Not in any of the other 200 from France to here, NO, of course not<\/strong>. It had to be in my<\/em> rural house, the one that is the most hidden, the one that requires a small detour, the one that is not at the roadside with neon lights flashing “HERE, ENTER WITHOUT ASKING”. No. They came here. <\/p>\n\n Because, my friends, if there’s one thing I know for sure in this life, it’s that I must have a magnet for oddball customers.<\/strong> A radar. A spell. Something. Because this is not normal. <\/p>\n\n Yesterday I get a call from some Belgians. No reservation. Neither by Booking, nor by Airbnb, nor by carrier pigeon. Nothing. Crazy. <\/strong> And I, with my natural kindness (which I put to the test more and more every day), explain everything<\/strong> in detail. I even send them a WhatsApp with the location and details, because you have to be foresighted. Everything is fine. Everything in order. <\/p>\n\n -We will arrive between 7 and 8 o’clock, thank you. With this in mind, I decide that I have some free time and I go to have lunch with my friend Andr\u00e9s<\/strong> at the Club Deportivo de Banyoles. A quiet meal. A pleasant chat. Relaxation. A luxury in my hospitality life. But I hadn’t even taken two bites of the first dish when… PIM. WhatsApp. <\/strong><\/p>\n\n -We are at the door.<\/p>\n\n I look at the message. I look at my plate. I look at Andres. I respond with all the patience of a Buddhist monk on his best day: And there, the moment of the century:<\/strong> Psycho<\/em> music playing in my head.<\/p>\n\n -Well, it’s not going to be, ma’am. There are schedules. I block my cell phone, take a sip of wine (because this deserves it) and continue eating. But of course, my head does not stop spinning.<\/strong> Andr\u00e9s notices it and tells me: So no coffee, no dessert, no after dinner.<\/strong> All down the drain.<\/p>\n I return home with a mixture of resignation and exhaustion. Let’s see if the other guests arriving at 21:00 are more normal. <\/p>\n\n But surprise!<\/strong> A car planted at the door.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n I stop, get off, ask: AHHHHHH.<\/p>\n\n I breathe in. I exhale. I mentally recite a mantra of patience. <\/p>\n\n -Okay. No problem. Come in, park in the parking lot and go down to reception. <\/p>\n\n I show you the first room. Warm, cozy, cozy, dreamy.<\/strong> -Don’t you have another one? My husband doesn’t like this one. <\/p>\n\n Of course. Because after going away, coming back, and getting all worked up, it was obvious that they were going to be exquisite.<\/strong> <\/p>\n\n We go up, I show them another one. I explain the schedule. If they need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen ironing. Everything in order. <\/p>\n\n BUT…. half an hour later I see them in the courtyard<\/strong>, debating as if they were at an international philosophy congress. I look at the room… they haven’t even brought up the suitcases.<\/strong> <\/p>\n\n I turn off lights, close door, come down again. I go up. I keep ironing. My chocolate, my repeated series of Energy. Everything is fine. But, twenty minutes later, again at the door.<\/strong> <\/p>\n\n -You don’t have another room? This one, to my husband…. <\/p>\n\n Ah, we’re still at it!<\/p>\n\n -Yes, of course. Follow me. <\/p>\n\n I show them another one and I can’t stand it anymore.<\/strong> Sepulchral silence.<\/p>\n\n -What? They are still hesitating. They tell me they are going to think about it.<\/strong> I’m still going about my business, with the zen mode activated. But no.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n They play again. YOU KNOW WHAT? It doesn’t matter. I have nothing else to do.<\/strong> But no. Because there was still to be a round of questions.<\/strong> <\/p>\n\n -Can you bring us a beer? There my soul floats away to the beyond.<\/p>\n\n Luckily, there were other French people in the house<\/strong> and they hooked up with them. From the window I see them chatting animatedly and even looking like they are enjoying themselves. Or so I think. We’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n What I do know is that my sainted patience has gone up a notch today.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n My goodness, what a cross.<\/p>\n\n From MasTorrencito we wish you a good day and may your dogs be with you!!!!<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n — <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Of all the rural hotels, guesthouses and lodges in the area… they had to end up here! Not in any of the other 200 from France to here, NO, of…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3464,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_kad_post_transparent":"","_kad_post_title":"","_kad_post_layout":"","_kad_post_sidebar_id":"","_kad_post_content_style":"","_kad_post_vertical_padding":"","_kad_post_feature":"","_kad_post_feature_position":"","_kad_post_header":false,"_kad_post_footer":false,"_kad_post_classname":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[62],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3468","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-mastorrencitos-stories"],"yoast_head":"\nAct I: the spontaneous Belgians<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n
![\"los](\"https:\/\/casaruralconperrosgirona.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/losbelgas.jpg\")
<\/figure>\nSecond act: the return of the Belgians (plot twist!)<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n
Act III: The Dilemma of the Perfect Room<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n
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