Can anyone interpret dreams?

[Larry]

I HAD A DREAM.

No, not the title of an old song brought up to date, but a dream I had back a few months ago which will simply not leave my memory. ‘Twas almost a nightmare.
Apparently I had gone on holiday with my son Paul, to Trieste in north-eastern Italy. It’s a city I know very well having been stationed there during the period 1946 to 1953 at the time it was called the Free Territory of Trieste and some 5000 British and 5000 American troops were stationed there, ostensibly to guard against an attack by the Jugoslav Army. I had also got married to a beautiful young Triestine woman and we had brought two daughters into the world there before I was moved by the Military powers that be back to England. I love that small city and had apparently taken my son back to show him the place and introduce him to his in-laws and relations.
It was our last day in the city and we were due to catch a train for Venice in the afternoon in order to catch a flight back to England from Marco Polo airport .
We had been for a walk up to the Montebello Trotting track and the area around and decided to go for lunch in a restaurant called ‘Il Moro’ in Piazza Foraggi. (Foraggi Square). Lunch over I suggested that we walked the lunch off by going on foot down to the city centre and the Central Station. There is a long thoroughfare leading down the hill which used to be called the Viale Sonino but which is nowadays called the Viale Gabriele d’Annunzio. Seems that the old name has some not very pleasant connection with the towns past history. At the bottom of this road there is another square called Piazza Garibaldi but which the locals call the Piazza della Madonna due to the fact that there is an obelisk in the square with a golden statue of the Madonna on top. From here the road continues on down towards the city centre where it eventually reaches a spot called Largo Barriera. I believe this name derives from the fact that way back in the history of the city, there used to be a Toll Gate here where people wishing to enter the city with their horses and carts, etc, had to pass through what we would term today ‘Customs’. Due to the fact that I was very familiar with this part of town I knew that if I turned off up to the left into Via Madonnina I could find my way to the top of the hill on which stood the Castle of San Giusto but decided this was much too far to detour if we were to make it to the Railway Station in time to catch our train. But some little voice kept coming into my mind that I should, in fact, take one of the next turnings off to the left. I told my son of my intentions and instructed him to just keep on walking straight ahead and he would come to the main street in the city centre called the Via Carducci and if he followed this road it would eventually lead him to the station. I told him that I would, most probably, catch up with him before he got to the station but that in any case, he should catch the train and descend at the rail station in Mestre, which is just outside Venice and that there he should catch a bus or take a taxi for the airport. In any case, I would meet him at the airport in time to catch our flight back to London. My son is an adult and because we had already spent some two weeks in Trieste and had walked for miles around the enchanting city he was already familiar enough with the place and could easily find his way to the station. “But what about the luggage’, he queried. “Not to worry,’ I replied. ‘It’s in the left luggage office at the station. Here’s the ticket. Get the luggage and catch that train, OK?”…”No problem’ he replied and off he went. I soon lost sight of him as he carried on with his walk and then I said to myself, ‘but who took the luggage to the Left Luggage office and how did you get the tickets?” ‘Not to worry,’ came the reply, ‘the luggage is there so don’t worry about it”. I started off again and turned into the first side street on the left that I came to.
Now, because of all the years I had spent in Trieste as a young soldier and the numerous other times I and my family had been back there on holiday, this should have been part of the city with which I was very familiar. Yet, after about 50 yards the street turned to the right which I thought was strange but stranger still was the fact that when I turned down to the right, I was suddenly plunged into a part of the city which I knew should not be there. More worryingly, everything was coloured from light grey to dark grey. Even the people walking in the streets, were all dressed in grey. What was disturbing was the fact that suddenly I knew I was lost. It was like I had been projected back in time to an era in history with which I was not familiar. The street opened up into something approaching a square and there were beggars sitting on the sides asking for contributions. Then I saw a street opening on my right so decided that should I turn down there I would find my way back to the Largo Barriera where I had left my son earlier. I turned down this street and, indeed at the bottom I could hear the traffic running and the usual sound of car horns being sounded. I came to another square and on the opposite side to where I stood there were large columns of grey marble but beyond these columns I could see the colours of the cars and the people hurrying about their business. But these columns should not be here. I started to cross the road when my hand was taken by a young lad who told me that I could not get out that way. I would have to keep walking straight on down the street in which I now stood. Still everything was grey. Then I heard music and turning round and looking back I perceived a group of young people, dressed in our modern clothing, and wonder of wonders, they were in technicolour as well. The music they were playing on their guitars and drums was the up-to-date modern music of today. But no-one was paying any attention to them. People just walked past without even turning their heads to look at the musicians. I found I was still holding hands with the youth from a few minutes ago so I said “look, son, I have to get to the station to catch my train for Venice. I have a son who is waiting for me at the Central Station. Can you take me there?” A male voice, speaking perfect English came over my shoulder. “No, he can’t. You stay with him and you really will be lost and miss your train Go on, son, push off. I’ll take this chap to the station’, and he pushed the young lad away. “What time is your train?’, he queried. “4,30,’ I replied. He looked at his watch and said, “Right, we have just about time. Come on, I’ll take you in my helicopter. It’s the only way you will be able to get out of this place. Come on, it’s over there”, and pointed to the other side of the square. I looked to where he was pointing. Oh, my gawd, that’s a helicopter? I thought. What he was pointing at was a large wooden box with a propellor on the top and a smaller one tacked onto the back. Something like a small veranda was at the front. But this was a helicopter? It was all made of wood which looked like the wood had been cannibalised from old boxes and crates. That thing will never get off the ground, I thought.
“Look, d’you want to get out of here and get to the station to catch your train?’ said this stranger.. I blinked and swallowed hard. “See that group over there, playing that terrible music. How do you think they get in here and still be in technicolour? I bring them here twice a week. So come on, trust me, it’s the only way you are going to get to the station on time. Your trains at 4.30 you say? We’ve just about got time”, and he moved towards the (?)helicopter. “In for a penny’, thought I, and started to follow him to what I was sure would never get off the ground, and I would indeed be lost here forever.




I awoke with a start. I looked at my bedside clock. The time was 4.30 a.m.
Larry

[Ron]

Larry

Can't interpret your dream mate but I can make a suggestion.

Stop eating cheese late at night

Regards

Ron

[serlilian]

OMG. Terrifying!
But now you're here, with us! In our colourful world!

[macondo]

I guess the dream was possibly triggered by your forthcoming trip to Trieste. The Trieste in technicolor is the Trieste of today, while the one in grey is the Trieste of your you past. The difference was underlined by a simple visual trick. We watch our present in full colour, but if we watch the world of past in an old movie or an old television programme, usually they come in black and white.

I don't believe there is any hidden meaning in your dream, but what it make it really interesting is that it seems to be what it's called a 'vivid dream'. 'Vivid dreams' are quite unusual and they don't happen very often. They tend to be remarkably realistic and detailed, with a logic plot even if they may contain fantastic facets. They are also memorable and gratifying.
Apparently there are some techniques to generate 'vivid dreams' on command, where you can unleash adventurous fantasies almost every night.

The seemingly spooky coincidence of the time in the dream and the actual time on your alarm clock is quite normal. If you think with some intensity about a time you really want to wake up the next morning, your internal clock will take care of it. I have had a similar occurrence a few months ago. I woke up during the night and the time on my alarm was 3:33. I was a bit puzzled by that and consequently I started to wake up at exactly the same hours for a few nights!!

[Larry]

My problem over the past twelve months or so is that I have had four of these special type of dreams. Normally I never used to remember the dreams I had (and according to scientists everyone dreams every night they go to sleep) but these past twelve months I have had some beauties which I can recall almost in detail even now. The one about Trieste I have only had once but there are three others which keep recurring. Maybe I ought to put them down on paper and get them published as a book.
I don't eat cheese very often and then generally only at lunchtime with some pickle.
Oh, yes, Macondo. Been getting quite a few e-mails returned from your (to me) last known e-mail address. Have you changed it?
Thanks for all your comments.
Nite Nite, Larry

[nanaia]

Very interesting your dream, dear Larry! Sometimes I too have dreams that, even if not real nightmares, still leave in my mind a sense of panic.
One dream, in particular, is absolutely impossible to understand and it comes back over and over: for some absurd reason I am in a terrible hurry and I MUST move on a strange cart, pushing it on with my hands Boh!

[Larry]

Nanaia, now that is one dream I can interpret. Obviously you are a shopaholic and can't stay away from the shops. The fact that you have to push a strange cart - which represents a supermarket trolley, and you are always in a rush, means you want to get to the other stores before they close!!!!!!!!!!!! Y You'll just have to stop going shopping all the time. Were I religious, I might just recommend you went to church instead!! But even there you have to spend money to keep the priests and bishops in the luxury they have become accustomed to.
The one dream that keeps recurring for me is where I walk down a hill to a town which I am sure I know, and look for a shop selling English newspapers but cannot find any shop selling newspapers.
Cheers, try drinking a large Scotch on the rocks before going to bed or, drink a 'doppio espresso' instead. Both calm the nerves so you get a good nights kip.
Larry

[serlilian]

A "doppio espresso" before going to bed?
Not for me! If I drank it, I couldn't sleep for two nights!