Calais Cove

I wanted to go to Paris, and my colleague Isabelle, who is French, was heading there herself, so we decided to travel together. For reasons unknown, there were no trains running, including the Eurostar. Planes were a no-go too, so we settled on walking. Google Maps estimated that if we kept a steady pace and trekked through the night, we could be there within three hours. The app was not exactly accurate, as we did walk all night through the English countryside and still hadn't reached the Channel Tunnel. We hiked over ditch and dale, trying to avoid motorways but getting turned around in the wrong direction and needing to recalibrate. We eventually reached the Tunnel, only it was a bridge we had to cross.

Towards dawn we finished crossing the bridge and arrived in Calais, where Isabelle lived with her husband. She suggested that we stop over at her house before making the rest of the journey by train to Paris. I sat in the guest room, reorganising my suitcase and wondering what I was doing, yet eager to be on my way. First I was made to join Isabelle and her husband for dinner, and although I appreciated the hospitality, I was in an antisocial mood and felt the small talk painful. I asked about her sons, whose photographs were spread around the dining room. The doorbell rang and Isabelle announced it was time to go, her friend had arrived to accompany us to the train station.

On the way, Isabelle's friend, a fifty something year old woman, wanted to show me a cove in the town where local families caught their fish. Isabelle was proud of her town, and eager to share the treasured spot with me too. I was impatient with all these diversions, but agreed anyway, telling myself that as soon as I got to Paris, I could go off on my own. The cove was much more than I could have imagined. Up a small flight of stone steps, and through a narrow passage between two houses, we came upon it. A hidden retreat nestled behind picturesque houses with their well tended gardens, it seemed as though this was the only spot in the town where the sun shone. Limestone cliffs encircled the bay, with only a small opening to the sea.

The waters of the cove were choppy and dark blue. They were also teeming with fish, leaping and broncing clear of the surface, their sharp heads gaping in stupefaction as fish are wont to do. I was amazed at their abundance, and could see why the locals ate so well. "Bluefin tuna!" I declared, instantly recognising them. Isabelle and her friend affirmed that I was correct. "I thought these fish were now endangered?" I queried. My guides told me they were only found in this particular spot, gathering for no discernible reason where they were easily snagged by fishermen. After a quick look, we turned back for the station and our pilgrimage continued. The rest of the dream was uninteresting. A backpacker girl approached me looking for drugs, and I eventually said goodbye to Isabelle and boarded the train to Paris.

Mediterranean Monoliths

In this exciting and sun soaked dream, I was on holiday in the Mediterranean (Spain, I think) with my wife Li, sitting in the passenger seat as she drove along a narrow coastal road. The road climbed higher and was eventually taken over by a glass walkway that wrapped itself aroud the cliff, just wide enough for one vehicle. It appeared to be for pedestrians only, but Li drove onto it anyway, slowing to a crawl to account for the tight twists. I told her that we should park and proceed on foot, but she was anxious to get to our hotel, and it had already been a long drive. As we rounded a corner, the full expanse of the twinkling blue Mediterranean sea spread out below us, bordered by glistening yellow beaches swarming with tourists. I marvelled at the view, but Li could not look, being too occupied with driving. 

All of a sudden there was a massive spume of water belching into the air, and a colossal stone monument rose from the depths of the ocean. Staggering in its majesty, it was a statue of Poseidon, lord of the sea, wielding his mighty trident. It broke the surface at a tilt, the prongs of the trident casting judgement over the coast, bobbed up and down a few times, then sank back into the sea up to its shoulders, causing a huge wave. Another structure appeared, the spire of an ancient citadel, and then its dome, yawning and rolling on the swell. Then the fractured stern of an old fasioned galley, vertically aloft. It was the ocean giving up its subterranean secrets, regurgitating the relics of a lost culture. I stared dumbfounded at the spectacular sight, my eyes unable to process everything. I insisted that we had to return on foot after we'd reached the hotel. On the beaches, the tourists and locals swarmed like ants.

Unfortunately, the rest of the dream is not fit for public view.

Midlife Crisis

I dreamt that I was divorced from my wife and shacked up with a much younger woman, someone I knew from my university days. We had met during a heavy drinking session at the student bar, and were now in a double bed together, although I don't think anything had actually happened between us. The woman began to comment on my appearance, telling me that I was no longer as attractive as I had been in my younger days. I am not a vain person, so I took the comments without offence, even agreeing with her. I told her that I was a lot older than when we first met. She was not content with leaving things there, and went on to point out all my failings, including whiting hair, and a droopiness about my face. I asked her if the solution was to dye my hair and get botox. She folded her arms and pouted, moving over to her side of the bed.

I realised that I did not want to continue relations with this young woman. I was on the verge of suggesting that we broke up, as I did not have the luxury of time to waste my energy on a doomed fling. However, my resolve faltered at the last moment, and the words stuck in my throat. I worried about how she would react, and thought perhaps it would be better for her to take the initiative so that my conscience would be clear. The more I dwelled on it, the more I realised that it had been a mistake to divorce my wife. I was awoken by her at that point, but, still half asleep, I told her to leave me be, as I needed to break up with my new girlfriend first. I don't usually write these kinds of dreams down, but it could be useful to have as a record of my state of mind at this point in my life, for better or worse.