A couple of years ago I dreamed that D. and I went to the Moon. We stowed away on a rocket ship as easily as walking into an office building and hiding in a broom closet. No one was around. The voyage there was very quick. We got out and began walking around. The ground was uneven and a uniform reddish sepia color. It looked rough and granular, like very small lava rock. We found a hill with what looked like a stepped concrete fence sticking up through the lava rock. We began walking on it, climbing it like stairs. D. told me to be careful, because even though gravity was reduced I could still hurt myself if I fell off; it was the Moon, after all. I wondered if such a regular formation could be natural or artificial. I walked along in one of the small gullies that followed on either side of the wall, scrambling a little in the loose rock. I lost my footing at one point and had to put my hands down on the ground to brace myself, but I didn't get hurt. It wasn't cold and there was plenty of air to breathe. The light was low and higher contrast than on Earth but not excessively so.
After a brief walk we returned to Earth and were walking around in a closed bank. There was a meeting taking place behind closed doors, off to the side. It was like being in a deserted marble temple. We were thinking that no one would believe us if we told them we'd just been to the Moon, but we had, for real. As real as we were there on Earth right then. As real as I am here right now. We were there on the Moon.
(D. observed that my description of the terrain sounded more like Mars than the Moon. But it really was the Moon. I know, because I was there. )