There is a mountain on the outskirts of Alcalá that I really enjoyed scaling. In order to get to it, I had to cross a dam that always has about two inches of water flowing over it. When I was crossing it for the first time, I lost my flip-flop just as I reached the other side. I watched my poor foot's companion float downstream to oblivion. I even went down and asked a man if he had seen it. He said he had, but ten minutes earlier (it must have taken me a while to put my tennis shoes on and meander my way to where he was). I guess I have left a small part of me in Spain, never to be recovered again. Oh well. At least it wasn't my camera.