Dream of March 18, 2004:
Woke up as usual around 4 a.m and tried to get back to sleep till 5, when Mercia got up. Only then did I fall back asleep till I felt by elbow squeezing something soft, in this case a toasted cheese sandwich from which I was pressing the molten cheese, and a bunch of grapes.
I was riding in the back of a truck and recognized the neighborhood where some small and old houses had been used for "assignments". There were many doors which would be lit and pass dozens of people at night, but now it was daytime and there were only few people, mainly women.
The next block consisted of an ancient village square with fairly large and elaborate houses with many balconies, but all were empty and deserted now and looked at the brink of collapse. But oh, how photogenic they were! I definitely wanted to go there and take pictures before some demolition crew and development would spoil the opportunity.
This might have been the Baarsjesweg in Amsterdam West and we were heading for the sandfields. But then, many details did not fit, mainly the topography and relief. There were aspects of the Middle East and the Karoo. I gave up on identifying the locale and decided to concentrate on getting closer to "the action", whatever that be.
I tried to get the driver's attention to ask him to stop, and in the meantime we passed some other interesting targets, including desert dunes with sandpaths going downhill into the distance where villages and oases lured. No such luck, and I had to go to the elaborate scheme of signaling to a passing truckdriver to help and try and get my own driver's attention. Suddenly that guy stopped, and got out of his cabin, together with another passenger and two bikes. He was wearing a saylor's uniform and was eager to ride away onhis bike, mumbling that he had been dismissed from service in '42.
I crossed the highway and suddenly also had a bike. That was a bit of a nuisance so I tried to hide it between some thornbushes, worried about not having a lock for it and surprised about the hundreds of people milling around here. They were all headed for some old buildings a bit downhill. Although there were some Arabs, most people looked like average white Europeans, Americans or even Aussies.
One of the buildings looked like an old post-office and still had large sorting tables and pushcarts sitting in huge gaping rooms, wih filing cabinets and counters along the walls. A few old ladies were sitting knitting and chatting.
In a corner was the entrance to some type of shopping maill, but first you had to squeeze by some normal living room furniture which looked out of place to all of us trying to get in the first supermarket store. Once in, it looked not worth while, so most people disappeared the Good Lord knows whither.
I kept on going downhill, now outside on sandy and rocky pathways, then indoors as in underground malls. It got less and less crowded, and suddenly I came to some large cul-de-sac which consisted of a low-lying set of rocky caves centered around a wide open space with wells and washing basins.
There were only women and a few children here, and they were all white and serene, and slowly walking and washing and talking to each other without paying any attention to me at all. They were mostly naked and strangely disfigured, in that they had clusters of breasts not unlike grapes or amygdules. Most were near their shoulders, but some sprouted from stomachs and thighs. There were no open wounds or scars, and the women did not look like they were suffering. Most striking was their apparent unconcern and indifference, and it almost looked like they were doped and in trances.
I overheard one whisper to her child: "Remember when we were in the groves of Apollo, where they were so nice to us and never even sent us a bill?"
I also noticed that I had not taken a single photograph this whole tour, and that I woke up with my elbow in cheese and grapes without recalling any of what came next in the dream. I did, however, feel a strong urge to quickly write down what I remembered of it, but even now when done with that, I know I rapidly forgot quite a lot of interesting details.
And I still wonder where and when this was, but then, I find that dreams commonly seem to dispense with such specifics.

BLO fecit 20040318