This dream is from a while back, and I can't verify that all of it makes sense, but I woke up feeling like a million bucks had just stampeded through my skull. It has been sitting in my drafts for about a year, but I think longer because it was cold. Also, we had watched "The Wolfman" in the week before this dream erupted.
I was hiking in the mountains of Tibet, and struggling. I wasn't prepared for the mountains to be so tall or rugged, in fact, I was basically dressed for some cross country jogging with a stop at a coffee shop in the middle. I was freezing, wet, and had assumed that I would die of exposure as the sun set.* Shortly after the nightfall, I stumbled into a village that looked completely un-Tibetan, rather Transylvanian. Small cottages, and townhouses made of timber and plastered straw, close together like they were huddling against the wind and drizzle.
* This is entirely unrelated to my girlfriend's tendency to steal all of the covers, all of the time.
I stumbled through town and found the tavern near the central plaza. I could hear laughing and singing, so I struggled with the door until it opened and I fell onto the floor of the warm tavern. I was wearing running shoes, running shorts, a work out shirt, and a hoodie, all of which smelled of sweat and mud. As I looked around the room, everyone was dressed in Edwardian suits and dresses. I had wandered through the Himalayan mountains, and ended up in a Masterpiece Theater romance murder movie.
I was suddenly feverish and weak, so the mayor declared that he would house me until I was well. Some men and the local apothecary carried my to the mayor's villa, where the doctor and the mayor's daughter, played by Anne Hathaway gave me a bath and a nightgown. This was less interesting than it could have been.
The night before I arrived, a farmer had been murdered, and the town was out of sorts. A newly arrived painter played by Benicio del Toro was the current suspect, but the mayor had forbidden any investigation until the King's Prosecutor arrived in two days. The painter was known for saying strange things, and for acting "quite peculiar." Anne fell for me while she was nursing me back to health, but I tried to resist her protestations of undying love for reasons completely unknown to me. On the day the King's Prosecutor was due to arrive, I met Benicio. The artist was a little crazy, and a drug addict, but I thought he was basically harmless when I saw him flinch when I killed a beetle that was crawling on the table between us.
Hugo Weaving was the King's Prosecutor investigating the murder, and he was inclined to agree with most the townsfolk in their suspicions but it was something out side doing the killing. While Benicio, Anne, and I were strolling along the outskirts of town, I noticed a camera crew trying to hide in some bushes. I marched over and demanded to know what was going on. The BBC was filming the whole thing as a new quasi-reality show, and had worked me into the script as a free form theater project. They were shooting on location in Tibet for a Romanian-set story. I already had legions of fans.