I dreamt that I was on a long and arduous trip one more time, but I do not remember much of the detail. To the best of my recollection, most of my problems had to do with my passports. Wherever I went, I was stopped by uniformed people eager to investigate my origin and destination. I had hard time whenever I encountered officials of any description, to whom I appeared suspicious to boot. By the time I reached my destination at long last, I burst into tears. Home again, as it were. Sadly, the details have evaporated by the morning. But the dream was very much in tune with quite a few of the same ilk that I dreamt after my move to Croatia, as well as my last trip by airplane. It smacked of the early Nineties, when my passports attracted much attention around the globe. The first one was Yugoslav, and the second Croatian. At the time, the Balkans were aflame. Luckily for me, I got a British passport in the mid-Nineties, and all my troubles with documents disappeared as if by magic. All other miseries connected with travel remained, though. And there were airplanes and airports galore. Which is why the dream was so hard to bear. I felt like suffocating all the way through, and I ended up in tears. Alas, it is no surprise that I am loath of travel to this day! Looking back, I had to deal with many a long and arduous trip in the prime of my life.