March 2018: I returned to Romania for three days with one mission—to spend the night in Dracula’s castle. I had missed my chance during my first visit in 2005-Road Trip Across the Fairytale Land of Mystical Castles, Mountains and Superstitions-Transylvania | Venture The Planet, and it was time to set things right. This time, I had two friends with me, Frank and Jimmie, and we were determined to make it happen.
No vampires, no werewolves—not even Frankenstein—were going to stop us. Well, maybe almost the police or a bear, but aside from that, nothing was getting in our way. One way or another, we were spending the night in Dracula’s castle. This is the story of our wild adventure.
About Dracula
Who is Dracula?
Dracula is a fictional vampire created by author Bram Stoker. However, Stoker’s character was inspired by a real historical figure—Vlad Dracul, better known as Vlad the Impaler.
Vlad was a 15th-century ruler of Wallachia, a region in present-day Romania. He earned his infamous nickname due to his gruesome method of execution—impaling his enemies on long, sharp stakes and leaving them lined up in rows to suffer a slow, agonizing death. According to legend, he would even dine among the impaled corpses, feasting on steak while his enemies perished around him.
Vlad’s bloodlust, particularly against the Ottoman Empire, was fueled by revenge. As a child, he was taken hostage by the Ottomans and subjected to brutal treatment. When he later rose to power, he became one of their fiercest opponents, waging relentless and brutal campaigns to keep them from advancing into his lands.
To Romanians, however, Vlad is not just a figure of terror—he is a national hero. Much like George Washington in the United States, he is revered as a leader who fought to unite a divided land. He is also celebrated as a defender of Christianity, having successfully resisted the expansion of the Muslim Ottoman Empire from modern-day Turkey into Europe.
Location of Castle
Location of castle
Although the more picturesque and intact Bran Castle is widely promoted as Dracula’s Castle, it’s unlikely that Vlad the Impaler ever even stayed there. The only castle known to have been his actual residence is Poenari Castle. While Bran Castle may look more impressive, Poenari’s remote, forested mountaintop location, overlooking the Carpathian Mountains, is far more dramatic and wild. Because of its isolation and lesser-known status, Poenari receives far fewer visitors and is largely overlooked by tourist brochures.
Poenari Castle was heavily damaged by an earthquake in 1913, leaving it in ruins, but much of the structure still stands. To reach it, visitors must climb 1,480 stone steps through dense forest—an approach as grueling as the castle’s dark history.
Dracula legends aside, Poenari is steeped in real horror. When Vlad first encountered the castle in the 15th century, it was in a state of disrepair. To rebuild it, he forced his captured Ottoman enemies and rebellious peasants into brutal slave labor. Many died during construction, while others were executed once their work was complete. It is believed that countless bodies remain buried near—or even beneath—the castle itself.
Then there is the tragedy of Vlad’s wife. During an Ottoman siege, Vlad managed to escape through a secret passageway on horseback, but his wife was not so lucky. Rather than be captured by the enemy, she chose to leap from the castle walls, plunging to her death.
Poenari has long been associated with supernatural activity, with reports of vengeful spirits and unexplained phenomena. I once watched a documentary about a group of Vlad’s descendants who visited the castle at night decades ago. They claimed to have felt an overwhelming sense of dread, experienced violent encounters—being bitten, hearing unearthly noises, and seeing strange orbs—and the night ended with one of them nearly dying in a sudden rockslide.
A lonely, haunted ruin atop a mountain, shrouded in myth and mystery—this was exactly the kind of place I wanted to explore. Spending the night at Poenari Castle would be the ultimate way to experience its terror firsthand.
My first attempt in 2005 failed.
First Attempt
During my first trip to Romania in May 2005, I had planned to camp overnight in Dracula’s castle with a friend. It was meant to be the highlight of a week-long road trip through Transylvania in a rented Romanian Dacia.
When we arrived in the late afternoon, the castle was shrouded in an eerie fog, its lonely setting in the mountains only adding to the ominous atmosphere. As darkness began to fall, we noticed a suspicious Gypsy man lingering in the parking lot, watching us a little too closely. Aside from him, we were completely alone.
We climbed to the top, passing numerous bright red salamanders along the way. It was cold and raining, and the castle—roofless and exposed to the elements—felt far less inviting than I had imagined. In the end, we decided against staying the night. Instead, we found a guesthouse in a nearby village, home to descendants of Gypsies who had once served Vlad Dracula himself. According to local history, Vlad had granted them this land centuries ago.
For years, I kicked myself over the decision to leave. It felt like an unfinished adventure—an opportunity lost. So in 2018, I finally returned to Romania to complete what I had started.
Castle Tower
Salamanders we saw on the trail
View of the Transfagarasan Highway built by Communist Dictator Nicolae Ceausescu
Spending the Night in the Castle
In 2018, as part of a larger Eastern Europe trip, I organized my second attempt to spend the night in Dracula’s castle. This time, I had two friends with me—Jimmie and Frank.
Our climb would have to take place at night. Our flight was scheduled to arrive in Bucharest in the afternoon, and from there, we needed to drive a few hours to the castle near Curtea de Argeș. The timing worked in our favor—ascending under the cover of darkness was safer anyway, as it helped us avoid detection by authorities. There was no doubt that spending the night in the castle would be considered trespassing.
To prepare, I studied the area using Google Earth and devised a strategy. While the surrounding forest provided cover, the steep cliffs, pitch-black darkness, and the presence of wild bears posed real dangers. After assessing potential routes, I determined that the safest and most direct way to reach the castle was by using the established stone steps, which began near a small hydroelectric building.
With our plan in place, we were ready to attempt what I had failed to do 13 years earlier.
Google Earth location of Poenari castle
Our plan was to stay in a newly built guesthouse that had popped up since my last visit. Located about a mile from the castle entrance, it was the perfect base to leave our vehicle and larger packs before making our ascent.
We arrived at the guesthouse around 11 p.m., quickly packed a small backpack with warm clothing—it was freezing outside, though luckily, no rain was in the forecast. We also brought a sleeping bag and, of course, some beer for our night in the castle.
Dressed in dark clothes, we set off from our room with our flashlights off, trying to be as discreet as possible. But the moment we stepped outside, a sentry dog started barking, instantly alerting the night watchman. So much for stealth.
Realizing there was no point in hiding, I kept calm. If questioned, we were just going for a night walk—a perfectly reasonable excuse given the guesthouse’s location next to a river. Whether or not they believed us was another matter, but we had a castle to reach.
Scary Encounter During the Climb
We walked for a mile along the lonely Transfăgărășan Highway, a mountain road built in the 1970s by Romanian dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu at the cost of 40 soldiers’ lives, intended as a strategic defense against a Soviet invasion.
When we reached the forest entrance leading up to Poenari Castle, we found it blocked by a fence and gate, adjacent to a hydroelectric power station. Nearby, there was a small kiosk and a Dracula Campground, but no one appeared to be staying there, and the kiosk was dark and empty. With no sign of activity, we decided to go for it. Carefully, we climbed over the fence—only for a motion-activated light to suddenly flood the area, exposing us. We hurried into the cover of the trees, hoping no one had noticed.
Just as we started up the trail, we heard a vehicle pull up to the road. Instinctively, we turned off our flashlights and stood in complete darkness. Then, a man started yelling from below and we heard what sounded like the barking of very large dogs. For a moment, I thought we were caught, and we quickened our pace up the stairs. Still, I knew we had an advantage—if it came to a chase, there were plenty of escape routes through the dense forest. As long as they didn’t release dogs on us, we would be fine.
We stood still for several minutes, hoping the man—whether police, security, or a local—would lose interest and leave. But then, from the trees around us, a sudden, violent crashing sound erupted. Something big was moving fast, charging straight toward us.
My first thought: a bear. There had been a warning sign at the start of the trail, and the castle was known to attract bears and even wolves seeking shelter. We had no choice—we needed light. I switched on my flashlight, expecting to see a massive beast barreling toward us. But before we could make sense of what was happening, we heard whistling and approaching footsteps from below—the man had spotted our light. In a panic, we quickly shut it off before we could even see what had been in the woods with us.
Without enough moonlight to guide us, we climbed the steps blindly, feeling our way forward. Whatever had charged us seemed to have disappeared, and the footsteps below had stopped. We had already agreed—if we ended up in a foot chase, it was every man for himself, and we’d rendezvous back at the hotel. Getting arrested in Romania was not an option.
After nearly an hour of climbing 1,480 steps in total darkness, we reached another gate—the final barrier before the castle. To our relief, it was open. Before us, towering against the night sky, were the ominous ruins of Poenari Castle.
The first thing that startled us wasn’t the castle itself—it was the impaled mannequins standing beside it, eerie reminders of Vlad the Impaler’s gruesome legacy. We climbed up the ruins, reaching the top of a wall that gave us a perfect bird’s-eye view of everything below. That’s when we saw them—two police or security vehicles parked at the bottom of the trail, headlights still on.
We braced ourselves, half-expecting officers to emerge at any moment. At times, we even thought we heard footsteps on the other side of the wall, but whenever we looked, there was nothing there.
After an hour, we began to relax. Maybe we were in the clear. We cracked open our beers and explored the ruins. The ceilings had long since collapsed, leaving open walls, a few surviving archways, and a dungeon-like chamber at the bottom of a 40-foot pit.
Returning to our perch, we kept watch. The vehicles below hadn’t moved. It was as if they were waiting for us, setting up an ambush for when we exited the pathway. Out of paranoia, we decided not to sleep. Instead, we stayed wide awake, sitting on our sleeping bags to keep warm in the bitter wind.
Around 4 a.m., long after the vehicles had finally disappeared, we made our escape. Moving cautiously, we slipped out of the castle, climbed back over the fence at the Dracula Campground, and made our way to the guesthouse. Finally, we got a few hours of sleep.
We had come to Dracula’s Castle hoping for a supernatural experience—but instead, we were terrorized by the living rather than the dead.
Yet, to this day, none of us can explain what charged us in the woods that night.
Jimmie, Frank and I in the castle
Celebrating getting to the castle
Frank and Jimmie having a celebratory beer in the castle
The next morning, as we emerged from our guesthouse in the daylight, we set off to explore the Transfăgărășan Highway in our rental car. Along the way, we caught our first daylight view of Poenari Castle. From the distance, we could see the very wall where we had spent the night, perched high above the valley—a surreal sight after our unforgettable adventure.
Poenari Castle
Transfagarasan Highway
The next day, we drove up the Transfăgărășan Highway to higher elevations, where we visited a massive dam built during the Communist era, a stunning high alpine lake, and a few small medieval Transylvanian villages where horse-drawn buggies are still a common sight.
Afterward, we began the drive back to Bucharest—an adventure in itself. Romania had changed a lot since my first visit. The new two-lane highway from Bucharest made most of the journey to Curtea de Argeș much faster, but driving on it was anything but relaxing. The disparity in speeds between the two lanes was staggering. The fast lane saw cars easily hitting 100 mph, and it wasn’t uncommon for a Porsche or some mafia-style luxury muscle car to suddenly appear out of nowhere, riding my tail and flashing its headlights, demanding I move over.
But switching to the slow lane was just as unpredictable—I’d often have to slam the brakes to avoid a horse-drawn cart or an old sputtering Dacia from the Communist era crawling along at 20 mph. After a few hours of this constant back-and-forth—speeding up, dodging obstacles, and drastically slowing down—I was exhausted. By the time we reached Bucharest, I was more than ready for an easy night before flying home the next morning.
Alpine Lake
Communist Era Vidraru Damn
A towering Communist-era statue stood near the dam, commemorating the supposed conquest of man over nature. Built as a symbol of human triumph and industrial might, it embodied the era’s grand yet often misguided ambition.
Village House
Graveyard
Family on horsecart in a graveyard