Act Four: Sometimes Jamon, Manchego Cheese, and Bread Are All You Need

While I was pacing in the courtyard, a teenager came into the lobby on his way upstairs, realized our predicament, and told Carol that the train station was open and allowing people to stay there.  At least there was food and bathrooms.

(By the way, the people coming into the building had keys to the front door and their apartment.  Much better than relying on electronic locks).

So after discussing our complete lack of options, we decided to walk nearly the mile to the train station.  When we got there, a crowd of people waited outside.  We walked into the station through a side door.

Worked her charm and passable Spanish language skills with the security guy, we learned that, no the train station was NOT open to the public.  (They did later open it. . .more on that to follow) 

So we headed back toward our apartment.  We came across a bar (several of them in fact) that was serving drinks and a limited number of cold tapas.  So I ordered a beer, Carol had a glass of red wine, and we feasted on bread, fresh cut jamon, and manchego cheese.  As dinner options go that night, it was hard to beat.  

In fact, every year on the anniversary of this night we should celebrate with jamon, manchego cheese, and bread in memory of our most unusual evening in a foreign country.

We both used our phone flashlight to go to the bathroom -- use one while you can!

On the way back, we came across a hotel that had a generator.  Lights!  But no rooms!  Well, we tried.

By this point my phone was dead, so we couldn’t use my GPS to get through the rabbit warren of streets to our apartment.  Carol was reluctant to burn her battery anymore by using GPS.  The sun was going down, and soon it would be dark.  And by dark, remember, that means no lights.  None.  Whatsoever. 

We took several wrong turns before Carol finally relented and turned her phone back on for GPS.  I was quite understanding about her reluctance, so that was fine.  (Editor: Um, no.  You weren’t at all understanding.  Writer: I guess we will just have to remember things differently!  I will remember events my way, and Carol will remember them the right way – but she doesn’t have a blog to set the record straight).

Anyhow, we had left the massive wooden door to the apartment building slightly cracked, but someone else had pulled it shut.  Sigh.  I pictured sleeping on the street like we live in San Francisco, but Carol had other ideas.  She banged on the door until the person in the apartment above the door opened her window to see what was the matter.

Carol used her solid Spanish to explain the problem.  The woman kindly came down and let us in.  We flopped back into our chairs, picturing a fitful night of trying to sleep there.  The worst part was having no idea if we would be able to get our luggage (basically everything we brought with us except a few small items were were carrying around).

We talked the talk of the worried.  We would take turns having a negative perspective, while the other tried to buck us up.