Tag Archives: travel

RED DAWN 29: Finngolian Lights

RED DAWN 29: Finngolian Lights

Finland straddles the fault betwixt the world of the Faustian and the Slav. Against the ambitions of their mighty neighbors, the Finns have struggled to maintain their identity and independence for centuries. Notoriously reclusive, they possess an intense inwardness that we can glimpse in the music of Sibelius and the poetry of The Kalevala (for you language-autistes, here’s a sample in Finnish with English word-by-word translations and grammatical explanations).

Vince the Slav and Sven the Swede trek to Helsinki. They take stock of the land, and interview a local nationalist “Suomi.”

Intro music is the “Sillanpään marssilaulu.” Outro is “Njet Molotoff.”

That badass in the picture is Simo Häyhä, 505 confirmed kills. He got his jaw blown off by a Russian bullet in the last days of the 1940 Winter War.

And yes, Finns, we know you’re not Mongoloids. Still gonna make fun of you for it tho.

Viborg

I’ve been really inspired by my time in St. Petersburg. The time I’ve spent in other cities has been great, but not as artistically stimulating…

Until I visited Viborg. The city sits on the border with Finland and was built by Swedes, controlled by the Finns and is now Russian. If Russia were to annex Stockholm, I imagine it would look a little like Viborg.

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Little delapidated Europe
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Probably an abandoned warehouse

 

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Small European streets

The Russification has taken hold of the city. Its got the same urban decay all over it. Missing walls, crumbling buildings, delapidated courtyards…

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Downtown

But- and believe me on this- its a really beautiful kind of decay. I’ve seen sections of small American cities crumbling within the Appalachian rust belt, and it was a deeply disconcerting experience.

But Viborg is completely different.

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It’s a magical kind of feeling, the decay is there, but the city is not dead. Rather, the decay becomes charming because its an indicator of life! It’s like the smattering of mud that has been sprayed across the facade of the city, really made it come alive. It felt like a really dirty Jeep with big wheels being advertised on TV. In its element, off road and tearing up the dirt paths, it looks more appealing than the glistening showroom model.

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Perfectly restored.

Viborg felt like a city half-decayed and half-in use.

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Almost 9 pm in the square. I missed the train and would have to spend the night there. Luckily it was never really dark.

The kids played in the ruins, and near ancient churches. They would kick up water in fountains surrounded by crumbling cobblestone plazzas!

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Felt just like the river in Stockholm

People bathed in the river, jumping in without any special swimwear. The Russian way!

The port still worked, and I watched the ships get loaded and unloaded for a bit from the embankment. The embankment was ancient,  but delapidated. It didn’t make me sad, rather it filled me with a feeling of…opportunity?

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Doesn’t look Russian does it?

With all the new places opening in Viborg, all the new tourists and efforts to beautify the city, I realized that it would be only a matter of time before this lonely decrepit embankment would be refurbished and filled with people…That’s the thought that made me feel slightly sad.

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The main attraction- the Castle. Swedish, taken by Russians.

“It’s such a nice little decayed city, lost in time and forgotten by almost everyone, why can’t I have it, make it all mine?”- that’s what I thought.

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Someone had already bought the ruin up. It will probably be converted into several bars in the coming years. Like in St. Petersburg.

Everytime I saw a dilapidated staircase leading into an ancient decayed building I smelled opportunity. “I could do something here!” I thought. “I could be a part of the revival…”

It felt like what Stockholm’s old town will probably look like by the end of this decade. But whereas Stockholm and Scandinavia is facing the abyss, it seems that Viborg, and Russia have lived through it all already. A true cataclysm that all of Russia bears reminders to. And its all around you, no matter where you go in Western Russia.

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Reminders of Victory

I was told that the ruins were all the way back from the war. What war they were referring to in this particular case, I didn’t ask. Probably the Civil War that was Russia in the 90’s.

But there’s also a feeling that all it is the past now. It’s springtime in Russia.

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The only glaringly obvious delapidated Soviet building I saw. It was so ugly it stood out immediately. So ugly that it actually became interesting. I saw a lot of that in Viborg

Pensioners sell you berries and old Soviet paraphenelia. There are local mastershops that sell handicrafts made by people in the neighboring villages. This is part of a big renewal that I’ve noticed in all the places I’ve visited in Russia (except Novosibirsk).

The old marketplace is stocked with Finnish and perhaps Swedish goods. I recognize some of them, and perused the aisles with great interest. Apparently people from St. Petersburg like to do their shopping here.

Its actually an impressive and imposing castle. The island its on is super medieval feeling. They have re-enactments there and Game of Thrones cosplay events.
Its actually an impressive and imposing castle. The island its on is super medieval feeling. They have re-enactments there and Game of Thrones cosplay events.

There are even the signs of Bobo SWPL-flication starting up in the square closest to the Viborg castle. A couple of nice cafes opened up there- young faces. I even saw one boutique having a sale.

I think I’d like to spend some time here. Its incredibly cheap, and I want to spend some more time exploring all the ruins….

I was always struck by Fight Club. In the movie, the narrator basically becomes a Russian as the story progresses further.

He starts smoking, drinking cheap beer, dressing eccentrically, picking fights with strangers, starts a small business, lives in a delapidated house, becomes a pyro, gets arrested, and ends up seriously maiming himself.

The fact that Chuck Palahniuk is Ukrainian himself, leads me to believe that the movie was really just about the narrator (Chuck) getting in touch with his inner Slav.  Palahniuk got gay as time went on- I blame the corrosive influence of San Francisco- but its too bad he didn’t make a run for Viborg when he got the chance.

The Altai- Russia’s Yellowstone

Altai was amazing!

But before I got there, I made a pit-stop in Barnaul. I would end up spending a night there waiting for a plane, making my time in Barnaul a neat 24 hours total, so I may as well give my impressions of the city.

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Typical “Khrushevka” in the center of town.
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American parks are filled with bums. Russian parks are filled with playing kids.
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Speakers in the park play music. I don’t know why, but thats a thing in some of these small towns. Makes you feel like you’re in a movie.

First of all its a town not a city. Small and nice. Most towns in Russia have the trees painted white at the base. Its an insect-repellant or something. But thats how you know you’re in a town.

Its slow, and relaxing. There’s only a few cafes, but they’re top-tier in service and food quality. All the well-to-do Russian women were there with their husbands or boyfriends or just girls day out.

The city is pretty comfy. A tramway track runs down the central road, and you can ride it and see pretty much everything Barnaul has to offer in 20 minutes.

The diversity is there. But its the native peoples, not the Hachis from the Stans. Also to those who believe Russia is being overrun by Muslims I recommend Anatoly Karlin’s work on the topic. I wish I had read his blog before coming over to Russia- a lot of bullshit about Russia is debunked, and it would have saved me all that cognitive dissonance I experienced when I realized how not shitty Russia actually was.

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A lot of these signs around town. It reads “260 years together!” …. The subtext reads- “And don’t you forget it.”

But yeah the Natives. They’re benign…unless they get drunk.

There were few gopniks here. That phenomenon seems confined to cities with larger concentrations of commie blocks. By that I mean Novosibirsk, of course.

I took a marche-routka to Gorno Altai and from there I got a taxi to the lodge I was staying in the first two days. It was a bumpy journey and since all the drivers in Russia are the scum of the earth, they tried to gouge me. I haggled and managed to save a couple of hundred roubles.

The place I was staying in was alright- it was a yurt. I didn’t do much but sleep there in between exploring and getting food. After I finally found a trustworthy company to rent a car from (read: Russian, not local), that didn’t have the wheel on the wrong side (in Siberia they get Japanese cars), I was ready to go.

I was planning to go south for a whole day and explore the wilder parts of the region. I couldn’t go to the mongolian or chinese borders because those were DMZ’s and I could get arrested, being a foreigner and all…

What else is there to say about Altai except how beautiful it was? It was wild, and yet I was pleasantly surprised to see how well the roads were built, and how non-rowdy it was. It felt like I was at a top-tier resort. And the Russians were all very kind, open and warm- as I find they generally are.

I went horseback riding in the fields and valleys. Rented a car and drove 8 hours south, soaking it all in along the way. Bizarrely, I even took a dip in the pond formed by an abandoned Soviet-era dam.

Along the way, I stopped a lot in old Russian villages.

Russian villages
Russian villages

 

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Its a pretty big sprawl

 

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Little dirt roads that led into the mountains

These were well-kept and quaint-looking, as opposed to the bleaker and more dilapidated Native villages. Granny’s drew water from wells and offered me a drink. It was tasty.

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It’s not exacly a village in Bavaria. But there is something relaxing and refreshing in its less than orderly state.
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The village from the shore of the Katyn river
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Another angle from the river.

Russians from Moscow and Novosibirks have been buying up land in Altai and investing into making it a top-tier get away. A lot of the development is visible, but Altai remains wild. It also helps that the Altai is about the size of France…

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Faustian Spirit
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Bathing in a small lake. All Russian tourists.
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The Golden Mountains
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View from a small cliff I hiked up
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Quaint little Russian village
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The Katyn River. It’s incredible dangerous to swim in it. Naturally, all the Russian tourists do.
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Nature
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More little homesteads. They dot the main road heading North/South through Altai.
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As I went further South, it got more arid and the elevation increased. This is where the Mongol peoples live.

Again, I am struck by how much these Native peoples probably pull down Russia in its ratings for just about everything probably- drunkeness, public order, standard of living, life expectancy, etc.

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These are the fields right outside a Native village. Its hard to see, but they are completely covered in trash. Cows graze among the refuse. It stinks and they live right across the road from this arid open air dump.

I suspect the liberals who trot out the doomsday stats about Russia know that they are being disengenious…

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The entrance to the Native village was noticeably dirtier, the roads were shitier, and covered in trash. I didn’t drive any further in.

But yeah, they’re (((liberals))) so they do what they always do best: Demoralize.

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The hippies set up shop further North, selling local handicrafts. All handmade- or so they say. A lot of pagan imagery, part of the whole Roots phenomenon going on in Russia. Russians are getting pretty into Slavic folk culture, and many now want to run off to villages to live traditional lives. Its a thing.

I noticed that there are a lot of white hippies in Altai, but they’re not so bad. I mean they’re hippies, but they actually make local crafts- because the Natives don’t really give a damn about their own culture, they have been very effectively “Sovietized.”  So as usual, its the Whites culturally appropriating Native culture, making busineses out of it, preserving it for future generations. You know, the same thing that we do everywhere.

With the exception of Novosibirsk, I have seen little to merit all the stereotypes about bleak and barren Russia. I mean, when people think of America, do they think of Detroit? Or Chiraq? Show Russians how people live in Appalachia and watch their eyes widen with surprise.

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The sun came down over the scene like a curtain

“It looks like Section 12!” One girl told me. She was referring to the Hunger Games, and I had to admit she had a point.

America has its dark spots- like half of DC, New York, most of Baltimore, Pittsburg, everything off Northwestern’s Campus in Chicago, Detroit, most of LA, north Charleston, inner Richmond… You know, just places I’ve accidentaly taken the wrong turn off the highway into…

Russia is better in that regard. Having spent considerable time in St. Petersburg and Moscow- I am blown away by how huge the good part of town is.  There are a few immigrant projects on the far edges of the city (construction workers, drivers mostly) but otherwise its just so incredibly safe and beautiful…like Altai.

But I’ll save all the ruminations on city life in Russia for another post. Next up: The City of Viborg-the Blueprint for Russian Annexation of Sweden.

A WASP in Siberia

Note: this one got lost in the drafts section for some time

I watched the Euro Finals match last night in Tyumen on the night of my departure to Novosibirsk.

Executive Summary: At least the white guy scored twice.

But at the bar, there were 2 Americans from the international program at the local university. One of them had a girlfriend with a 6/10 body and a 9/10 face. She was a hottie.

But the guy set off my gaydar almost immediately. He was an American, from New York, with that effected WASP lisp that I’ve grown to know and love so well. **cough** Spencer **cough**  He found this chick online. And he moved to Siberia to be with her, the only problem being that she already had a boyfriend. In fact she was engaged at some point. But this American stuck it out for 2.5 years in her friendzone, going between home and Siberia to stay in her friendzone orbit, until one day she broke up with her soon to be fiance and he swooped in.

I was speechless when I heard the story.

This kid has actually pulled off the impossible. He got out of the friendzone with a hottie by being a Beta!

But of course, there was more to the story than meets the eye. First off, he’s not a kid.

The t-shirt, short shorts and nu-male face threw me off. He was actually 32, and worked as an investment banker on and off. His friend started a firm, and he occasionally works for them when he’s in the United States. But his real passion is writing books! Being a bit of an author myself, I had to learn more.

As he chomped down on his burger (of course), he talked like he was on stage, the star of some production that we had all come to watch and applaud. Apparently, he wrote a 250 thousand word book about his experiences in LA doing drugs and finding himself. (Still unpublished of course) He listed his influences as being Kerouac, Ginsberg, and Palahniuk.

“Basically its a critique of modern capitalistic society,” he said.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. How original. My book is the real critique of modern society- which is why I had to write it under a pseudonym…But whatever. I kept listening to what the finance banker wannabe Tyler Durden had to say…

He said he wanted to move to Amsterdam because he loved the open-mindedness and tolerance of the city- isn’t that right, my sweet baby?- he said verbatim to the Russian chick who looked up from her phone and nodded.

…Man she was pretty, it was hard to look at him when he talked with his gay little lisp. She had that small slavic nose that, round little face and pulled back dirty blond-hair that makes it hard to believe gays could exist east of the Berlin Wall. But I tore myself away from staring at her profile and tried to re-focus.

The conversation turned to Londonistan. He remarked how shocked he was at how few Britons were in the city. And in Amsterdam too! Paris as well, he concluded. “Every city looks like New York now!” he exclaimed.

My first thought was that this kid was on the Chanel loop- living the expat life I always imagined for myself- before I decided to stick it out for some Eastern Promises instead.

“But its a good thing!” He assured us. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Its so vibrant.” Man he said those exact words. Like something out of a /pol/ twitter account parody… I was speechless and flabbergasted. I had been surrounded by these types all my life, but the last years abroad had made me forget just how real this libshit stereotype is. Everything, down to the NPR voice, was perfect. I gulped down my beer and tried to focus on the game that I ostensibly showed up to watch.

But he kept talking.

Funny enough, he told a story about how he saw some Arab men harassing some girls in London. Possessed by some white knight rage, he was about to intervene, he assures us. But the girls left without getting fiki-fikied.

A lesson to learn, he told us. “I’m not a racist, but these Ar-well Arab men, they uh, well they were not being respectful. It was inappropriate behavior is all I’m saying…” I kept as straight a face as I could as I listened.

I ended up chatting with his girlfriend while he went to get a smoke outside. I found out so much so quick. She was so keen to unload some chit-chat on somebody. Turns out they had met online, over skype as language exchange pals.

I used my go-to AMOG/Neg combo. “Dont you find that men need to act more like men, sometimes.” Her eyes lit up. This line never fails me in the current year,  I swear.

We ended up flirting the rest of the evening, even when he returned from his smoke. He eyed me balefully. Especially when I commented on his multi-culti experience. “What’s so bad about stopping further immigration?” He clammed up immediately and looked at the table with an incredulous expression on his face as if to say, “getta a load of this guy!”

No one returned the expression, there was only one other Jewmerican at the table, and all Russians or French, so the deck was stacked against him. He backed down and mumbled something about love and tolerance…Really checking all the boxes!

A Bourgeois! King of the petty Bobo’s! WASP connections to Wall st/consulting/k street/trust fund despite spending 2.5 years in Siberia. Now thats True privilege! Funny enough, I am supposed to be in some sort of cabal of ethnic solidarity with this guy. At least, I get lumped in the same category of privilege…

I realized that night that the sneaking suspicions I had about the corrupting influence of the anglo-sphere had reached critical mass in my head. Almost always, its an American that spreads this kind of message in yuppie expat circles abroad. 9 times out of 10. And the other 1 is split between the odd Swede or an Anglo-sphere country.

The evening concluded with them leaving a little early. I went clubbing afterwards and had an amazing time. Still, this little story will stay with me for some time. It’s not the first time I’ve noticed the anglo trend. And I doubt it will be the last.

Damn, never thought I’d run into a WASP in Siberia.

Race-Tour Recap

Race-Tour 2016 is winding down. I have a lot of material to process, which will likely serve as fodder for future articles and podcasts. My laptop has a Stasi-level archive, including pages of pseudo-intellectual musings, and hours of grainy recordings of me trolling Arabs and Lesbians. So goyim, buckle up.

But the fun isn’t over yet. I have a few more objectives to hit: Munich (spiritual reasons), Berlin again, a certain hamlet in Denmark, Stockholm and Iceland. Before I launch on this final, exclusively Germanic leg of Race-Rour 2016 (RT16), I decided to do a little AAR. How did my original assumptions compare to the reality on the ground? What is to be done about our race’s predicament?

At the very onset, Vince and I concluded that the Nords were not the key to White salvation (Link to Vince’s two-part series). All the memes were basically right. While Nords are most exposed to the problem, they are sadly the most inured to it. That brought about the question of southern, “frontier” whites. Could they be the source of a racial awakening?

The Plan

I conceived RT16 back in February. At the time, the Hadji hoards were swelling up for another summer storm, with monthly numbers of immivaders, despite the cold, exceeding even the stats for last summer. There was a good chance of tens or hundreds of thousands by summer. “Born too late to explore the earth, born too early to explore the galaxy”… born just in time for the Great European Race War. I was positively giddy.

There was no way anyone was going to get a handle on the situation. The European governments drank their own Kool-Aid. They were petrified by their own myopic, neo-Puritan ideology. Supranational powers like the EU and NATO (“The Empire”) would let the immivasion continue, whether by incompetence or malice. Shit was going down. So great an influx of zombie-Hadjis would certainly lead to a total collapse of the social order. Two outcomes seemed possible: Hungarian obstinacy would trigger a chain-reaction in the Balkans, with one government after another refusing to accept migrants, or a major political crisis would erupt in some core-European country.

I based my travel plan on this analysis. I would fly to Sweden, epicenter of POZ, then head south to Germany and Austria, where I figured most of the action would be. If, like 2015, the Balkans were crawling with sub-human streams, I would venture out into the old Hapsburg-Ottoman borderlands. I even went so far as to retool my Russian as Serbo-Croatian.

It did not quite work out that way. In March, the EU struck a deal with the Turks that cut the inflow to a trickle, thereby making all-out race-war unlikely this year. To use the now classic metaphor–the frog is being boiled slowly again. So instead, we have stalemate. If last year was 1914, this year is 1915. Positions have shifted, the losses have mounted–Cologne, Paris, Brussels, now Nice–but no decisive action has occurred. And worse, none seems possible.

I changed plans accordingly. After hitting Sweden with Vince, I figured the best place to see some action would be Italy and Greece, entrepôts of the Muzziepocalypse. It was not quite what I had hoped for, but Southern Europe provided a welcome contrast with the North. The race-problem was still stark, but in a different way. The aliens were there, and in big groups, but they (were) kept to themselves. I was relieved to see no cases of miscegenation.

The Southern Problem

But the locals let me down. I figured that Southerners would have a more realistic view of the Problem. They did. Indeed, southern dislike of the barbarian is instinctful. While many exhibit a veneer of liberal attitudes, few are impractical enough to really believe in them. Unfortunately, that visceral dislike rarely manifested itself in any sort of resolve. They know something is off, but they generally do not care enough to do anything about it. It probably will not affect them anyway. All they have to do is ship the next batch of dindus North and its la dolce vita again.

Two particular instances are illustrative. I had conversations with two middle-aged men on my last day in Thessalonica. Their opinions were far more realistic than the average Nord’s, but their realism often crossed into outright cynicism. They had taken “the Black Pill,” as we are calling it now.

I struck up a conversation with the first of them while sitting at a sidewalk cafe. He held an odd mix of totally based and utterly liberal opinions. He argued that the Greek economic crisis is fake, it is nothing more than a bankers’ scam. Fair enough. On the other hand, he called the Syrian civil war “real.” He argued that it was caused intentionally by the European powers, and therefore, “We have to let them in.” But he conceded that Muslims cause problems, citing 9-11 as evidence that even a few could be very dangerous.

He also argued that Greece needed a totally crazy leader to clean up its economic problems. He cited Hitler as an example. When I pressed him about the refugee crisis, he recast his proposal. “The whole world needs a leader like that.”

He was vaguely Jew-aware. Not knowing my nationality, he stated that he liked the US, because there is a strong Greek lobby. I pointed out that, while true, the Greek-Americans have nothing on our main ethnic lobby. He nodded, and bragged that his people had gotten on with (((them))) well for centuries. I smirked. Supposedly the Arabs used to say that it takes two Jews to cheat a Greek.

He wondered about life in Washington, DC. I told him that the people in power are soulless, “They look like this,” doing my best to emulate the shitlib 1000-cock stare. He recognized my meaning immediately and blurted out “cyber-metrics!” (I think he meant “cyborgs”). So, the Jews run the world through Washington cyborgs. At that point I excused myself. His world concept was ridiculously simplistic. Had this guy even read Culture of Critique?

The second man started talking to me in the nearly empty central train station (railroad strike). He spoke English very well, and claimed to have been around since the Korean War. Refusing to reveal his nationality, he mentioned Greek, Turkish and Israeli friends. He started talking to me to offer a warning: in this deserted station, a Bangladeshi was pimping a tall Serbian girl in a scheme to steal valuables from men. I was skeptical but went along. He complained that he told the security guard, but that they did nothing. He went on to bemoan our general situation, predicting that the Bangladeshis and Chinese would take over the world. “But they did not build any of this (gesturing to the marble floors and walls), our fathers paid for it,” he said, pointing at himself and me.

I agreed, citing my experiences this summer, and asked “What can we do?.”

He shot back, “No, you can’t get worked up! There’s no point in getting worked up!”

Conclusion

So to sum up, Europeans come in two basic types: frontier whites and interior whites. Interior whites (Germanics and the French) suffer all the worst delusions that the alt-right has so exhaustively critiqued. Frontier whites (eg. Italians, Greeks, Serbs) on the other hand are instinctively realistic. They make no pretense of liking the invader. Their shortcoming is not seeing the big picture. So long as their lives are not directly affected, they are content to let the Afro-Muzzies pass through. Several times I had the occasion, often standing next to a concentration of refugees, to ask a local if the migrants were a problem. Sometimes the problem was acknowledged. But too often they would shrug. “Not a problem. Everything is fine.”

Of course this distinction ignores a number of others. It is not just interior vs frontier. It is city vs countryside, female vs male, young vs old. Youth, femininity and urbanity make people more likely to back their own people’s dispossession. It’s the old yin and yang.

As I am finishing up this essay, my impeccably quiet train-car is gliding through the Austrian Alps. over a mountain town that looks exactly like the one from The Sound of Music. And, what do you know, a whole family of hadjis just entered my train car. They Syrio-Iraqis always come in big packs– an old man, two old women, two boys, two girls and two young bucks, one of whom is of course wearing a pink polo. In light of recent happenings, I am way too triggered to write anymore. I wish it would just start already.

Austrian Town
Insert Kebab here

My First Lesbian Experience with a Refugee

No one is giving me orders. I find this distressing. As a fascist, I need hierarchy to keep me from getting confused. Fortunately, since I got to Europe, I have been able to think up mini-missions for myself. But on Lesbos, the lack of command and control started to get to me.

Thankfully TRS was there to help. The Swaggots came through–offering questions they would like to see me pose to the refugees. Armed with their ideas, I went out to try some dry-approaches.

I tried a couple times on some of the feral Pakis whom the Greeks had so unwisely begun to allow out of their containment center. I did not get much. They were reluctant to exercise their English. “Only little English.” Yeh, mkay. That’s not what you’d be saying if I were interested in a slurpee rather than your ethnic origins, your political aims, and economic means, the absence of women and children among your number, and your whiney-bitch excuses for all of the above.

So that was not going anywhere. Maybe it was my appearance. I look like the stereotypical CIA agent–light blue button-down, slightly overgrown high-and-tight, aviators. But “shock journalism” is not my style anyway. It is not easy to watch when a reporter, or a comedian, starts asking awkward and intrusive questions. The product is grating to listen to, and rarely informative. The method had worked on the dindus in Athens, but the air was humid and my targets were constitutionally less inhibited. Sorry TRSers, to get anything worth listening to, I would have to go after the prey most vulnerable to my charms. I would have to find a Hadji.

CIA guy
Like this, but in short khaki shorts.

I needed three things to land the ideal interview with a genuine Ayrab: an easy state of mind, a conversation-starter and a receptive target. The first item was easy to acquire–every grocery store, kiosk and video-rental joint in Greece sells beer, and I always assume public drinking is legal. And I was not worried about how to open the conversation, because my cigarette-lighter was intentionally in my room.

So that left target-selection. Women and groups were out of the question. Groups would dissolve into internal spin-off conversations, and my Arabic would be inadequate to regain the initiative. Approaching women might work, except that Arab females are stuck-up, xenophobic wildebeests who somehow, when approached by a man, nevertheless prefer to flatter themselves about his motives, which I suppose is only reasonable, given their usual milieu.

So it would have to be a man. But I kept getting sidetracked throughout the day. Things became more and more like a Camus novel. I seemed to spend a lot of time standing in grocery lines to buy single half-liters of beer. It got really hot. A couple fighters streaked over the harbor (“WHOHOOO! Gitsum, boys!”)–God, if only their employment had anything to do with my fantasies. Hey, with any luck my day might end like L’etranger.

I napped it off and went back to the harbor that evening. Dusk is the Magian’s primal hour. I ran into one, and asked for English. He couldn’t. I got my cigarette lit and switched on the dirka dirka, at which I instantly received the in-group treatment. My accent being way better than Clarissa Ward’s, he assumed that I was more proficient in the Iraqi dialect than I am. I was able at least to ask questions and understand the answers, even if my comprehension fizzled out during his oriental elaborations.

Clarissa suffers from a horrible deformity that inhibits her from not smirking. This condition also prevents her from pronouncing the voiced pharyngeal approximant in Modern Standard Arabic.
Clarissa suffers from a horrible deformity that inhibits her from not smirking. This condition also prevents her from pronouncing the voiced pharyngeal approximant in Modern Standard Arabic.

I found out a number of things that did not in themselves surprise me, only that he was saying them. First, the corrupt and incompetent Baghdad government is worse than ISIS. Second, despite ISIS and the democracy, things are way better now than at any point in the recent past. He pointed at his phone as evidence of that (I’m no expert, but it looked like the same model as the rather expensive one I just bought). Third, that, despite the government’s incompetence, he neither wanted nor thought possible an ISIS take-over of all Iraq. Fourth, he was not going back, he would stay in Germany or Austria.

He was quite open with me. In fact, he poured his heart out, describing the random violence in Baghdad, even showing me personal cell-phone pictures of bombings’ aftermath. I have no reason to think he fabricated any of this. I think his motive was simple: talking is therapy. I’m sure he had rehearsed these explanations a hundred times, never really thinking he would get to tell a Westerner. And what good would it be to tell another Arab?

On a lighter note, he also showed me pictures of his keepers. He said they were mostly Canadians and Americans. One was a mulatto, the others were fat. The problem with the red-pill is it takes the surprise out of life. And who was the ringleader of this altruistic orgy–the beast at the very bottom of my descent through European meme-land? You guessed it. A fucking Swede.

I admit I feel real sympathy for these people (not the Swedes). This Iraqi reminded me of my Arabic teacher–a flawlessly polite gentleman of the old middle-class. His parents were no doubt secular bourgeoisie during the old regime–before his country was thrown into a death-spiral (he mentioned fighting in the Iran war as a young man), courtesy of the Jews in Washington and their Levantine kinsmen. His parents’ remote ancestors had built the world’s first civilization, arguably the West’s first, or at least a critical forerunner. To them we owe the innovations that separate us from barbarism. I truly wish Iraq weren’t such a shithole now.

Call me an islamophilic cuck all you want to. Only fascists can feel real sympathy. Sympathy, real sympathy, derives from a sense of tragedy–the fatalistic understanding that bad things will happen. The fascist understands that other people are different from him and that they have their own aims, which sometimes conflict with his. Thus, he does not deem his enemies morally defective for opposing him. What are enemies for? My enemy and I strive to do each other harm. That is sad. If I were my enemy, I would do the same to me. That we find ourselves locked in a life-struggle against the Muslims is, and I really feel this, tragic.

But it would be insane to pretend the struggle is not there. Only madness, or profound irrationality, could lead someone to assume that men’s conflicting desires do not lead to strife. Because the liberal suffers from this very delusion, he cannot know real sympathy. What he imagines to be sympathy is only his maudlin effort to broaden his incomprehension. He wants to at least feel what he does not have the capacity to know. His sympathy is false. To recycle an example from Otto Weininger, a female nurse can simulate concern for her dying patients day after day, yet remain undisturbed, because she cannot experience real sympathy. Whereas for a man with a sense of the tragic–a fascist–would suffer total a collapse under such psychological strain.

After a 50 minute conversation, we parted. His gave me the most valuable thing he had–the truth about his aims. I hope that one day soon, we can repay the favor.

RED DAWN 21: The Refugee Whisperer

RED DAWN 21: The Refugee Whisperer

Vince interviews a member of the Swedish Resistance–Sven Garrison. Sven gives us an update on the situation in Sweden.

THEN: Greg calls in from Athens, where he interviews two African refugees (afrogees?). Even the alt-right bros are surprised at how good these dindus have it.

Featured Artist: Wolfnacht, the one-man Black Metal Neo-Nazi band. Intro: “Heldentat,” Intermission: “W.O.T.A.N Returns” Coda: “Pa Vikingtog” (in honor of Helleno-Nordic Fascist solidarity).

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Wolfnacht, like the Daily Stormer, is a one-man show. Pictured: Adalwulf, the fashiest Greek since Metaxas

Confirmed: Kebabs being removed from Piraeus, government provides about 40 Euro a day per refugee adult in Italy.

Golden Dawn Leader arrested, and two of its members were assassinated–almost three years ago. But it’s Greece, so the affair is ongoing. But Dindus do do Reggae on Santorini.

On Russian Mongrels

There are a decent amount of mixed race people in Russia.

The women turned out really really hot in most of these cases. The men however had a significant percentage of real скатина’s that came out as a product of the USSR. They are…

-The Soviet Men-

These guys are the worst of Russia (apart from the Hachis). They are the drunks, the people that might harass a girl on the street or start a fight for no reason whatsoever. A lot of the stereotypes about Russians are true. They can be pretty hard-core. But most of the stereotypes about Russian niggerish behavior can be attributed to the Mestizo class that is the remnant of the Trotskyite race-mixing program.

I see them in every city I visit, in varying numbers. They are highest in Moscow, and then St. Petersburg. Less prevalent in the smaller cities like Krasnodar, Novgorod, Tyumen, etc. We will see how the rest of Siberia is by the end of this trip.

Furthermore, they are the products of a system that no longer exists. The collapse of the USSR was rough on them. Here we can add some non-mixed Russians as well. Losing a whole belief system and losing a sense of purpose, and having to live through the 90’s broke a lot of these older, “Soviet Men.”

A Far Right Caveat

These mixed race mongrels are also disproportionatly represented in far right neo-nazi movements. The Neo-Nazi’s and skinheads I’ve met so far aren’t these blond haired, blue-eyed devils, but rather much swarthier. They take great pride in whatever drop of white blood they have, unlike their more fair-skinned counterparts. Its just a tendency I noticed. The Huwhyter they look, the more liberal and well-to-do they probably are. The more mongrelized they look, the more hardcore, racially aware and fiercely patriotic they are.

Half-korean skinheads. Half-Tartar neo-nazi’s… And 100% Aryan cucks.

Wew, what a world we live in.

Why Are Russian Girls So Much More Based Than Russian Men?

I’ve noticed a trend in Russia. The women are way more hardcore and patriotic than the men. Which on the face of it, is frankly, bizarre.

I have a working theory to explain this phenomenon. In Game theory, there is the tribal element of human relations that is explored in detail. One of the more interesting concepts is hard to swallow and this Crimson pill may have the answer to the phenomenon that I am seeing…

The girls here, regardless of what city I am in or what political orientation they hold, are racists. And they are racists for the exact same reason(s), that they almost all repeat to me at one time or another.

  1. I don’t like feeling unsafe walking home at night. Remove Hachi.
  2. I don’t like the way the browns look at me. Remove Hachi.
  3. I want to wear dresses and high heels without browns harrassing me. Remove Hachi.

That’s all the reason these chicks need. But Russian men have been lacking, at least in some of the places I’ve been. And these are the younger generation- the Millenials that I am talking about. The young men are skinnier, less based, and more tolerant than their hardcore predecessors.

But the women remain hardcore. Why is this?

Well try this scenario on for size. Two tribes face off in pre-historic times and one tribe wins. What happens to the men of the loser tribe? They get slaughtered. And the women? They get taken as wives.

Now, the women that are captured by the winning tribe need to adjust to the trauma of losing their tribe and accepting the victors if they are to survive. Which means that evolutionary pressure may have selected for women with less tribal loyalty over time. Because the more loyal ones would have had a hard time adjusting, and would have probably gotten killed as well.

So thats the theory behind the Female’s as Agents of Nation-Wrecking idea. But I’ve been trying to understand the context of the Russian situation and it doesnt seem to fit the theory. And the reason is because this theory needs a caveat or at least to be broken into two parts- the early stage and the later stage of threat reaction.

Women are sub-rationally persuing their own biological imperative at all time. I am not disputing this…But when a threat emerges, and the barbarians come to the gates, women do not just run into the arms of the invaders, as some of the more spergy auteests on the Alt-Right allege.

Initially, it is the women that will spur the men of their own tribe to fight to defend them. It is the white feather phenomenon, where women would pin white feathers on soldiers in Britain who did not enlist to fight in the trenches.

And that is what I believe is happening in Russia. The young Russian women feel the hot breath of the hostile tribe on their necks with more aclarity than the young Russian men, and so they spur the men to defend them.

The men feel a reluctance to go as hardcore as the women, because that would necessitate action. I’ve heard Russian girls say that muds  are sub-humans with a casual breeziness. They say these things though, and then go back to being cute and being feminine girls. They aren’t going to pick up the AK’s anytime soon, no matter how much they hate the hachis. But if a man starts thinking tribally this…there’s a chance he might have to act on his conclusions.

And so men are more careful in what they allow themselves to believe, or openly say. Because it has the potential to have actual consequences.

Only after women sniff the air and see which way the wind is blowing, and when the situation becomes dire do they start hedging their bets, or engaging in open treachery to their own tribe. This is arguably the state of Scandinavia and much of the Anglo-Sphere as things stand now.

But beyond the Hajnal line, there’s still some fight left.

Just a theory.

The Gates of Siberia- The Russian City of Tyumen

Ah, Tyumen. The Gates of Siberia! I like Tyumen.

It’s an incredibly comfy city. The streets are clean, safe, and cute.

The city is filled with young people on bikes, well-dressed businessmen and hardly any diversity.

I took a walk along the naberezhnaya, by the river and was blown away by what I saw. Beautiful girls everywhere on rollerblades dressed like they were at an 80’s roller-rink somewhere in SoCal. Fit dudes dressed like lifeguards on bikes with boomboxes attached to the back zoomed by.

Kids play in the fountains, and wandering couples are everywhere, walking hand in hand. As a bonus, there has been live music every evening that I’ve spent there so far, done by non-hipster local kids. No skinny jeans and faggy lumberjack-esque plaid here.

I was feeling so blissfully cleansed as I wandered the criss-crossing embankments and I languidly watched the party boats cruising softly on Siberian river.

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But a whiff of diversity made me crinkle my nose with disgust. I’ve been staying at a student dorm, and there are a lot of international students there. So I recognized the Americans when they came out in a pack this time, pimp-rolling by in their snapback hats and leaving an Axe-spray tinted wake as they passed me by. The group consisted of Ameri-mexicans, some Filipino- (or maybe Thai?) Americans and some white-ish types.

At least there wasn’t a nigger amonst them. (Even though the dorms do have some Congolese students). It was a wet slap to the face as I had my European-American safe space violated by their POC presence.

students working out. Part of the зож movement. Its like Crossfit for slavs.
students working out. Part of the зож movement. Its like Crossfit for slavs.

I spent two afternoons in a row approaching girls in dresses along this stretch of river. Most were receptive, and I was easily able to start a conversation, but that was about it. Almost every single girl I talked to had a boyfriend or was married. I have never had to check for rings on fingers before in all my approaches, but here, its a real roadblock.

I’ve spent a lot of time talking to girls who are spoken for. Most of them just genuinely want to talk to a foreigner and hear some stories about the USA. A bit of a let down, to be quite honest. But still, what’s bad for me is good for White civilization, so I’m not too upset. And there are also some really really basic Russian village types here. They’ve never left the village until it was time for University, and they think they live in a big city now. These girls are nice, but incredibly simple. They talk about their cats and don’t know anything about their own country let alone the world. And none of the fancy game stuff works on them because it was developed for big city Eat-Pray-Fuck types. Frankly, I feel bad for all the negging I did…

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There was a touching scene one afternoon. A bunch of Russians were gathered around to listen to a man on a guitar playing a DDT song. They all knew the words and sang along. (So did I)

But right next to the group were 4 sullen hachi’s with brown faces, dark unibrows and scowling faces. Pretty usual for Russia. They looked on without a glimmer of recognition or appreciation at the spontaneous Russian community sing-along. So much for Sovietization, or shared Russian culture.

A girl asked me what I was. I replied that it was a complicated question, that I was technically an American citizen. She shook her head and asked what my parents were. They’re хохлы I told her. She nodded her head sagely and said, then you’re Ukrainian, your blood is Ukrainian.

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See, they say this stuff and then go right around and talk about how Russian-ness is an abstract concept of soul. That there are Russians of the soul, and that there are Russified peoples living in Russia. Maybe the Koreans are, or the small tribal peoples, but I find this a cop-out and a residual leftover of the days of Soviet sponsered race-mixing propaganda…

I’ve heard this myth a lot. And it goes that there are these “Soviet” peoples that are part of the Russian experience. The truth is that Russia reduced these people to dhimmitude and expends considerable resources on making sure that they stay that way now as well. Whereas France colonized Africa, Russia colonized Central Asia, with different, but arguably similar results. Resentment towards the Russians, coupled with mass migration into the Russian Federation characterized much of the 90’s and 00’s. Many Russians fled the stans and returned to the motherland because of local intolerance and discrimination policies. Naturally, the upper classes got out first, leaving behind many of their co-ethnics to rough it out. This prompted Solzhenitsyn to make calls for the annexation of Western Kazakstan, on the same grounds that many called for the annexation of Novorussia now. There has been a stabilization of the situation, however. And things have markedly improved from the Брат, or the Exile’s depiction of Russia in the 90s.

A short story told to me by a local married (sigh) Patriot Russian girl: there was a Chechen woman that parked right over a tramway rail in Ekatirinburg one day and caused a massive traffic backup. Some Russian volunteer teenagers that shame bad parkers and drivers by stickying their cars with an insulting monicker- “Road Hog”-came up to sticky her car. She freaked out and called in the cavalry. About 40 Chechens showed up and beat up the zealous Russian student do-gooders.

This racewar situation however was promptly diffused by the personal intervention of Ramzan Kadyrov. It turns out the Chechen woman was the wife of a regional governor. Kadyrov summoned the woman’s husband, dressed him down and fired him on the spot- at least the story goes. And its part of this greater trend, the stabilization of relations between Russians and Chechens. Kadyrov punishes anyone who steps out of live in the Chechen diaspora by torturing or killing their family members left in Chechnia or ordering hits on them by loyalist Chechens.

And he manages to keep the peace.

Funny enough, the liberasts of course condemn this, and the country of Chechnia. They want to do the White Nationalist approach and let the Chechens succeed from the RF.

These are the same liberasts that were calling foul and howling about human rights abuses when Russian forces invaded first under Yeltsin and then Putin. They want to do the same for Tatarstan. But now they’ve changed their tune and agitate for the further break-up of the Russian empire by reminding people about the criminality of these “nations of criminals.”

I’m all over the place today, but a few more thoughts on the ethnic diasporas. The Chechens have been tamed, the Armenians are loyal. The Georgians too. The Kazaks that move to Russia are the upper classes- the “sovietized” families, and the Russian tribal peoples continue to drink themselves to death and cause little trouble.

The problem is the Uzbeks and the Tajiks, for the most part. I have yet to find anyone, liberal or other, that can tolerate them. But most Russians do not reject them on any HBD grounds or any Alt-Right idea. Mostly its just this personal dislike of them and a belief that Russia should take care of its own first. Still, they have no rights here and they behave for the most part. I enjoy the spectacle of seeing them get harassed by the police in St. Petersburg on a bi-weekly basis…

But back to Tyuman and Siberia.

The diversity is low and the people are natural conservatives. Everyone I talked to here is a patriot and loves Putin. I’ve also met people that know about the International Jew, but mostly its people that are just naturally red-pilled in a Russian way.They have their head screwed on straight and seem largely untainted by the Cultural Marxism.

Neo-nazi grafitti dominates. No Antifa in sight.

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Life is slower here in Tyumen, simpler and sweeter. Its a refreshing place to be.  But next stop is Novosibirsk- the capital of Siberia.