Counter-Currents
Christian Krohg, Leif Eriksson Discovers America, 1893.
1,702 words
After being stuck in the US for the last five months during the COVID-19 pandemic, I am finally back in Europe. Thanks to my friends in the Dissident Right, I get to spend the next few months in a small town that is overwhelmingly white. Reflecting on my travels this week reminded me of the many European historians and explorers who wrote about their adventures after returning home. Their journeys have inspired me and other white advocates to find a home for ourselves and our people.
As crazy as it sounds, I have always enjoyed traveling and moving around from place to place. Traveling has given me the opportunity to live in the lands of my European ancestors. Even while living and working in the US, I specifically took jobs where I could live in a majority-white area. Yet as I got older, I realized that there were fewer places in the US where whites were still a majority. After spending most of my 20s in Scandinavia, I noticed that white Europeans were also becoming minorities in certain areas of Western Europe. This was one of the reasons why I decided to relocate to Eastern Europe for the past two years.
I was always fascinated with European history, particularly with medieval history. I also enjoyed visiting the historic sites of various European fortresses, castles, and ruins. I never had the same interest or passion for American history. My ancestors never sailed over on the Mayflower or fought in the Revolutionary War. I never felt a strong connection to America or truly identified as an American. I always identified as white. To be honest, I always wished that my grandparents stayed in Europe and never came to the US. I always wished that I had been born in Europe.
Yet I strongly believe that travel and exploration is a large part of the European spirit. From individuals to entire groups, Europeans have explored and navigated the entire world. They traveled the seas in search of unknown lands. They created settlements in the face of harsh climates and violent natives. Many people died in their travels, but enough people survived so that their bravery and courage could be remembered today. These historical accounts have often inspired me in my travels and adventures in seeking a white place to call home.
Herodotus was an ancient Greek historian who is often referred to as “the father of history.” He is considered the first writer to compile historic events and characters into a narrative form for historical analysis. Herodotus is most known for writing The Histories, which is a detailed account of the Greco-Persian Wars between 499 BC and 449 BC. While his narrative of the war is the focus of the book, it was the stories from his travels that truly caught my interest.
Little is known about the personal life of Herodotus, but sources indicate that he traveled extensively throughout the Mediterranean during his lifetime. He was born in Halicarnassus (modern-day Bodrum, Turkey) around 484 BC, when the city was a popular trading port. There are detailed descriptions in The Histories of his experiences meeting various traders in his hometown while also exploring Egypt, Tyre (southern Lebanon), and Thurii (southern Italy). Herodotus would eventually relocate to Athens where he would perform public readings of The Histories throughout the area. While many historians have criticized the truthfulness of his accounts, my favorite parts of The Histories are the anecdotes that Herodotus tells about the different lands, people, and cultures he experienced during his travels. He tells of foreign lands with giant ants, tribes where the women are hairier than the men, and various rituals and customs of the different religions. It is presumed that he either died in Athens or Macedonia after a plague outbreak in 430 BC. Nevertheless, his stories and adventures have been inspiring travelers like me throughout the centuries.
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In heavy metal culture, the US is often referred to as Vinland. This nickname comes from two Icelandic Sagas: The Saga of the Greenlanders and The Saga of Eric the Red, known collectively as the Vinland Sagas. Both sagas were written in the 13th century about the Norse voyages to Greenland and the North American continent between 970 and 1030. Both sagas share similar characters while focusing on different events and expeditions. The main characters in both sagas are Eric the Red, Leif Erikson, Thorfinn Karlsefni, and Bjarni Herjólfsson. The sagas follow these characters as they colonize Greenland, sail to North America, attempt to establish settlements, and eventually return to Greenland.
I started reading the Icelandic Sagas as a teenager when I started listening to Scandinavian metal bands. Out of all the classic Icelandic Sagas, the Vinland Sagas are my favorite. They are some of the few sagas that show the struggles between maintaining the old pagan traditions versus adopting Christianity for social and political opportunities. Each of the characters are memorable and have their own personalities and goals. It is often said that the Vikings were the first Europeans to discover America and had enough common sense to leave and never return. Their journeys required a special kind of bravery and courage that has inspired me in my own travels throughout my life to this very day.
During my childhood, there was a popular hide-and-seek game played in swimming pools called Marco Polo. I never understood why the game was called Marco Polo, but my curiosity led me to read The Travels of Marco Polo. Written by Rustichello da Pisa and Marco Polo, The Travels of Marco Polo is a 13th-century travel log that describes Polo’s travels through Asia between 1271 and 1295. Polo was imprisoned in Genoa in 1298 and got to know Rustichello. Rustichello was the author of Roman de Roi Artus, the earliest known Arthurian legend written in Italy. Polo eventually told Rustichello about his adventures and together they created The Travels of Marco Polo.
As with Herodotus, some historians have questioned the authenticity of Polo’s accounts and experiences. Nevertheless, most historians have concluded that despite some narrative exaggerations, The Travels of Marco Polo gives an accurate account of one of the first Europeans to travel to the heart of the Mongol Empire. I greatly enjoyed reading about Polo’s time in Kublai Khan’s court and his return to Europe as he passed through Russia. From scary cannibal tribes to witty spice traders, Rustichello’s detailed narration brought Polo’s stories to life in a way that made me feel like I was traveling the Silk Road with them. The Travels of Marco Polo is another book that sparked my passion for travel and adventure.
After two days of travel, I finally arrived at the small town that I will be staying in for the next few months. After unpacking, I decided to walk to the local bar for dinner and drinks. I ended up socializing with a group of locals from the area. They obviously knew that I was not from the area and wanted to know who I was and why I was in their small-town bar. I told them that I was there to learn their local language and was interested in exploring the historic sites and castles in the area. After getting to know more about me, they warmed up to me and invited me over to have some drinks and a slice of birthday cake with them.
I had a great time socializing and getting to know them. Yet one of the main questions they kept asking me was why an American would want to learn their language and live in their small town. I decided to be honest with them and tell them the truth. I told them that I want to live around white people. I want to be proud of my ethnic and racial identity without being shamed, threatened, or attacked by non-whites. I told them that I always wanted to live in Europe to be in the land of my ancestors. I explained to them that the happiest moments of my life were the times I was able to live in a small town, practice a secondary language, and take walks after dinner without worrying about my safety. There was a pause after I said these things. I thought they were going to shame me for my views. Instead, they told me that they agreed with me and felt the same way.
I always talk about building community and culture. This will mean different things to different people at different stages in their lives. For most of my life, I have been a traveler and a wanderer. It is through my travels and adventures that I have developed a great network of friends in the Dissident Right. I have been fortunate enough to attend concerts and conferences where I have built friendships with nationalists around the world. Now I can relocate and live next to fellow dissidents, ethnic nationalists, and white advocates. It is through my travels that I am now able to help build our community and culture.
While I was on the airplane flying over the Atlantic Ocean, I thought about Herodotus, Leif Erikson, and Marco Polo. Perhaps they felt the same excitement returning to their homes as I felt returning to Europe. Perhaps one day I will write about my own travels and journeys just as they did in the past. Maybe one day I will settle down in a small village where I can walk my dog while greeting the locals in their native tongue. Thanks to all my friends in our community, I have a few places to make those dreams come true. Until then, my quest continues. Here I go again on my own travels and adventures.
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9 comments
There really is no better experience than moving to a small, homogenous community in Europe. I made the move 4 years ago and I will never leave. On Saturday I left my phone on a bench outside Carrefour for 2 hours and when I returned, assuming the phone was long gone, I found it on the bench and it hadn’t even been touched. Yesterday I received a knock on my door from the young son of a neighbor presenting me with a plate of barbecued meats. I have experiences and see things every day that confirm I made the correct choice to leave the US. My family has been in the US for several generations but I was born in Europe and lived here until I was 5. I don’t know if my attachment to Europe has something to do with post natal experiences or something else, but like yourself I never really felt at home in the US.
GOING DOWN THE ONLY ROAD I’VE EVER KNOWN!
LIKE A DRIFTER YOU WERE BORN TO WALK ALONE!
Not all those who wander are lost.
I know what it means
To walk along the lonely street of dreams
Herodotus… if not for him we might not know about Babylon’s hanging gardens.
And Marco Polo told us of the Hashashins.
Some of Marco Polo’s stories are a little unbelievable. I’m of the opinion that the Marco Polo character is an amalgamation of stories from various Silk Road merchants during that period. From what I understand, no mention is ever made of a Marco Polo in any Chinese or Mongolian records of the time, and extensive records were kept about the Mongolian empire, in particular the “The Secret History of the Mongols”, which makes no mention of Europeans in Kublai Kahn’s court.
I can relate to this sentiment and have taken heat from some family members for not being overly enthusiastic about being an American (aka thinking that United States is the Holy Grail of all countries when in reality we know that it’s been circling the drain for a long time). As someone who’s heritage is 100 percent German, I’ve always had a keen interest and admiration for European culture — from the homeland to Russia. There’s very little that excites me concerning the United States other than its geographical beauty. We’re not a nation “rich in history”, but rather a nation that idolizes capitalism and Marxism.
There’s also that Green Day song I Walk Alone. Favorite theme of the culture producers for some reason…although I do live the non lexical vocables in that—such pain and yearning.
I liked Eastern Europe too, although I was only there for an abbreviated tour; Poland Czechia, Slovakia, Ukraine. My impression was of a Europe with a parallel but different history, almost like a Europe of a different dimension or middle earth, that was never corrupted by modernity.
Which and how many languages does Fullmoon Ancestry speak, I would like to know?
I believe we all have a connection to Europe, through our blood and heart, although this will be stronger in those with romantic tendencies.
As a member of the European diaspora, I am torn between the land of my birth which my ancestors settled less than 200 years ago, and the continent from which they came.
I belong in neither – while the countries my ancestors came from feel immediately and intensely right to me, the language and culture is alien. I love the people, but their habits are strange to me.
Likewise, my country is my home, yet I barely relate to my fellow countrymen. The land is familiar, but its forests aren’t those of my people, and the culture repulses me.
I used to wish that my ancestors never set foot on these godforsaken islands, but choose now to interpret their actions as an expression of the Romantic ideal, and one that I must maintain.
I may not be able to return easily to the countries of Europe, and this deeply saddens me. Yet at the same time, living in exile amongst savages is a continuation of my ancestors’ story, and therefore my own, and has its own decayed Romantic charm.
As an illustration: It was glorious to go to a Silvester 2020 performance of Beethoven‘s 9th in one of Germany’s magnificent concert halls, although it felt a little too effortless, too unearned for someone used to having their cultural events rationed.
But when I carried this treasure to the furtherest reaches of the planet and sat alone on a mountainside to listen, a different sort of accomplishment was enacted, and perhaps one my forebears understood more.
I haven’t traveled as much as I would have liked, but like you, I have always felt Europe was my home, not America. And it is harder for most women to pick up and move freely around the world. Last summer, I spent 2 months in England, in the town of Sheffield staying with friends, and was looking forward to doing the same this year for 3 months so I could make short plane rides over to ‘the Continent’. Well — this summer, I’m stuck at home like everyone else my age, and I am trying to make the best of it, since I am retired. Just one town in England has so much to see, and 10 other small towns nearby allow you to really feel at home. A jaunt down to Oxford on the train really opens you to the best of England, though it’s crowded with tourists. There’s a superb art museum and fabulous charity shops with great used books — my paradise! I also made side trips to Ireland, land of 55% of my heritage (and 30% English – Anglo-Saxon, I guess) and up to Scotland briefly as well. I always felt wonderfully ‘at home’, except when viewing the large numbers of Moslems on the streets, especially in Sheffield. What a loss for England. Well, I’m using this summer to read the many books I picked up in England (and sent back at great expense, but I’m an addict!) and I dream of visiting England and Europe next summer, with the ‘BLM Spring and Summer of 2020’ behind me. Wish I could stay there forever.
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