Hotel Los Barruecos

At 10:15 pm I wasn't concerned. My Booking.com confirmation said reception stayed open until 11:30. But with my suitcase at the entrance, I found a dark lobby and doors that wouldn't open. I called the number on the door. The woman who answered sounded sharp and impatient. After a ten-hour drive, my rusty Spanish deserted me as I tried to explain I had a booking. She cut me off with “No, no. Completo. Full,” then hung up. I waited in the cold outside. A little later I saw a woman in the lobby with a phone to her ear. I waved and called again, but she looked right past me. I told her through the glass that I was outside and had a confirmation. She repeated “Está completo,” still avoiding my eyes, and wouldn't open the door or even shrug. It felt as though I didn't exist. Then a man in work clothes came out of the side alley. He didn't ask questions, just gestured to a small side door and let me in. Inside, I went straight to the desk. The woman looked startled and asked who I was. I showed her the reservation on my phone and asked her to check again. After some annoyed clicking, she called someone in a back room. Her expression changed, and she finally said they had a room. No apology or explanation, just a plastic key card across the counter. I took it to the elevator, wondering whether the room would be as cold as the welcome.