Lost Security

July 1, 2012 So quietly we pulled into Madrid, retrieved our luggage and found the locker rental place at the airport for my pack pack for three weeks. Then we found the Metro train and after two line changes arrived in Puerta del Sol in Madrid. We located our hostel without too much difficulty considering we were both sleep deprived zombies by this time. We got checked in and crashed. When we awoke search began the bar where we had café con leche three years ago. It took a while but we actually found it. We slurped up our café ate some croquettes and then I went to meeting and Leea went to Starbucks to download applications on her iPod using their free wireless. I got ask to lead the meeting, speak for 20 minutes and choose a topic. It was, of course, about surrender and the lessons I've already learned about it from the Camino without ever my foot actually stepping on the Camino . . . yet. I'm trying to stay with the plan that I will take each day as it comes, make my best effort to get to my hotel in Saint Jean Pied de Port in France, and the morning of July 23 if it is to be, I will put on my boots and my pack, open the door of my room and step outside. Whether I make it five feet or five hundred miles will be my foot work and God's plan. After the meeting we return to our room and get ready to go to dinner. As I am getting ready I realize I can't find either of my credit cards or my ATM card. I look everywhere, through my two small coin purses, all my pockets, the suit case, my little shoulder bag, nothing. Panic starts to rise in my throat. We remember that I had them when we checked into the hostal and the only place I had them after that was at the bar where we had café. We leave the hostal to return to the bar where we had cáfe to ask if they have been found. The problem is, we don't remember exactly where this place is, it is night now so everything looks different and Spain is playing in the Eurocopa Finale against Italy at the moment, so the streets are eerily deserted except for little knots of people in and around bars with TV sets where every once in a while (in fact exactly four times during the evening) we hear joyous screaming and cheers. So everything looks different. We're not even sure the cáfe will be open if we do find it. By this time, I am beside myself. I want to cry or scream, I'm running all the back up scenarios through my head, calling John, how long does it take to get one of my credit cards at home sent to wherever it is we will be at the time, but then again we can't check into the hotel where we are going without a card, I want to cry again. We discuss how I should not keep them all together. After traipsing up and down Gran Via we finally spot it and IT IS OPEN! The place is packed with football fans watching the game. I squeeze up to the bar, praying all the way. No they have not seen them. I walk out wanting to cry again. Leea looks at me and asks "What is that thing on your wrist?" Oh shit it's the stretch bracelet pack I got to carry my money and credit cards in, and there they were. Phew. We went out for a celebratory dinner of paella mixta and watched the football fans dancing in the streets sing "cuatro zero" over and over, wrapped in Spanish flags and the joy of victory. The paella was scrumptious? It was filled with saffron colored rice, clams, shrimp, chicken, beef, calamari, onions and bell peppers. All is well that ends well.