March 2018: Sleeping in Dracula’s Castle

A Mission of Superstition, Shadows, and Sheer Stubbornness

I returned to Romania with one goal: to spend the night in Dracula’s Castle. Back in 2005, I had missed my chance during my first trip across Transylvania—a journey filled with fairytale mountains, haunted forests, and medieval fortresses—and I wasn’t about to let history repeat itself.

This time, I brought friends determined to sleep in the castle too. My friends Frank and Jimmie were with me, and together we were determined to make it happen.

No vampires. No werewolves. Not even Frankenstein—or so we hoped—was going to stop us.
(Although a bear or the police almost did.)

But one way or another, this was it—we were going to spend the night in Dracula’s Castle, and this is the story of that wild, unforgettable adventure.

About Dracula

Who Is Dracula, Really?

The Blood-Soaked Truth Behind the Legend

We all know Dracula—the legendary vampire from Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel, cloaked in darkness, fangs bared, stalking the misty hills of Transylvania. But behind the fiction lies a much more gruesome and fascinating truth.

Stoker’s Dracula was inspired by a real historical figure: Vlad Dracul, better known as Vlad the Impaler.


Vlad the Impaler: The Real-Life Dracula

Vlad ruled Wallachia, a region of modern-day Romania, during the 15th century. His nickname wasn’t just for show—he earned it through a truly horrifying signature move: impaling his enemies on towering stakes and leaving them to die slowly, often while he dined nearby.

Yes, according to legend, he feasted on steak while surrounded by impaled corpses—a stomach-churning display of both power and cruelty.

Vlad’s brutality was partly rooted in revenge. As a child, he had been taken hostage by the Ottoman Empire, suffering years of abuse. When he returned to power, he became one of their most ruthless adversaries, waging relentless campaigns to drive them from his land.


Monster or Hero? Depends Who You Ask.

To the outside world, Vlad is the stuff of nightmares. But to many Romanians, he’s a national hero—a fierce defender of his homeland and a symbol of resistance against foreign invasion.

Much like George Washington is revered in the U.S., Vlad is seen as a unifier and protector of his people.
He’s also celebrated for defending Christian Europe from the advancing Muslim Ottoman Empire.

So, was Vlad a monster, a martyr, or both?

One thing is certain: his legend lives on, and his shadow still looms over the forests and castles of Transylvania.

Location of Castle

Poenari Castle: The Real Dracula’s Fortress

Ruins, Spirits, and 1,480 Steps into Darkness

While Bran Castle is often hailed as Dracula’s Castle, with its storybook towers and crowds of selfie-snapping tourists, the truth is… Vlad the Impaler likely never set foot there.

The real stronghold tied to Vlad’s bloody legacy is far more remote, far more haunting, and—ironically—far less known:
Welcome to Poenari Castle.


A Fortress Built on Bones

Perched high on a forested ridge in the Carpathians, Poenari’s mountaintop ruins are dramatic, windswept, and drenched in shadow. Unlike Bran, Poenari isn’t a polished museum—it’s a partially collapsed relic, damaged by a 1913 earthquake but still towering with defiance and decay.

To reach it, you must climb 1,480 stone steps through dense, silent forest—a journey that feels more like a pilgrimage through a forgotten realm than a casual tourist stop.

And once you arrive, the air feels heavier. You’re standing on blood-soaked history.

When Vlad came across Poenari in the 15th century, the fortress was in ruins. He rebuilt it using Ottoman prisoners and rebellious peasants, worked to death in brutal forced labor. Many were executed once the job was done, their bodies buried in shallow graves nearby—or beneath the very stones of the castle.


A Queen’s Last Breath and Legends in the Mist

The horror didn’t end with its construction.

During an Ottoman siege, Vlad’s wife hurled herself from the castle walls, choosing death over capture. Her body was said to have shattered on the rocks below. That cliff still looms there today, a silent witness to desperation and doom.

Poenari is soaked in myth and unexplained phenomena. There are stories of vengeful spirits, eerie lights, and inexplicable sounds. In one documentary I watched, descendants of Vlad who visited the castle claimed to have experienced violent forces, unearthly noises, and sudden injuries—the night ending with a near-fatal rockslide.

A lonely, haunted ruin atop a mountain, untouched by time and tormented by history—this was the place I had come to see. And more than that, I had come to sleep there.


The Return

I had failed in 2005. But this time, in March 2018, I returned—with two friends and a mission to finally spend the night in Dracula’s real castle, no matter what waited for us in the shadows.

Location of castle

First Attempt 

The First Attempt – May 2005

Fog, Fear, and an Unfinished Adventure

My first journey to Romania in May 2005 was meant to culminate in a moment I had built the entire trip around: camping overnight in Dracula’s real castle—Poenari. I was traveling with a friend on a week-long road trip through Transylvania, behind the wheel of a boxy little Romanian Dacia, bouncing from medieval towns to misty mountain roads.

We arrived at Poenari late in the afternoon, just as fog rolled down the Carpathians, draping the ruins in a veil of mystery. The castle, perched high above the valley, was roofless, cold, and wet, and the weather quickly turned to rain.

As the light began to fade, we noticed we weren’t entirely alone. A Gypsy man lingered in the parking lot, watching us a little too intently. Something about his presence felt off. Other than him, the place was utterly deserted.


The Climb and the Change of Heart

We climbed the 1,480 steps in the rain, passing bright red salamanders crawling along the trail—an oddly vivid splash of color against the gray. At the top, the castle felt ominous and unwelcoming, a crumbling fortress completely exposed to the elements.

Cold, soaked, and growing uneasy, we made the tough call:

We turned back.

Instead of staying the night, we found shelter in a nearby village guesthouse, run by locals who proudly claimed descent from Gypsies once loyal to Vlad Dracula himself. Legend has it that Vlad gave them this land as a reward for their service.


An Unfinished Chapter

Still, the decision to leave haunted me for years. I had come all that way to do something bold—and backed out at the last minute. It felt like an open wound in my travel story, an opportunity left behind in the mountains of Transylvania.

So in March 2018, I returned.
This time, I would finish what I 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

The Second Attempt – March 2018

Trespassing into Legend, Under Cover of Darkness

Thirteen years after I backed down from spending the night in Poenari Castle, I returned to Romania on a larger Eastern Europe trip—but this time, I wasn’t alone.

Frank and Jimmie, two friends as foolishly adventurous as I am, had signed on for what would be an illegal overnight stay in Dracula’s real fortress.

Our plan was risky but intentional. We’d arrive in Bucharest in the afternoon, rent a car, and drive straight to Curtea de Argeș, reaching the base of the castle by nightfall.

The timing worked in our favor—night would hide us from curious eyes and wandering police patrols. After all, what we were doing was technically trespassing.


A Plan Born in the Digital Age

Before the trip, I spent hours on Google Earth, scanning the landscape, analyzing routes, and building a strategy. The castle, perched on a steep ridge surrounded by dense forest and cliffs, presented very real challenges:

  • Pitch-black conditions

  • A vertical climb of 1,480 stone steps

  • And yes—the possibility of running into wild bears

Despite these dangers, the most viable route remained the official stairway, beginning near a hydroelectric building tucked in the forest. It was exposed—but far safer than bushwhacking through bear country in total darkness.


A Mission Reborn

Armed with flashlights, backpacks, and the naive confidence of three Americans chasing folklore, we approached the base of the mountain.

This was it.
I had waited 13 years for this moment.
And I wasn’t leaving Poenari again without spending a night inside those haunted walls.

Google Earth location of Poenari castle

The Final Prep

Guesthouse Shadows and a Barking Alarm

Unlike my first attempt in 2005, this time we had a strategic basecamp—a newly built guesthouse that had sprung up about a mile from the castle stairs. It was the perfect spot to stash our vehicle and gear, and prep for a lighter, stealthier climb.

We arrived around 11 p.m., the cold already biting through the air. Fortunately, no rain was in the forecast—just clear skies, freezing temperatures, and a long, dark hike ahead.

We quickly packed a small daypack with essentials:

  • Warm layers

  • A sleeping bag

  • And, naturally, a few beers for good measure


Into the Night

We dressed in dark clothing, kept our flashlights off, and slipped out into the night—moving silently from the room like we were characters in a Cold War spy film.

But our stealth didn’t last long.

The moment we stepped outside, a sentry dog exploded into a barking frenzy, followed by the unmistakable sound of a night watchman shuffling to investigate.

So much for a low-profile approach.

I stayed calm. If we were questioned, the cover story was simple:

“Just going for a walk by the river.”

Totally plausible. Innocent enough. And hopefully uninteresting enough to let us move on without a second glance.

Either way, we had a castle to reach, and nothing—not barking dogs, suspicious guards, or shadowy folklore—was going to stop us now.

Scary Encounter During the Climb

The Ascent to Dracula’s Castle

What Waited in the Woods Wasn’t Undead—But It Was Real

After gearing up in the cold night, we set off along the lonely stretch of the Transfăgărășan Highway—a winding mountain road carved into the Carpathians by Romanian dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu. It cost 40 soldiers their lives, built not for beauty, but as a strategic defense route against a feared Soviet invasion.

Our goal lay ahead: Poenari Castle, the real fortress of Vlad the Impaler, perched like a vulture’s perch above the valley.


Into the Forbidden Zone

We reached the base of the forested trail, now gated and fenced near a hydroelectric station. A dark, empty kiosk and the eerily named Dracula Campground sat in silence. Seeing no signs of life, we climbed the fence.

As if on cue, a motion-activated light blazed to life, flooding the area.

We sprinted into the cover of the trees—stealth was over.

Just as we hit the trail, a vehicle pulled up. Someone—possibly a guard, police, or an angry local—started shouting, accompanied by the barks of very large dogs.

We turned off our lights and froze in total darkness, waiting. Then, from the trees nearby, something huge came crashing toward us—fast.


Something Was Coming

In that moment, only one thought filled my mind:

Bear.

There had been a warning sign about bears at the base of the trail. The area was known for wolves, too. With no time to think, I clicked on my flashlight, expecting claws, fur, and fangs to fill the beam.

But before we could make out what charged us, whistling and footsteps echoed from below—we had been spotted. I killed the light. Silence returned.

With no moonlight, we climbed blindly, hands on cold stone. 1,480 steps in total darkness, nerves coiled tight with every sound.


Into the Ruins of the Impaler

Finally, we reached the castle’s second gate—unlocked.

And there it was: Poenari Castle, silhouetted against the sky. A skeleton of crumbling walls and fractured history. But the first thing we saw wasn’t the castle—it was the row of impaled mannequins, their twisted forms guarding the entrance like silent sentinels.

We climbed to the highest wall, a perch that gave us a full view of the valley below.

And that’s when we saw them.

Two vehicles, parked at the base of the trail, headlights on.
Waiting. Watching.


Trapped by the Living

We braced for officers, expecting any moment to be hauled down from the ruins. At times, we were sure we heard footsteps in the darkness, but no one came.

An hour passed. Then two. We cracked open our beers, explored the ruins—collapsed ceilings, a dungeon pit, archways that still whispered of the past.

We didn’t sleep. The wind was bitter, but fear kept us alert.

Around 4 a.m., after the vehicles finally vanished, we made our move. We slipped out, climbed back over the fence, and returned to the guesthouse, finally allowing ourselves a few hours of sleep.


The Castle Gave Us No Ghosts—But Something Was There

We came seeking the supernatural—but what we found was the fear of the living, and something else… something we still can’t explain.

Whatever charged us in those woods, crashing through the darkness like a freight train, was real.
And to this day, none of us knows what it was.

We didn’t leave with fangs or legends—but we left with something better: a story that still chills us, and the satisfaction of finally spending the night in Dracula’s Castle.

Jimmie, Frank and I in the castle 

Celebrating getting to the castle

Frank and Jimmie having a celebratory beer in the castle

Morning Light on the Impaler’s Fortress

One Last Look at a Night We’ll Never Forget

The next morning, we stepped out of the guesthouse into pale, golden daylight, our breath visible in the crisp mountain air. With the tension of the night behind us, we packed into our rental car and set off to explore the legendary Transfăgărășan Highway—a winding ribbon of road once declared by Top Gear as the greatest driving road in the world.

But as we crested a bend in the highway, we looked up—and there it was.

Poenari Castle, clinging to the mountainside like a stone crown, far above the valley.

From this vantage point, we could see the very wall where we’d spent the night, tiny and fragile against the vast backdrop of forested cliffs. It felt surreal—to see in daylight what had been our shadowy fortress under the stars.

We pulled over and stared in silence.

We had done it.
After 13 years, the mission was complete.
And now we could say it:
We spent the night in Dracula’s Castle.

Poenari Castle

Transfagarasan Highway

One Last Romanian Road Trip

Alpine Lakes, Horse Carts, and Muscle Cars

With our Poenari adventure behind us, we set our sights higher—literally. We drove up the Transfăgărășan Highway, climbing into the Carpathian highlands, where the air thinned and the views became more surreal with every turn.

We stopped to visit:

  • A massive Communist-era dam, a crumbling monument to Ceaușescu’s obsession with control and scale

  • A high alpine lake, its still waters reflecting snow-dusted peaks

  • And a handful of timeless Transylvanian villages, where horse-drawn buggies still clattered along cobblestone roads and life seemed untouched by the rush of modernity

The contrast between old and new in Romania was striking—and it would become even more jarring on our return to Bucharest.


Driving Through the Past and Present

The new two-lane highway back to Bucharest made the trip faster than it had been in 2005—but certainly not easier.

In one lane: speeding Porches, blacked-out BMWs, and muscle cars with mafia energy, blasting up behind us at 100 mph, flashing headlights in impatient fury.

In the other: rickety Communist-era Dacias crawling along at 20, and the occasional horse-drawn cart wobbling across the asphalt like a scene from the 1800s.

The drive became a white-knuckle ballet, switching lanes to dodge relics of the past while escaping the fury of the present.

By the time we reached Bucharest, I was mentally and physically drained—ready for a hot shower, a cold beer, and a night without risk of arrest, ghosts, or bears.


Reflections in the Rearview

Romania and Poenari Castle had changed in many ways since my first visit—but its magic, its strangeness, and its stories were as alive as ever.

Alpine Lake

Communist Era Vidraru Damn

A towering Communist-era statue stood near the dam, commemorating the 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

13 + 4 =