I had an odd dream this morning. The Woman of Interest was in Mexico, for some sort of anthropological or archæological project. This was at-or-near a city named
Juarez, but it was not the well-known Juarez; rather, it was at a lake in the center of the state of Chihuahua (about where, in real life, the city of Chihuahua is located). Anyway she was taken captive by rebels or by criminals of some sort.
I was in Texas (G_d knows why) when she was kidnapped. So I began trying to make arrangements to get to this dream-world Juarez, the nearest airport to which was a dreadfully named Hitler - Little Hitler International. The next and perhaps only flight to HLH Int from the (unnamed) airport nearest to me would be that of the Smithsonian Institution's airline. (No, the Smithsonian does not have an airline in real life.) I was scrambling to get my passport, and would then try to persuade the SI airline to sell passage to me. I wasn't sure what I was going to do about a visa, but I figured that I'd have to deal with that at HLH.