Tired yet sleepless, I lay in the small, clean, but horribly preheated hotel room, undoubtedly prepared with the best intentions but far too paramount — an annoying feature of Hungarian hotels.
The unmistakable beat of Faithless’ “Insomnia” soothed my nerves and exhausted mind after a busy day, but to emphasise the irony, it didn’t help me fall asleep.
On my second night in Budapest at the Castle Buda Hotel, I was promised to be what Maxi Jazz sang about: sleepless. After 36 hours, I stopped counting the hours, minutes, and sheep and gave up, utterly detached from the endless music loop.
“I can’t see, something’s all over me, greasy
Insomnia, please release me and let me dream
About making mad love on the heath
Tearing off tights with my teeth
But there’s no relief; I’m wide awake in my kitchen
It’s black, and I’m lonely
Oh, if I could only get some sleep
Creeky noises make my skin creep
I need to get some sleep
I can’t get no sleep”
I can’t get no sleep.
The refrain looped in my mind, a relentless echo of my restlessness. My thoughts churned like the dark waters of the Danube. Desperation pushed me from the stifling heat of my room. Maybe the night air and the city’s lights could offer a semblance of peace.
I put on my jeans and shoes and pulled on a jumper, as the nights here were quite warm but still not pleasant enough deep in the night. I also froze because of the sleeplessness.
I left my room, and the door made a fulfilling “click” sound as the lock automatically locked. Late as usual, I checked whether I had taken the room card with me. To my relief: yes. At least something.
The corridor, bathed in dim light, felt claustrophobic. I felt uncomfortable and walked quickly to the lift that took me to the hotel lobby.
A few lamps lighted the otherwise very bright room. The hotel receptionist was sleeping with his head resting on his hands. Lucky bastard.
I stepped through the revolving door and stood on the street of Budapest at night. The wind, not too cold or warm, enveloped me and gave me a cosy feeling. In front of me was a small park at the foot of Buda Castle. I decided to climb the steep stairs to the castle.
“I need to get some sleep
I can’t get no sleep”
When I reached the top, the western part of Budapest was behind me. Even at this time, the city seemed to continue to breathe and live. I wanted to go on to Matthias Church and enjoy the view of the Danube and the bridges.
A cold and unpleasant wind hit me, and I shivered at the unexpected encounter. The strange feeling of unease that came with the breeze was suddenly gone just as it came. I walked on.
The Matthias Church stood bathed in light, every stone and carving etched sharply against the night. Its solitude was striking, the absence of life both eerie and calming. I lingered, drawn by the church’s quiet majesty, feeling a strange tranquillity amid the sleepless night.
There didn’t seem to be any tourists or locals about. Everything was calm and quiet. That made me sleepy, but I was expecting more people.
I strolled towards the castle and the little railway, which took tourists back down from the hill for a lot of money during the day.
The wind seemed to carry soft and unintelligible whispers. I paused, trying to catch the words, but they dissolved into the night air. As I walked, the city lights below flickered, casting fleeting shadows that danced around me. The statues and buildings around Buda Castle seemed to loom larger, their features more defined, almost watching me.
A bloodcurdling birdcall cut through the night as I descended the steps to the castle garden. I immediately turned round and was horrified to see the Turul statue, which watches over the city, begin to move.
I wanted to scream for help but was unable to make a sound; it was as if my vocal cords were turning to stone in shock.
The Turul now seemed to be fully alive. It spread its enormously long wings, let out another terrible cry, and, to my astonishment, quickly rose into the night sky.
I saw it fly an arc and head in my direction. Still dumbfounded, I wanted to run away, but when I looked down, I had become half a stone statue. I looked down at my legs, which had become marble.
The Turul came at me with tremendous speed, with the single-mindedness of a bird of prey that has its prey firmly in its sights, with certainty and final determination.
When its pointed beak touched me, the city and the sky were bathed in an all-consuming, majestic white light.
I felt my feather move in the wind, smelled the night air, and heard the smallest creatures swaying in the safety of the night. I spread my wings and flapped them — once, twice.
I flew. The nocturnal Budapest lay before me. I was the Turul, the protector, the dream walker.
I can get now sleep.