and may your dogs be with you!!!!

—
If you want, you can see our vouchers for weekends, retirees vouchers, at an incredible price… go to www.mastorrencito.com or if you want you can read more history and anecdotes that have happened to us in MasTorrencito… Click here … https://casaruralconperrosgirona.com

La entrada What the barn was hiding… (2 and 3) by MasTorrencito se publicó primero en Casa Rural con Perros Girona.

Ayyy, what would I be without you, my love… Every year you give me a new experience. 2024 has been no different. In fact, it has been beautiful: one more year without inspection, and I already feel like I live in a garden without flowers 🌼… without colors … without soul … but with bills. Always with invoices. And don’t get the wrong idea… the P doesn’t stand for PUTA, it stands for PESADILLA.

Treasury or by making thieves?

Because, of course, who needs peace of mind when you can have 85 VAT rates to play accounting Tetris? 🤯
This year we have collected:
0️⃣ , 2️⃣, 4️⃣, 5️⃣, 5-0.25 (what is that, a Lidl VAT-free Day promotion?), 7,5️⃣, 🔟, and the inevitable 2️⃣1️⃣ .
I just need a sticker album to glue them all together! 📚

And of course, then comes the tax reality:
📌 “You can’t deduct the whole car because you also use it to get bread.”
📌 “Light doesn’t count because it lights up your face, and that’s not economic activity (at the moment).”
📌 “Gas, water, wifi… watch out, that’s enjoyed by your dog too, and Hacienda doesn’t deduct pets.” 🐶💧⚡

Meanwhile, those who do have the resources to work magic with their money (cof cof cof, the big companies), have advisors, prosecutors, consultants, evasion experts who could hack NASA if they were asked… and those, curiously, nobody bothers them.

But the little ones… you always have us in your sights 🔍
We are like that student who does study but still gets caught copying… because of course, you have to make quotas, and it is easier to annoy those who have nothing to defend themselves with.

Yes:
📆 I work 18 hours a day.
👷‍♂️ I have two employees to whom I pay their social security, income tax, withholdings, and I even buy them a coffee from time to time.
💼 I am self-employed.
📉 And it turns out that, when we retire, they will almost certainly collect more pension than I do.

And I have yet to hear that being your own boss is “freedom”… Freedom, yes. To screw yourself in style. 🕊️💥

📣 Dear Treasury,
Do you really think it is wrong that a rural house that bills at 10% and buys at 21% is entitled to have the difference refunded?
Is it so complex?
Do you think it is so suspicious that we simply want to deduct what is due without you treating us as if we were putting drugs in the fruit boxes? 🍌🚓

We want to work. Not survive by juggling regulations that even you don’t understand.

So, thanks for another year of strong emotions, regulatory contradictions and early mornings to balance an Excel with more VAT than logic.

I love you. But from far away. Very far away.
Almost as far as the retirement I will have left after all this. 🥲📉

From MasTorrencito we wish you a good day and may your dogs be with you!!!!

—
If you want, you can see our vouchers for weekends, retirees vouchers, at an incredible price… go to www.mastorrencito.com or if you want you can read more history and anecdotes that have happened to us in MasTorrencito… Click here … https://casaruralconperrosgirona.com

La entrada Treasury… blessed are you among all the p… prosecutors 😇💸 se publicó primero en Casa Rural con Perros Girona.