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The Hosts of Hospitality

There are places that, as well as being beautiful, are special thanks to the people who inhabit them. Without this they would be just a beautiful, inert shell. A house without a family is like a body without a soul or a library without books.

In Can Bordoy, we are proud to think that we have built something eternal and timeless, bringing back to life a place that had remained forgotten for many years, immersed in a cloak of invisibility, reduced to a shadow, a structure that nobody noticed, a hulk hidden in an alley called Forn de la Gloria. We are not just talking about the resurgence of this emblematic building that has taken us in, but about our united family who have made it their home.

Klementyna, our Lady of the House, and Alessandra, from her butler’s team, know this all too well as we meet on the warm August afternoon that is immortalised in this photo. Secrets are shared while decorating trees with the romantic lanterns that will, in just a few hours, illuminate our guests, and their stories, on this magical Ferragosto evening to be held in our garden. They met a long time ago, and there is an indestructible bond that connects them which is oblivious to time and space.
Destiny contrived for them to meet again under the shade of our leafy garden, converted for the afternoon into a giant kaleidoscope which projects an array of glittering reflections on our Grand House, in a game of geometric lights which illuminate the picturesque scenes of our entire family, creating a magical setting for the arrival of our friends. It feels like even the trees want to join in the celebration that will take place in the next couple of hours. Here, in our house, everything seems to be alive.

José and Christian, two of our chefs, are in the background, forming part of a delicious gastronomic still life, testing the grill. Risdel, under the wooden porch beams, organises his restaurant team in an impromptu meeting where everyone listens with a solemn countenance. Joan moves and caresses the garden’s parasols with an elegant touch, as if he were dancing a tango with them. Giovanni, our director, enters, stage left, relaxed as always and reviewing every detail with his serene and omnipresent gaze, suddenly illuminated by the presence of two little women who burst onto the theatrical stage which is our garden, with shy smiles and the innocence of one who is
living a childhood memory which will forever be remembered as a velvet soft and familiar memory, making them smile with nostalgia when they are adults.

And so, as sunset’s golden light creeps across the walls and spreads over the tables, and the heat of the day withdraws into the shadows, our guests arrive. Silence. Work begins. Ferragosto, in our garden, where magic always happens. Where the trees play with the light and the walls seem to whisper stories of the past. Where wood creaks with charm. Where the cracks become flirtatious. Where souls converse about forgotten traditions. About how to make things by hand. About how to ask for things with a smile while saying “please. About remembering that what makes something really special is the human touch. Thus, as in summer night’s dream, we become, once more, the hosts of hospitality.


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