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.
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