It was an ordinary day, one of those winter days when the cold gets into your bones, and the overcast sky seemed to invite you to stay at home. A Night of Intrigue at Mas torrencito: The Secret Meeting that Changed Everything
I was in the kitchen, minding my own business, when the ringing of the phone broke the stillness of the morning. I answered without much expectation. It was an unfamiliar voice, polite and serious in tone.
-Well, I wanted to ask about the availability of your house to rent it in its entirety,” said the man without further ado.
Surprised, I smiled at the idea of a full rental; it didn’t happen often, let alone in February.
-Of course,” he replied enthusiastically, “when would they need it?
-Maybe today,” replied the man, as if he didn’t want to waste time. Is the house well insulated?
That question puzzled me a bit, but he answered calmly.
-Yes, very isolated. We are in the middle of the countryside, and the property is completely fenced. No one comes here without an invitation.
There was a brief silence, and then the voice continued in an inquisitive, almost paranoid tone.
-And do you have neighbors nearby?
-No, no one for miles around,” he said, beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. Who would want that much privacy?
And more questions… A Night of Intrigue at Mas Torrencito: The Secret Meeting That Changed Everything
The questions continued. If there were dogs, if anyone ever came in unannounced, if I often walked by there myself. When I suggested he look at the web to see pictures of the house and get an idea, he seemed to calm down a bit.
-Yes, we’ll look at the site and let you know in a rat,” he replied. Oh, and by the way, there won’t be a problem with dogs, will there?
Let out a short laugh.
-Not at all. There are four of them, and all they will do is ask for cuddles,” he assured her.
-Perfect. We’ll talk to you shortly then.
When we hung up, I went back to my chores with some curiosity. He struck me as a somewhat… peculiar customer. For some reason, my mind wandered, and in the background, the television continued its monotonous chatter. These were complicated times here in Catalonia, the Process was at its peak, and I, who considered myself a supporter of Puigdemont, couldn’t help but wonder what it would all end up in. The thought of people ending up in jail for voting again made me indignant; it seemed senseless. But I put those thoughts aside and went back to my day-to-day life.
Not long after, the phone rang again. I looked at the screen: it was the same number as before.
-He answered, recognizing her voice immediately.
-It’s me, what you called before. We have decided to let the house. We are very interested in privacy.
He heard a wave of relief. It would be a good sum, especially in a season when few reserves appeared. February was not usually a washout month.
-Perfect! -He replied, “When would you need it and for how many days?
-Tonight, if possible. We would stay until the day after tomorrow. Is there a problem?
-No one, of course. -I smiled, satisfied. Just tell me what you need, bed and breakfast, lunches, dinners…
-Everything, we want everything included. Oh, and that no one comes to the house. We want to be completely alone so that we can discuss certain issues away from the hustle and bustle. Is that possible?
-Don’t worry, not a single person will come in,” he assured him. If necessary, I’ll take care of everything myself without bothering them.
The man seemed satisfied.
-Perfect. How do I pay you? Bizum, wire transfer?
-The first thing I need to know is how many people will be there, to prepare everything.
-Hmm… How many rooms do you have? -he asked in a vague tone, as if he still didn’t know the exact details.
-Nine in all: four doubles, four triples and one suite. -I listened to him calculate silently, somewhat hesitantly.
-All right, get them all ready. I don’t know how many are going to sleep over in the end.
He agreed without further questions and I told him the price, 140 euros per room, full board, free access to the facilities. He gave me a number for the reservation: Joan Miquel Figueres. We hung up, and I immediately set off to get everything ready. I called Meme to be ready for lunches and dinners, lit the fireplaces, and checked each room to make sure they were spotless. In a little while, she received the notification of a bizum: 3,780 euros. I was shocked; I had never received such a large amount all at once, let alone through bizum. It seemed almost unreal, but there it was, in my account.
The first guests. A Night of Intrigue at Mas Torrencito: The Secret Meeting that Changed Everything.
It was about seven o’clock in the evening and, right on time, a car appeared at the entrance. A man got out of the car, impeccably dressed and with an elegant bearing. As he approached, he introduced himself in a firm voice:
-Joan Miquel, a pleasure.
He led me to the entrance, and I started to show him the house. He seemed very pleased with every detail, and as we reached the chill out, Lluis Llach’s “Canción de Libertad” was playing in the background. I recognized it instantly and he smiled with a certain nostalgia.
-Oh, Llach… do you like it? -he asked me.
-Yes, very much so. Llach has always been the soundtrack of our history here,” he answered sincerely, feeling the same nostalgia.
-He has that ability to connect with what we all feel… Although now it seems that they want to make us forget what’s important, right?
I nodded silently, and we both stared at the landscape, immense and free under the sky that was beginning to darken. After a while of silence, he changed the subject and asked about my dogs. He called them from the patio and, upon seeing them, Juan Miguel approached them naturally, petting them as if he had known them all his life.
Shortly after, he said goodbye, assuring me that his friends would arrive later. The hours passed and, as night fell, other cars appeared. One after another they parked on the esplanade. Some were removing suitcases, others seemed simply ready for a quiet chat. From a corner, I watched them approach, forming a group of faces that somehow looked familiar.
It was then that he came. Among the group of men and women walking towards the house, there was an unmistakable figure. For a moment, I couldn’t believe it. It was there, like the serious face, walking among them.
It was him. ……
The clock read 7:00 in the evening, but it already seemed late at night. The shadows were lengthening in the farmhouse, while the cold February breeze brought with it a heavy silence, interrupted only by the barking of my dogs. The Secret Meeting that Changed Everything (part 2)
From the terrace, I watched them arrive. One after another, the cars were occupying the small gravel esplanade, and the headlights seemed to illuminate not only the road, but the beginning of something I still didn’t fully understand.
As he stepped out of the car, the air seemed to become thicker. He, walking calmly, emanated a presence that filled everything around him. The others followed him, some with suitcases, some with backpacks, but all with serious looks. I tried to keep my composure as they approached, but I felt my heart racing. It couldn’t be real. There it was, in my house. In my farmhouse.
I was torn between the excitement of telling the world about this and the certainty that I should not say anything. If they had chosen Mas Torrencito it was for a reason: the isolation, the privacy, the silence. Any imprudence, any slip-up, could ruin everything. I swallowed the urge to pick up the phone, took a deep breath and went over to greet them.
Joan Miquel was the first to greet me, with his calm smile and his always friendly tone.
-Thank you for having us. Everything has been perfect so far.
Then he introduced me to the rest of the group, and there he was, just a few steps away. He held out his hand, and as he did so, his eyes locked onto mine. He knew instantly that I was nervous.
-It’s okay… it’s all right. -His voice was calm, but it carried a weight that could not be ignored.
That gesture, those words, reassured me a little. I made an effort to look serene as I showed them around the house. The group moved cautiously, observing every detail: the rooms, the dining room with the long table already prepared, the terrace with the chill out area dimly lit by the garlands of lights. Everything seemed appropriate, or at least it seemed so by the nodding gestures of Joan Miquel and Him.
When I finished showing them everything, they spread out in their rooms, organizing themselves discreetly. I stayed for a moment in the chill out, lit a cigarette and let myself be carried away by the sound of the wind. I felt that something big was about to happen, something that went far beyond me, this farmhouse or even them. But I couldn’t figure it out yet.
I went up to the kitchen to see how dinner was going. Meme was in her element, preparing each dish with her usual dedication. The salad was ready, the zucchini cream was simmering, and the fricandó filled the air with that unmistakable aroma of Catalan tradition.
-Everything’s in order,” said Meme, looking over her shoulder at me. You look like you’re on cloud nine, though. What’s wrong?
-Nothing, Meme. Just… a special night.
Before he could explain further, there was a knock at the door. It was Joan Miquel, as always with that smile he never let on much.
-What time is good for dinner? -he asked.
Meme and I exchanged a quick glance, and she responded:
-At nine o’clock everything will be ready.
-Perfect,” he said, satisfied. We’re all doing great.
The moment… The Secret Meeting that Changed Everything
When he left, Meme went down to the dining room to set the table, while I stayed in the kitchen, biding my time. I was checking emails on my computer, trying to distract myself, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what was going on under this roof. Then, another knock at the door. This time it wasn’t Joan Miquel.
-Come in,” I said, without looking up from the laptop.
When I did, I saw it. He. Standing in the doorframe, hands in his pockets and a relaxed expression. He smiled slightly before speaking.
-Where can I get a beer?
-If you want, I’ll take it up,” I offered.
-Well… do you mind if I sit here with you?
-Sure, sit wherever you want,” I replied, trying not to look too nervous.
I went down to the pantry to get a beer, and when I came back, he was already sitting in front of the table, watching the kitchen with curiosity. I passed him the bottle, and after a swig, he looked up at me with a smile.
-Tell me, what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?
I couldn’t help but laugh, even though inside I felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest.
-Well, just like in the song, right?
We both laughed, and the atmosphere relaxed a little. But her gaze changed, becoming more serious, more inquisitive.
-No, really. You’ve been around a lot before you ended up here, haven’t you?
My mind was racing. He knew about me. He had informed himself. It was not just a casual question. I swallowed my breath before answering.
-Well, I was teaching in Salamanca, I got involved with a student, we went to Nice and then we ended up here… to make a long story short, of course.
-Fuck! You’ve simplified it quite a bit, haven’t you? -he said with a short laugh, “And you’re happy here?
-Very much so. Looking back, after all the places I’ve been, I think this is the best thing that ever happened to me.
-That’s the important thing, in the end. -He thought for a moment, taking another sip of his beer.
Awkward question… but a necessary one. The Secret Meeting That Changed Everything
There was silence, and I decided to take the opportunity to ask him something I had been asking him since I saw him arrive.
-And you? How are you doing? Because, honestly, it doesn’t look easy at all.
He sighed, resting the beer on the table, and for a moment, his expression darkened.
-It’s not. There have been many times when I thought we weren’t going to be able to move forward. Sometimes, we didn’t have the tools to do it right. And yes, I know some people say I backed down. Maybe I did, but there was too much at stake.
-Well,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully, “I think you have all my respect just for trying. Most people just talk, but you… you did it.
-Thank you. But behind me there are many people working. This is not just my doing.
-Do you think that someday…? -I left the question in the air, not daring to finish it.
-We are working on it. We don’t let up. Always onward.
Allibera’m. The Secret Meeting That Changed Everything
At that moment, the door opened and Joan Miquel appeared, a glass of wine in his hand.
-What are you doing here, conspiring? -he asked, laughing as he approached.
-Nothing, talking about life. Are you joining? -I answered.
-Of course, but with a little wine.
I went down to the cellar and looked for something special, something I knew they would like. I went upstairs with a bottle of Allibera’m del Montsant, and when I showed it to them, they both seemed impressed.
-And how is it? -they asked.
-Try it and let me know.
I opened the bottle, poured three glasses, and Joan Miquel raised his.
-Salut.
I, without thinking, added:
-And republic.
The three of us laughed, but the atmosphere was still charged with an intensity I couldn’t ignore. Something big was afoot, something I could not yet understand. As they talked, a question was on my mind: What role would tonight play in history?
Dinner and night at MasTorrencito
Meme appeared in the kitchen, with her always matter-of-fact tone, breaking the relaxed atmosphere we had created with wine and conversation.
-Dinner! It’s getting cold,” he said as he rested his hands on his hips, looking at us impatiently.
He stood up immediately, smiling as if he understood that no one argues with Meme. They drained the wine glasses, and as he was about to leave for the dining room, he turned to me.
-Will you be there later? -he asked, with a gesture that, though simple, carried a certain weight.
-Of course, I’ll be here,” I replied, trying to make my voice sound calm.
Dinner passed amidst discreet chatter and murmuring at the large dining room table. From the kitchen, Meme and I went back and forth with the dishes. The salad was a big hit; the fricandó was almost entirely gone, and the pineapple ice cream brought a few knowing smiles from the guests. The conversations were whispers, fragments of ideas and strategies that seemed to float in the air like a dense fog. Although I didn’t understand much of what they were saying, I could feel the intensity in every glance, in every nod.
Around eleven o’clock at night, when everything seemed to calm down, one of the assistants entered the kitchen. It was Joan Miquel, and with an almost conspiratorial tone, he said to me:
-He calls you. He asks if you can come down with something to drink.
There was no need to say who had sent him. I took several bottles of whiskey and rum from the pantry, filled a tray with glasses and a bucket with lots of ice, and went down to the living room, where the atmosphere was completely different from the dining room. There they were, forming a relaxed circle, some on sofas, others on chairs they had dragged to the center of the room. There was a different, almost familiar calm.
When I came in with the drinks, he motioned for me to put everything on a side table and got up to help himself. He grabbed a glass of ice and a bottle of whiskey, then looked at me with that smile of his, the one that seemed to say that everything was under control, even if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.
-Now, a little music and then to bed… to think,” he said as he picked up a guitar that someone had handed him.
The surprise was great. He played well. Very good indeed. The chords filled the room, and although it wasn’t a professional performance, there was something in his playing, in the way he closed his eyes and let the notes flow, that caught everyone present. Slowly, some began to sing softly. Songs of nostalgia, of struggle, of love and faraway longings.
The hours passed as if they were minutes, and the glasses were emptying as the atmosphere filled with songs and soft laughter. No one talked about what they had discussed in the dining room; now everything revolved around music and camaraderie. It was as if the tension of the night had dissipated in that circle, leaving only a moment of shared peace.
It was almost three in the morning when the guitar finally fell silent. Some retired to their rooms, others stayed a while longer, talking quietly, but I took advantage of the moment to retire. I knew that morning would come quickly and that I had a long list of tasks ahead of me.
Sunrise at the farmhouse
At five o’clock in the morning, the sound of the alarm clock brought me out of the light sleep I had fallen into. I went down to the kitchen, turned on the lights and began to prepare the biscuits. It was a routine that comforted me, the sweet smell filling the farmhouse while the world was still asleep.
At about half past six, a soft knock on the kitchen door brought me out of my thoughts. I turned, and there he was, dressed in simple clothes, his eyes slightly tired but full of pent-up energy.
-Can I have a coffee? -he asked, in a voice that seemed closer, more human, after the long night.
-Sure, sit wherever you want,” I replied, as I reached for a cup and started the coffee pot.
He sat at the kitchen table, watching me as I continued to prepare the biscuits. It was a comfortable silence, as if not much needed to be said anymore. When the coffee was ready, I poured it for him and went back to my task, but he broke the silence soon after.
-Do you always get up this early? -he asked, with a curious tone.
-Always. Between the cupcakes and the stories I’m trying to write, I like to make the most of my time,” I replied.
He nodded, taking a sip of his coffee, and then said something I wasn’t expecting.
-You know, last night, when I was playing the guitar, I thought about how important a place like this is. A place where, if only for a few hours, you can stop being what the world expects you to be.
I didn’t know what to say. There was something in his words that resonated with me, though I couldn’t explain it. He looked out the window, where the first lights of dawn were beginning to illuminate the landscape.
-Thank you for your hospitality,” he said after a while, “and for not asking too many questions.
-Thanks to you,” I replied, with a smile, “For trusting me.
He got up, set the cup in the sink and waved goodbye before leaving the kitchen. I stood there, staring at the door, feeling that I had just been part of something that would not be repeated, something that, though small, carried with it a significance that would take time for me to fully understand.
The outcome at Mas Torrencito
The sunrise was slowly advancing, tinging the hills surrounding the farmhouse with shades of pink. After our brief conversation in the kitchen, he had left for the terrace. I stayed a while longer in my world of flour and biscuits, letting the calm of manual labor fill the void his departure had left. But something in the air was still vibrating with the intensity of the night before, as if an echo of those songs and confidences had been trapped within the walls.
At about eight o’clock, the farmhouse began to wake up. The murmurs of the attendees came from the corridors, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the sweet smell of biscuits coming out of the oven. Little by little they appeared in the kitchen, some still sleepy, but with faces that reflected something else: satisfaction, as if the previous night’s meeting had served an important purpose.
Joan Miquel was one of the first to go down, always with that smile that didn’t let you guess too much.
-Good morning. Everything perfect, as always,” he said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Last night was special… thank you for being part of this.
I responded with a simple “you’re welcome,” knowing that any further questions or comments would be out of place. He knew I understood my role: to be, to listen, and not to talk too much.
At about nine o’clock, when everyone was gathered around the breakfast table, He entered with His leisurely gait. He greeted the others with subtle gestures and poured himself a cup of coffee before sitting down at the end of the table. He didn’t talk much, but whenever he did, everyone else was silent. There was something about his presence that needed no explanation.
After breakfast, the group began to prepare for their departure. They moved quietly, gathering their things and talking to each other in whispers. I watched from a corner, wondering if I would ever know what had really happened in those conversations, if I would ever understand the meaning of it all.
When the last car was ready to leave, he approached me once again. He held out his hand, but this time his gaze was different, more direct, as if he wanted to make sure I understood what he was going to say.
-Thank you for everything. What you did here, even if it seems small, is more important than you think.
-Thank you. For trusting me,” I replied, feeling the weight of his words.
He nodded and turned to leave, but before getting into the car, he stopped, looked at the farmhouse one last time and smiled, as if he wanted to engrave the place in his memory. As the cars disappeared down the gravel road, I stood there in front of the farmhouse, feeling the silence fill everything again.
A final thought. The outcome of the Secret Meeting that Changed Everything.
It was weeks before I fully understood what that night had meant. Little by little, details of secret meetings and strategies began to appear in the news, like pieces of a puzzle that only now made sense. I knew I could never share my experience; what had happened at Mas Torrencito had to stay within those walls.
However, every time someone asked me about the farmhouse, its history or the anecdotes that surrounded it, I smiled to myself, knowing that one of the most important stories it had housed would never be told.
And every time I hear the strumming of a guitar or the clinking of glasses full of whiskey and rum, I return to that night, to the circle in the living room, to the songs that resounded until dawn. Because, although the world does not know it, I know that in Mas Torrencito, in a lost corner of Catalonia, a night of history, camaraderie and hope was born. And that is a memory that I will carry with me forever.
From MasTorrencito we wish you a HAPPY DAY!!! and may your dogs be with you!!!!
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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 Mas Torrencito… Click here:
