Scandihoovian Jokes - Spidra

-Swedish is an easy language to learn. For example, sit horse is sit ruuna (sitruuna = lemon)
-how do you recognize a Swede?
He pushes a pull door
-What is the difference between a chicken and a Swede?
-Chicken only lays eggs/fails (same word in Finnish) once a day
-After God created a Swede, he asked what kind of brains he liked, but Swede heard the God was talking about discomfort (1 letter difference) and said "as small and unnoticeable, please"
-Why does Sweden exist?
Because the world needed a place to put all the idiots in
-3 Swedes wanted to cross a roaring river and one of them found a lamp with a genie.
"I'll grant each one of you a single wish" the genie said.
"I want to cross this river" said one of the Swedes.
Then poof, his hands turned massive, and he swam across the river in an hour
"I too want to cross this rive", said the second Swede
Then poof, a rowing boat appeared, and he rowed across the river in a half an hour
"I too want to cross this river" said the last Swede
Then poof, he turned into a Finn, and walked across the river in 5 minutes using the nearby bridge
Had to translate these from memory due to forgetting where I put my 2000 joke book

Continuing…
Mealtime was a very nice selection of either British or Oriental food, I enjoyed the lasagna especially.
The empties pile was growing at a prodigious rate as it’s a thirsty business flying around the world, defending science, and pushing back the boundaries of knowledge and scholarship.
Besides, it was free.
The lightweights of the crowd, the wiggle-pickers, and the log readers flaked early and were snoring their way to the Orient. The stalwart Russians, the Bulgarian, the Swede, and the Finn were keeping the cabin attendants in shape with their beverage requests. Not to worry, I plan to tip each stoutly upon our arrival.
I thought ahead and ‘smuggled’ a bottle of duty-free vodka aboard. Truth be told, my emergency flasks probably tote up about a liter combined. I kept myself busy with my notes, logistics, field notebooks, and expenses; so I only had to ask for ice, limes, and Bitter Lemon a couple of times during the long flight.
The flight continued on through the night and into the next day. I flaked out myself somewhere over Lake Baikal by my reckoning. The next thing I know, I was being offered a hot towel, tea, and breakfast menu by a stunningly cute and ridiculously attentive diminutive cabin attendant.
The light coming through the cabin windows was intensely bright, as is its wont at 35,000 feet elevation. I wish I could have asked for someone to turn it down a couple of notches.
“Cliff. Could you pull down the window shade? I’m getting zorched over here.”
After abbreviated morning ablutions, I’m sipping some genuinely wonderful loose-leaf black morning tea.
It was augmented by a quick splash of wuliangye, a delightful Chinese liqueur made from sorghum, rice, glutinous rice, more rice, sticky rice, unsticky rice, rice crispies, wheat, and corn which rings in at 52 percent alcohol.
104 proof breakfast juice.
My kind of morning wake-up tea.
Once breakfast was served, I took the time to remind everyone of our mission.
Remember where we’re going. Remember what we’re doing. And remember, these folks probably don’t care much for practical jokes; as I looked directly at Dr. Ivan who made an obligatory fake flatus sound.
Ph.D. Doctor. Academician. And a 12-year old’s comportment. He makes it out of this alive and it’ll be a genuine miracle.
The plane makes a couple of sudden swings. I’ve been through this before, we’re getting ready to land at Beijing Capital International Airport.
“DING!” dings the in-cabin dinger that ding-alerts us that, yes, we’re preparing to land.
Stash that extra beer in your daypack, shove all those extra mini-bottles into your rucksack; we’re getting ready to touch down.
We land, taxi to the appropriate arrivals gate and in merest minutes are headed off the plane into the belly of the airport. I’m last off, to ensure everyone else makes it and to disburse some well-deserved tips to the cabin attendants.
They tried, wanly, to protest, “Oh, no. We cannot…oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”
One flight attendant hands me a couple of mini-bottles of vodka and a can of Bitter Lemon.
“It is very dusty walk to customs”, she smiles at me.
I do so love to visit the Orient. Furry Godzillas get some mad respect over here.
We needn’t worry. We were all met at the debouchment of the jetway by a pair of electric convenience carts. We were sort of, kind of, more or less, VIPs, so we’re getting the royal service.
I could grow to like this.
We are taken to an off-axis terminal room behind an unmarked door and told to wait.
Of course, the cigarettes are broken out and I am offered a small Dutch dry-cured cigar from Dr. Viv.
“Here, Rock. Try one of mine.” He smiled.
“Thanks, Viv.” I said and joined the combustible crowd. Nice flavor, burns a tad hot though for my taste.
I take the time to check in back home. Not with Es, but with the Agents. I inform them via answering machine that we’re in China, being treated well, on schedule and will be departing to the final destination in a couple of hours.
“Rock, what’s the bloody score?” Cliff asks me.
“Not sure”, I replied, “Nothing from any agency folks. Perhaps they are taken to quarantine geologists now in light of the global Cheap Mexican Beer Virus craziness.”
An official arrives at the door, coughs, and informs us that our luggage is outside. We will surrender our passports and the needful will be done. They will be returned, and we will be taken to our departure gate.
I spoke up.
“Excuse me, but I’m Dr. Rocknocker, the titular head of this special education class. I think I speak for the crowd when I say that we’re not terribly keen on ‘surrendering’, as you say, our passports. We’re world travelers and that right there is no-no number one on the world wanderer hit parade.” I said.
“Yes, Dr. Rocknocker. This was anticipated.” He replied, without stating his name, rank or even serial number, “Therefore, if you wish, one of your party will accompany us to the customs area and oversee the procedure. It is for your convenience.”
“I understand that and we do appreciate that, but some of us are from countries that have undergone some severe global turmoil in the last few decades. Old habits die hard. Can you give us a minute, please?” I asked.
“Certainly, Doctor.” The official replied. And silently shut himself off.
Or so it seemed, he was very methodical and mechanical.
“OK, guys, here’s the deal. Pony up your passports. Give them to Dax, whom I’ve just elected as official IUPGS ambassador to China.”
Dax does a quick double-take. “What?”
“No worries Dax. It’s a cinch. Just go with Three Ceepio over here and watch over our passports. We’ll hold down the fort on this side.” I said.
“Why me? Why don’t you, as ‘titular head of this special education class’, tend to such duties?” Dax asks.
“Ah, you heard that…” I snickered, “That’s the precise reason. I’ve got to stay and figure out the logistics while you handle some of the ancillary activities. I mean, that’s what second in command duties entail.”
“OK, OK”, Dax exhales in defeat, “Give me your passports, sign a sheet as a receipt to show them we’re not going to be snookered”, as evidently, Western passports, even vague copies, go for major dinero over here on the black market; which we’re not implying is what’s happening here at all.
No. Not in the least.
Dax continues, “Paper trail. Let’s make a real path back from wherever we go. So, hand over your passports and sign the paper. We’ll have Three Ceepio sign it as well once we get him rebooted. Then I go take care of business while Dr. Rock does the needful here.”
Even with the grumbles and snark, we collected a total of a dozen passports, a dozen signatures and once reawakened, Three Ceepio actually signed the sheet of paper we were using to track our documents.
It’s not that we’re paranoid. It’s not that we’re suspicious. It’s not that we’re distrustful. It’s just that we’re very, very careful, cynical, and pragmatic. It’s a survival instinct.
Dax and the Chinese official vacate the room and I wander outside the door to check on our luggage. I had copies of everyone’s bag tags and saw immediately that mine had made it more or less unscathed. It was a real pain in the lumbar region stooping over and checking all those numbers, so I dragooned Viv and Ivan into helping me.
I’d call off the name, and then the last 4 digits of the ridiculously long 18-25 digit tracking number. Viv or Ivan would find the bag and we’d check another off the list. It would have taken me alone a good hour to accomplish this. With Viv and Ivan’s help, 10 minutes later, we're back in the austere waiting room, smoking cigars and taking sips from purloined British Airways liquor miniatures.
All our baggage made it this far. At least, the bag showed up. No idea who or what had been through the interior of the bags, but they all looked intact.
That, in and of itself, was good enough for a couple of toasts.
Dax returned with all our properly stamped, photocopied, re-stamped, visa-ed, and appropriately checked for entrance to our next destination. There were certain countries where if their customs stamps appear in your passport it could cause you to be denied entry. These were all covered with hardly-obvious yellow sticky notes and low-grade sticky tape.
Such subterfuge.
There was a knock at the door and Joon answered. It was an Air China hostess pushing a huge cart loaded with food and drink.
“Hello. Is this IUPGS?” she asked.
“Why, yes; it is,” I replied. “At least, were representatives of that group.”
She pushes open the doors wide as it would go and enters with the cart.
“Courtesy of Air China.” She declared, did a neat little bow and exited before we could say a word.
“Very much like traveling with Dr. Rock”, Volna declares, “We must do this some more often” as he heads to the cart and grabs a very cold can of local beer.
I look at the cart, and at my team members.
“Bon appetite, guys”, I say, shrugging my shoulders and raising my hands in defeat.
Like hungry lampreys on a wobbly Sockeye Salmon, that cart actually shuddered under the onslaught.
Once the food and drink were sorted, Dax continued with his tale.
“Yeah, they were very thorough. Actually had some joker from the place we’re going giving each and every passport the once over. Checking for untoward stamps, problematic visas, and the like Everything was going fine until some knucklehead’s red Diplomatic Passport came up.” Dax chuckled.
“Yes? Hello?” I said, looking up from a very tasty Oriental chicken-wrap sandwich.
“Oh, yeah. ‘Why an American has a Russian Diplomatic Passport’? I didn’t know so I just dummied up. I let them figure it out. A few phone calls later, they hurriedly stamped that passport and shoved it back into the pile like it was made of pure plutonium. Your reputation does precede you, Rock.” Dax laughs.
“They probably called the emergency number inside the front cover.” I chuckled along, “When the Langley operator answered, they probably wet themselves in unison.”
“That”, Ivan pointed out, “Raises even more questions. But I’d rather have another drink than examine that issue here and now.”
“Smart move”, I smiled back to Ivan. He fake-farted back at me.
“Oh, Geez Louise. This is going to be a long trip…” I shook my head in disbelief.
Just a short time later, Three Ceepio arrived back at our waiting area, briefly goggled at the drinks cart that now resembled the post-lunch feeding rig used for the velociraptors in the original Jurassic Park. He announced that we needed to gather our belongings and meet outside for transport to our departure gate.
We gathered up our gear and with cries of “pack out your trash”, we policed the area and left it cleaner than when we arrived. There were 4 electric carts idling along outside, spewing all that noxious angry pixie effluvia into the ether. Our baggage was already gone, explained by one of the drivers that it had already been taken to the plane; and if we’d please be seated, we’d be next.
We zoomed through the surprisingly empty airport terminal towards our departure gate.
A couple of the cart drivers, at the behest of the occupants, were vying to see who could get to our departure gate first; as there was a pile of rubles, yuan, euros, krona, lev, yen, and a few dollars at stake.
It was a near thing, but I wasn’t about to declare a winner. As far as I was concerned we made it there alive and that should have been sufficient to split up the prize four ways. I let the other conspirators handle this little occasion.
Up to the departure desk, and it was a very cursory look at our passports, a taking of tickets, and ushering us onto the plane.
“Sheesh.” I heard someone grouse, “What a puddle jumper. Damn thing’s a tin can and we’re the sardines.”
It was a vintage Boeing 737. Not tiny, but by comparison to what we’re been flying, it looked very small indeed.
We didn’t need to worry, the plane was empty. We were the only passengers on this flight; CA121 Beijing to Pyongyang. Departing 1:25 PM Arriving 4:20 PM.
It’s good to have connections.
Since the airport was so quiet and we were the only passengers on this flight, we were seated, asked our drink orders and sitting back relaxing for only 15 minutes before we heard the doors clatter shut and the jet lurching backward as we push off.
We were asked to drink up so the glasses could be gathered and stored in the galley during takeoff. We taxied a bit, drove left, drove right, and before we even had a chance for some pithy quips, we were airborne headed to our destination.
“Damn”, I said to the vapors, “That was quick.”
We had just leveled out on our ~2-hour flight when the cabin attendants came around with duty-free.
“Last chance to buy!”, they smiled.
We bought them out of booze and cigarettes. They didn’t have any cigars.
Damn.
Then it was snacks and drinks. I was going to say something about watching their intake of EtOh, but, fuck that. They’re adults. Supposedly. They know their limits. I hoped.
The flight puttered along very smoothly. Too high up to see any scenery, plus it was quite foggy with a low lying scud of gray clouds below us. The in-flight movies were execrable and the in-flight magazine indecipherable.
“Yes, I’d love another cocktail. A double, if you would, Thanks. What? Oh, whatever that last one was…”
And so the flight progressed.
A short while later, the annunciator dinged and let us know that we were beginning our descent to that place north of the 38th parallel.
“Gentlemen”, I said, “We are finally arriving at our primary destination. Please, remember decorum. We are international scientific ambassadors, so let’s keep the bilabial fricatives to a minimum.”
I was greeted by a volley of fake-farts, Bronx cheers, and staccato belches that would put any university’s zoo fraternity to shame. Geologists are a weird bunch.
“Yeah. My team. Yeah. Karma hates me…” I sighed and sat back down in my seat for landing.
We touch down as light as lotus blossom on silent golden pond.
We taxied and taxied until our taxi-er was sore, but we finally arrived at the proper gate; one of the two that existed. It’s not that the airport was that big or busy, it was just things tend to move a bit slower here.
Then it sort of hits. We’re finally at Pyongyang International Airport. We are a group of hand-picked global geoscientists on a mission to try and help out a self-insulated, insular, xenophobic, totalitarian, dictatorial, repressive regime crawl out of the intellectual and technological cesspool they’ve created for themselves by providing the insights into the latest exploration, operations, and production petroleum geology to help bolster their own economy, raise the standard of living for all its citizens, and perhaps start them down the path to a slightly more robust energy self-sufficiency where they won’t have to worry over sanctions, global prohibitions of trade, or the vicissitudes and illegalities of black market oil and bring the quality of their geological and associated sciences out of the late 19th century and gloriously into the 21st!
Me? Fuck it. I’m an unrepentant mercenary. I’m in it for the money.
We taxi over to Terminal 2, the arrivals terminal for all international flights. I note, rather bemusedly, that the airport boasts only one runway. I’ve landed at grass-swamp airports on the taiga in Eastern Siberia that have three or four runways, and those are carved out annually.
I’m not terribly impressed.
We arrive at the jetway and wait for the plane to spool down. There are all sorts of bowing and handshaking with our flight crew, as they were marvelous. Unobtrusive, available, and not terribly chatty. Plus, they poured the drinks like they themselves didn’t own it. Hearty cash tips disappeared into pants and tunic pockets.
We gather up our gear and wait for the door to open. It does, after a few minutes, and we bravely sally forth, a scientific cadre ostensibly on a mercy mission.
One to bolster the economy of this particular country and the bank accounts of 12 international geoscientists.
Off the plane, down the jetway. Once we reach the arrivals terminal, we see this huge sign in Korean, English, Russian and Chinese:
“Travel alert March 2020: North Korean authorities have restricted travel to and from China. If entering North Korea from China or Russia, you will be quarantined for one month.”
“Well.”, I thought out loud, “Now there’s an auspicious beginning…they might have said something back in Beijing…”
I wait for the others to read the good news and expect the grumbles, groans, and gritting teeth of a trip thus ambushed.
What I hear, instead, is:
“Whoo-hoo! Triple pay! Force majeure, baby! Tax-free paid holiday! Rock, you’re a genius. Thanks for sending your contract over…”. Dax exults.
The rest of the crowd also received excerpts from my standard piracy form, errr, contract.
They didn’t get it from me, so I’m making a note to Rack and Ruin. They had to be the leak in the reactor that spawned this seepage. Seems everyone had added that codicil to their personal service contracts; almost as if someone knew about this beforehand…
Suddenly the demeanor of the crowd became much lighter.
We all assemble in the arrivals area and see a couple of nationals holding IUPGS signs.
We stood our ground. They stood theirs.
We were the only ones on the plane. We are the people they’re looking for. We’re the only people, other than cleaners, custodians, and clandestine constabularies, in this part of the airport.
“Aww, fuck”, I growl. I’m the head of this special education group. I suppose I’ll go over and break the ice, so to speak.
“Dax?” I say, “I’m going in. You stay here with the rest of the group. Keep them out of the pub; for now.”
“Gotcha, Rock”, Dax replies, as the rest of the group look for someplace to sit and wait until something happens.
I wander over to one of the placard holders and extract one of my business cards. It’s in English on one side and Russian on the other. I hope this character speaks one or the other.
“Good day”, I say, proffering my business card, which he takes. “I am Dr. Rocknocker, and this is the team from the IUPGS. We’ve just arrived and are looking forward to working in your fine country.”
“I am Tongbang Yong-Sun”, the placard carrier said, “You will follow me.”
“Well.”, I thought, “So much for introductions.”
“Dax? Guys? Follow me.” I said to the team.
They all got up, grabbed their gear, and sauntered over to where Toebang or whatever the hell his name was, and I were standing.
“Hello. Welcome to the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. You are guests of the illustrious Kim Jong-un. We welcome you as guests but remind you, you are guests here and are expected to comport yourself as guests.”
Ivan gives Grako an elbow to the ribs: “Hey. Did he say we were guests?”
Grako cracks up, “Several times.”
“Oh, yeah. This is going to be some fun…” I muse.
“As spokesman and leader of the team, we say thank you for this opportunity as it is a unique experience. But, I must remind you, we are not a tour group. We are a specially selected global group of industrial scientists who have volunteered our time and education to come to offer our expertise to the benefit of your country. So, we’d appreciate it if you would comport yourself and your team as such as well.” I said.
Toebang looked as if he just struck a thick vein of lemon-juice.
“Your attitude has been noted, Doctor,” Toebang said.
“Good. I’d hate to think you weren’t listening.” I replied in kind. “I despise repeating myself.”
Don’t try your little man ‘I’m a big shit’ here, buckwheat. I’ve gone toe-to-toe with the best of them around the world and my record stands undefeated; I mused.
With that, we sauntered down the long hallway to passport control and customs.
If arrivals were anything to crow about, this is going to be the longest entrance into a country in years.
Down the hall, we’re all lead to a non-descript room off the main throughway. There are easily a dozen chairs there and we are asked to have a seat. The passport agent will be here soon.
I gather up all the passports and figure this must be the North Korean version of VIP passport handling that we experienced in Beijing.
Nope.
One agent arrives and takes his fucking sweet time setting up his tea, stamp pad, rubber stamps, and other articles of officious-dom.
He motions to me and I walk over, depositing a dozen passports gently in front of him.
He looks at me, looks at the pile of passports, at me again and I swear, I see steam issuing from his ears.
“Is there a problem? “ I ask.
“Why you have so many passports?” he asks.
“One from each of my team plus mine equals 12 passports,” I replied.
“ONE AT A TIME!” he screams.
The room fell silent. Bets were probably being laid as to how I’d react.
“Sorry?” I said, “I didn’t catch that.”
The customs guy was starting to go red.
“See”, I continued, “I am deaf to disrespect, much less screaming by some minor functionary. Care to try again?”
“Each brings up own passport.”, he says, seething but slightly less self-important.
“Most certainly”, I reply in saccharine dripping tones, “Here’s mine.” And I offer him my blood-red passport.
He goes to grab it, but seeing Toebang behind me, he cools out and accepts it gracelessly.
He opens it, looks at it, looks at me, looks at it, at me, at it, at me.
“Christ.” I think, “Korean ping pong.”
“You are American?” he asks.
“Yes, by birth” I reply.
“Why Russian passport?” he asks.
“Long story. But please check. It is all legal and above board.” I reply nicely.
He gives me the hairy eyeball, scrunches up his face like he’s just been the recipient of a high-velocity dog-yummy to the scrotum, and viciously stamps my passport. Gleefully over stamping such visas and stamps like the ones from Bali, Seychelles, Bermuda, and Turks and Caicos. Places he might have heard of but would never in a million years visit.
He hands me back my passport and I thought that was it.
Nope. Now it’s time for backpack inspection.
“Now, the fun begins”, I mused.
They literally dump my daypack out on the stainless steel inspection counter. I ask them to take it easy, as I have some seriously delicate scientific equipment there and wouldn’t want it fuckered before we got the chance to use it in your fine country.
Toebang and Shitheels, the passport pecker, looked at me and just ‘Harrumph’-ed.
“What is this?”
“Oh, goody. Show and tell. Gather ‘round gents, after I’m done, you’re all next.” I said to the team.
“That is my field notebook computer. An ancient and trusty device I use in the field for mapping, taking field notes, and making calculations.”
“Open it and turn it on.”
“Certainly.” I did and made sure it booted up under XP and not Win 7.
“You need this?” Shitheels asked.
“Yes. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have dragged it halfway around the world.” I replied truthfully if not a bit snarkily.
“OK.” He grabs my satellite phone. “What is this?”
“Field communication device”, I said truthfully. “For communications via line of sight with others in the field during field excursions.” Which was more or less accurate.
“You need this?” Shitheels asked.
“Yes, just as before,” I replied.
We played this little game with my gravimeter, Brunton Compass, Mohs Hardness Testing Kit, UV lamp set (long and short wave…for mineral identification), map case, clipboard, myriad pens, and colored pencils, and GPS, which was built into a range finder; which I demonstrate the range finding capabilities, but not the GPS capabilities.
He grabbed my cameras and was fumbling around with the two Canon EOS-1D X Mark III bodies I was carrying and the four lenses, primarily close-up macro-photography when I asked him to please be careful.
“They’re new for the trip. I’d hate for them to be damaged before we can find some oil and gas for you all.” I said.
As all lenses were less than 250mm, he just grunted and shoved them back to me.
He didn’t know about the 90⁰ lens I was carrying or the shitload of memory cards still zipped into the lining of my day pack.
“Is everything OK?” I ask?
“Yes. No. Wait. What’s this?” he asks as he grabs my hand lens off the stainless steel table.
“Ah. That, my good sir, is my Scanning Electron Hand Lens.” I said with overweening pride.
“What is it? What is it for? Why?” he fumbled with the three objectives.
“Oh, please, careful with that. It’s a high energy tool!” I said in mock alarm.
He almost dropped it like a live grenade.
The term ‘high energy’ cut through the discourse like a 5 megawatt laser firing for the first time.
I grabbed the hand lens and showed him how it worked on the back of my hand.
“Lens 1. 5x magnification. Lens 2. 10x magnification. Lens 3. 20x magnification. Push this button and you get UV shortwave radiation for mineral identification. Push this button and you get longwave UV radiation for mineral identification. Push both once and you get a low power red laser, push both twice and get a high-power green laser for scanning specimens. That’s for EDAX: Energy Dispersive Analysis of X-rays. Very high tech. I hope to make a gift of it to the university if and when we ever get through passport control.”
It was all a load of cobblers, and my team was snickering, but not too loud. Yes, it was a hand lens with three Coddington precision ground lenses, and a red- and green low power UV sources for illumination and checking fluorescent minerals. But all that LASER crapola?
Jolly joke.
It worked though. He cleared all my gear, confiscating the titty magazine I bought in London so they’d have something to show at the end of the day, shook hands, and motioned to Dax.
The rest of the team went through quite quickly. He already saw what a Brunton Compass was, what was a map case, gravimeter, hand lens, and other forms of geological esoterica.
We were all stamped, carded and assigned our ‘handlers’ for the remainder of our stay.
Since we were most emphatically not a tour group, they assigned four locals to be our “aides”; not handlers.
Sure, they were employed by the Korean International Travel Company, but they were not tour agents nor any other kind of agent. They wanted us to be assured of that fact.
They were, however, all young and named Yuk Seong-Ho, No Young-Gi, Man Suk-Chul, and Kong Chong-Yol.
Got that?
‘Yuk’. ‘No’. ‘Man’. And ‘Kong’.
Well, like we were much better.
‘Dax’. ‘Rock’. ‘Grako.’ ‘Viv’. And ‘Earl’.
What a bunch.
We were lead out of the passport office after we passed muster there and down to baggage claim. All our baggage was waiting for us, including an Air China bag of rock hammers, acid bottles, and other implements of geological destruction.
We were told to tell which were our personal bags. We pointed them out and they were marked with wide black Sharpies^® and Post-it™ notes.
One after another was called over to a series of stainless steel tables and asked if this was our baggage if we packed it and if we were carrying any contraband.
The last question struck me as disingenuous.
One at a time, one after another, we have vetted through customs once again, check out our clothes, personal items, and secret stashes of booze and cigars.
They were a rather affable group, these customs folks, and actually quite pleasant.
Kong pulled me over to one corner and told me “They are being nice, looking for gifts or bribes. Cigarettes are much appreciated.”
I was called last and elected to take out the Air China bag as well. I plopped my three Halliburton aluminum traveling cases on the table, whirled the locks, and popped them open for inspection.
They immediately noticed my emergency stash of vodka and bourbon.
“For medicinal purposes”, I chuckled, and absent-mindedly set 5 or 6 airline miniatures of booze on the table. They disappeared with an audible whoosh.
They looked at my boxes of cigars with covetous eyes.
“I suppose I better part with a few rather than piss them off and have them confiscate the lot. “ I thought. I offered them one Camacho each. I explained they were very, very strong and that one should last them a very long time indeed.
“It’s a gift, from us to you.” I said, “We do hope you will enjoy.”
SWOOSH. They disappeared just as quickly as the booze minis.
Then they saw the Sobranje cocktail cigarettes.
My plan was coming together.
I quickly open a carton and offered each a full pack of 20 of the festively-colored little coffin-nails.
They accepted them just as quickly, and now we were all friends. Hell, at this point, I could have smuggled through a fully armed ICBM, these guys were so blissed out at their good fortune.
They did a half-ass paw through my gear and told me to close each. Then they got to the last one and opened my real medicine bag. Here I kept the expensive silver-iodide ointment I was using in conjunction with the tantalum implants. Also, there were travel necessities, like antibiotics, pain medication, muscle relaxants, and some prescription sleep-inducing medications like Halcion and Ambien.
I flashed quickly to Dubai customs where they gave me a ration of shit about the sleep meds, and instantly tried to steer the discussion towards something less likely to be seen as smuggling or illegal.
“Oh? That?” I asked, grabbing the vail of silver-iodide ointment. “That’s for my hand. You see, I’m trying out some new implants before I get a new custom prosthesis…”
I may as well have been discussing Hyper-spatial Calculus with an Atlantic-trench blowfish at that point.
“What? What do you mean? Why do you need this?” the customs agent asked.
“Remember. You asked.”, I said and stripped off my left glove.
I held up my mangled left paw for them all to see.
The female customs agent just plain ran out screaming.
“Yeah, I have that effect on some women”, I mused.
Of the remaining two male agents, one was trying hard not to yarp and the other was calling for a policeman.
Suddenly, I’m flanked by two of North Korea’s finest boys in blue. It’s obvious they don’t speak English and I don’t speak any Korean.
“KONG! I need you”, I said, somewhat loudly.
The cops were talking a blue streak between them, evidently thinking that I should be handcuffed, but neither wanted to even look at my mangled mitt much less wrangle it.
“Kong, please tell these fine policemen that there’s no problem. I am sorry but I seem to have shocked the fine customs agents when they wanted to know why I need this jar of prescription salve. I just showed the…” as I waved my left hand right under their noses.
“Put it away! Put it away!” Kong shuddered. There was much discussion in Korean and I heard my name and IUPGS come up once or twice.
I put my glove back on and suddenly, all was right with the world once again.
“I’m going to have to remember that little trick. Walk into a bank, rip off the glove, and start filling my rucksack..” I laughed internally.
There were apologies, contrition, and deep bowing all around.
We came to an understanding. I wouldn’t be trotted off to the hoosegow if I vowed never to take that glove off again.
“Deal”, I said and thrust out my right hand for a good, solid, manly handshake.
It was like shaking hands with a pantyhose full of yogurt.
At that point, they just wanted us out of there.
"Screw the Air China bag. Take it and go to your hotel."
So we did. Laughing all the way.
To be continued…in a while…

Stereotypical stereotypes recycle punchlines far too often. I wanna know what jokes the Punjabis make about Baluchistanis. For example, Scandinavians taught me that the Swedes are stuck-up cunts, the Norwegians wish they were Swedes, the Finns are just retarded Swedes, and nobody likes the Danes.
What town across the river from is full of goatfuckers? What's the smug SRDinia to your Dramautistic homeland?

Continuing
“Perhaps that might actually work better.” Agent Rack agrees, after all, he’s been looking at the list of team members and their departure points. I’m the only one from the Middle East, the rest are from Russia, Europe, or places way up north.
“Rack, let me look at the grouping of team members”, I say, “There’s got to be something better than your fly and schlep scheme.”
‘Fine, Doctor. It is, after all, your project.” Agent Rack relates, “Email me with your updated ideas and itinerary.” He says and hangs up.
“Damn”, I snipe, “I knew I should have asked for more than 3x my day rate. No trip is worth this much all fired ready aggravation…”
I get a new cigar, refresh my Greenland coffee, and get to the list of folks I’ll be working with for the next few weeks.
“Sindy?”, I ask my computer, “Open ‘Agent Rack mail #2’ please”.
There’s a grinding of hard drives, satellites are linking up in outer space, computer banks at NASA are lighting off. There's a teletype in Virginia annoyed at being awoken at this ungodly early hour.
A few minutes later, I am reading over my list. Quite the collection.
Two geologists: A Russian, Dr. Morskoy Utes, and a Brit, Dr. Clifford Swandon.
Two geophysicists: A Russian, Dr. Volna Sglazhivaniye, and one Swede, Dr. Aktiv Vågformme.
Two Reservoir Engineers: An Dutch, Dr. Vijver Monteur, and Portuguese, Dr. Graciano Guimarães.
One geomechanic: A Bulgarian, Dr. Iskren Dragomirov Dinev .
Two geochemists: A Canadian, ‘eh, Dr. Erlen Meyer, and a Russian, Dr. Academician Ivan Ivanovich Khimik.
One Petroleum Technologist: A Finn, Dr. Joonatan Vedenalaiset
And one Petrophysicist: A Canadian, Dr. Dax Aceron
And yours truly, Dr. Rocknocker, The Motherfucking Pro from Dover, makes for 12.
Such a nice, round, woody number.
OK, let’s see, before we get to particulars.
Countries of origin: Russia, England, Sweden, USA by way of the Middle East, Finland, Bulgaria, and Canada.
All northern hemispherical types; for the most part.
Great. We can all meet in London and fly British Airways directly to Beijing. Then, it’s Air China to Pyongyang. Besides, I’ll still get my frequent flyer miles and I don’t want to fly Aeroflot if I can avoid it.
I send Agent Rack an Email defining my ideas. He writes back within an hour OK’ing the plan. He will make plans for all of us to meet in London, spend a night at the airport Hilton Garden Inn, then off to Beijing. Then, after a quick layover, on to Pyongyang, Best Korea.
To history. And beyond!
However, there are a few logistical problems that need to be overcome.
With this Cheap-Ass Mexican Beer virus crisis, there’s no flights out of my present home country.
How will Esme make it back to the states and I to London, where there, at least, they’re a bit less ridiculously paranoid, and I can catch a commercial flight out to China?
Calling Agent Rack and Ruin…
With a bit of Agency of intervention, Esme and I are to be transported via one of the military’s flying war machines. It will deposit Esme in Abu Dhabi where she will catch a direct flight to the Windy City.
They say they may slow down before they kick me out in Dubai to catch the BA flight to London. They already know me from previous adventures.
There. All done and dusted. I love flying first class, as it were.
Now, logistics.

Esme is packed and ready to go in less than an hour. Most of her luggage is stuffed with gifts and other sorts of Middle Eastern tat for the folks back home. We haven’t been back to the states in quite some time; there will be much rejoicing.
However, I will have to hear of it second hand. I’m going to Best Korea and have no idea what the climate’s like other than its Oriental Continental. Most of North Korea is classified as being of a humid continental climate within the Köppen climate classification scheme, with warm summers and cold, dry winters.
Currently in the upper teens centigrade, winds light and variable 10 to 130 kilometers per hour, it’ll be a nice day if the tornadoes stay away.
Well now, that’s like mail from home. Equable weather in an unequable land.
Hawaiian shirts? The most garish. Exploration vest? Of course. Field boots? But of course. Ah, hell, the usual travel wardrobe. Into the silver aluminum travel cases go the Scottish high-calf woolen socks, Stetson, cargo shorts, one pair of long chinos, the usual undergarments, spare lighters, cigar-cutters, emergency flasks, flint and steel (just in case), generic Northern European Armed-Services knife with built-in cigar cutter, a couple of fueled Zippos, a couple of different sized Cow-Hide Men tools, a handful of cheap-o butane lighters, bags of beef and camel jerky…just the absolute necessities.
In my day pack, which never leaves my side, are my cigars, cigarettes for gifts, some emergency rations; like a spare pint of bourbon, one of vodka, and some Dammitol in case of headaches. Plus, field notebooks, pens, pencils, hand lens, various geological-geophysical cheat sheets, tickets, visas, tourist passes, and all that other world-traveling guff.
Looks like we’re both ready to travel. I get on the horn with one or the other of my favorite agency denizens and tell them we’re ready to go.
Agent Ruin notes positive and tells us he’ll dispatch our transport to the airport forthwith.
I’m out in front of our villa and the whole city is a god damned ghost town. Virtually no road traffic and absolutely no air traffic. It’s eerily quiet. The whole city’s taking a siesta. Or in a coma…hard to tell which.
I’m scanning the roads looking for our taxi to the airport when the still silence of the scene is split by the sonorous resonant THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of a heavy helicopter.
Not just any “Oh, look, Mummy. Up in the sky”, helicopter.
This is a huge black US military transport helicopter and it’s FUCKING LANDING IN THE EMPTY LOT ACROSS THE STREET.
Remind me to be slightly nice to the collective agents next time we meet.
Once the sand, grime, and assorted desert dust settles down, I’m locking the villa as two Airmen are storing our luggage aboard the large black ominous-looking black transport black helicopter.
They escort Esme and me to the passenger compartment. They could see me being crestfallen when they refused to let me ride up front. I mean, I am a fully licensed helicopter pilot.
“Oh, insurance rules and stuff. Right”.
We don our new 3M™ Peltor™ Hummingbird™ Headsets and are asked, very nicely, to strap in as in mere moments, we will be taking off for the local airport.
I smile at Esme and beam: “I told ya’. Stick with me and you’ll go places.”
The way she smiled back at me sustained me throughout my trip above the 38th parallel. I resolved to do my damnedest to bring her back something very nice.
With a smooth, graceful leap due up, we’re airborne. The few neighbors that came out to see us off waved briefly and rapidly became as ants as we titled forward, opened the taps, and hauled ass to the local International airport.
No “International or Business” this time. We landed way the holy earthenware fuck over on the north side of the airport. That clandestine place where all the strange and secretive military aircraft were parked and surreptitiously maintained.
We flared in and, light as an anvil landed. We waited the proscribed few minutes while the airship spooled down and we were allowed egress.
Out of the chopper, across 150 meters of tarmac and into the waiting abdomen of a Lockheed C-130 Hercules. Our luggage was already being stowed in the belly the beast, and we were ushered into the cavernous interior of the plane.
This plane, as I was told, could carry up to 90 passengers, 72 troops, or 65 paratroops.
Today, it would carry Esme, me, and a skeleton crew to Dubai and Abu Dhabi.
We’d be landing first at Abu Dhabi to get Esme sorted out, then wheels up for approximately 5 air-minutes, then back to feet dry at Dubai International Airport. There I would be unceremoniously tossed off the plane and left to my own devices.
The flight crew were fully briefed and truth be told, I’d met several of them in varying circumstances over the years. They knew I was mostly harmless, but somewhat of an eccentric VIP, hence the flight, and they gave me no end of shit about it.
For that, I really appreciated and liked these guys and gals.
I walked Esme to the local international airline's flight desk in Abu Dhabi, business, of course, and deposited her luggage.
“Guess this is it, hon. Have a great time in the States and don’t let the Covids bite. Be sure to give the girls my love.”
“When will you be back, so I can plan my return trip?” Es askes.
“No earthly idea. It could be a month, could be three. I’ll get word to your mother, you guys will be checking in with her all the time anyways. Let’s play it loose and have some fun with all this. Now, off to the Lounge with you; get a massage, and relax. You’ve got 8 hours to burn before you even load up.” I said.
We embrace, kiss smoochily, even though we could get put away for PDA (Public Display of Affection) which is still a misdemeanor here in the lovely, cosmopolitan Middle East; an electric courtesy cart arrives to take Es to the combined Emirates First and Business Class lounge.
“See you soonest”, I say as the cart whisks her away. She waves and tries to camouflage her wiping her eyes. She’s always emotional before I travel to strange places around the globe.
I saunter out the door and back across the tarmac to my transport ship. I’m getting this Captain Kirk vibe being the only one being transported on the flight, and decide to christen the Herkybird “The Enterprise”.
Now, do I go all Bill Shatner or Patrick Stewart?
I arrive at the loading platform and there are a couple of airmen lolling around smoking cigarettes. They’re well away from the aircraft and legal, although I thought the military would have kittens if they knew of this.
I have some 5 hours to kill before my flight to London. I wander over to chat with the airmen and fire up a cigar. Since we’re probably not going to be leaving for a few hours, I offer them tots from one of my emergency flasks.
But, with the Modelo Virus about, one airman begs off and returns moments later with some small, disposable paper Dixie cups.
Necessity, the mother of invention.
We chatted, swapped stories, and they were amazed that I was actually looking forward to going to Best Korea.
They basically informed me that was a post no one wanted. It was a place where one went to watch their military career die.
It was tedious, yet tense.
Important, yet mundane.
Above all, it was massively boring.
Nothing of any substance even happened there and one hoped for that to continue. Yet, some long stripers would relate that even a small thermonuclear exchange would be welcomed to break up the tedium.
I parted with a couple of cigars as we felt and heard the engines of the Hercules being rekindled back into life.
We all scurried onto the plane and after some preliminary warnings, we were wheels up and headed to Dubai International Airport.
And then we were taxiing to the VIP arrivals terminal some 8 minutes later.
Fuck, I hate these long flights. Sure, I could have cabbed it from Abu Dhabi to Dubai, but they were headed this way anyways, so…
Into the arrivals area with all my baggage and a very nice US female airman accompanying me to the British Airways desk. She was wheeling my gear. I felt like such a cad, but I rapidly got over it.
We were at check-in, she made certain I had my passport, visas, tourist and landing cards, and everything else necessary for the trip.
“Yes, thank you, Sr. Airman Mother”, I joked.
She actually blushed a bit. I could have been her grandfather.
Gad. I hated writing that sentence.
She made certain everything was A-OK and a go. We shook hands, and she departed back to the waiting Hercules and back to their local home here in the maddening Middle East.
The airport was dead. Really dead. In fact, I’ve never seen it deader. Call in the bulldozers. Turn this place into a parking lot…
Dubai International is usually a fucking madhouse. It has always been nuts - a shopping mall trying to be an airport. Today, one could have held RC plane flight races around every concourse.
No weird-ass disenfranchised form god-knows-where bums out bothering and panhandling you. No madding crowds trying to sweep you against your will to a far and distant, not to mention, unusable, terminal. Duty-Free shops. Some closed, but the cigar and booze kiosks are open.
Whew. That’s a relief.
I’m checked in flight-wise and the nice BA gate person has to ask me why I’m going where my baggage says I am.
“I’m an agent of the United States, on a super-secret mission to find oil and gas in the best Korea on the planet.”
Her look and raised eyebrow said “Oh, pooh.”, although she smiled and said “Ah. That’s nice.”
Hey. I was telling the truth…
Well, I had some time in an almost deserted airport with a load of pre-flight cash, a hungry look in my eye, and a cheeseburger in my pocket; but that latter story will have to wait for a later time.
My bags were ostensibly ticketed to Pyongyang, but also Beijing. I’d have to check and see if they got transferred to Air China once we arrived. No worries, we should have plenty of layover time in China.
So, off to a leisurely stroll through Duty-Free.
“Oh, this looks nice. Oh. And this. Hmmm…Wild Turkey 101 Rye. That’s a two’fer. Ah, here’s the Duty-Free humidor. Camachos? By the Great Horn Spoon! They have triple maduros. 4 boxes of these go in the cart.” I giggled like a giddy old aunt.
A few bundles of cheap-ass cigars to use as gifts and bribes. Oh, yes. They love to smoke cigarettes in Best Korea. I load up three cartons of Sobranie pastel-colored Cocktail cigarettes.
At least, this way I’d know in an instant who I’ve already graced with my munificence.
Thus sated, I pay for my prizes, and decide to wander off to the Business Class lounge. I have hours left and well, boredom was settling in.
Or, I could go, as I have for years, to the Irish Pub, have a pint of nitrogen-charged Guinness, a bowl of ‘authentic’ Irish Stew and a nice smoke afterwards. I think it’s one of the few places left on the planet where you can actually sit at a bar, have a drink, and smoke without everyone going all C. Everett Koop on your hapless ass.
Oh, sure. In Business class everything’s free. At the Irish Pub, I’d have to pay.
Fuck it. I made a beeline to the Irish Pub.
It’s damn near-deserted. So much so, in fact, I’m seated immediately.
This is odd. It’s never happened before. This place is usually SRO.
Of course, I order a nitrogen-charged pounder of Guinness, a bowl of Irish Stew, a side of their famous real onion rings and a couple of shots of genuine rye whiskey just because.
Sated to the gills, I was feeling fine as I watch the abbreviated sports review on the telly. I dug deep into my recent purchases and drag out a triple maduro Camacho cigar.
No, I’m not shilling for Camacho cigars, they’re just one of my favorite go-to brands. However, if there’s anyone out there that’s affiliated with Camacho cigars, or Wild Turkey Rye and Bourbon, I’d certainly listen to any ideas you might have for sponsorship of this little forum.
Anyways, I was talking with the Sri Lankan bartender, Tharushi. I was, of course, regaling him with one of my endless supply of rude and ribald jokes when I hear a voice say:
“Why don't you save that rapier-like wit for the cheeseheads back home, Rock?
“Tharushi, did I ever tell you of the frustrated petrophysicist Dr. Dax Aceron who’s legendary prowess with a fishing rod is such that he couldn’t catch a cold buck-naked, sitting in a freezer with his feet in a bucket of Moscow river water?”
“Dr. Dax? How the hell are you?” I spin to see my old petrophysical buddy from many long best-forgotten global campaigns.
“Dr. Rock. I am doing fine. Better than fine. I’m going to Best Korea and I know personally the team leader. How the hell are you, you old troublemaker?”
“Dax. What are you doing here? I thought we’d meet up in London.”
“Yeah, that was the plan”, he explained, “I let them think I was still in Calgary. I was actually over here in Dubai doing a little side work. Totally under the table. Completely off the books. You know, the usual. Now give me a cigar and buy me a drink. I do believe it’s your round.”
“So, Dax”, I say, “Flying BA to London in”, as I look at my watch, “three and a half hours?”
“Yeah.” He halfheartedly replies.
“Problem? “I ask.
“Yeah”, he snorts, “Going baggage class. Can’t afford Business. Work’s been kinda thin on the chin lately.”
“Pish and tiddle”, I reply, “Tharushi, please call the BA front desk for me, if you would”, as I slide a US$20 across the bar.
“Yes sir, Doctor Rock, sir!” he rapidly replies.
<RINGRINGRING> “BA front desk”.
“Yes, hello. This is Dr. Rocknocker. I’m sending over one Dr. Dax Aceron with my BA Rhodium Thunder Frequent Flyers card. Please upgrade him to Business on BA Flight 106 to London departing in some 3.5 hours. My security code is <mumblemumblemumble>. Got that? Great. Thank you.”
“Here Dax”, as I hand him my frequent flyer's card, “Go to the BA desk and get yourself upgraded. I’ll sit here and keep the bar from running away. Now, begone with thee.”
Dr. Dax is all smiles as he lights off for the BA desk.
Oh, I could have gone and handled it all, but there was this one crucial problem.
I didn’t want to.
I order another Guinness and light up my cigar anew. This already had the earmarks of an epic adventure.
After a beer or eight and associated shots, I pour Dr. Dax into the courtesy cart and we’re whisked off to our departure gate. Normally, this would take full portions of an hour, the crowds would be so thick. Today, we’re at the most distal of the departure gates and we made it there from the Irish Pub in less than 7 minutes.
The plane was mostly empty. The ground crew did a desultory check of our passport and visas and told us basically to ‘sit wherever you want’.
“We’re already business class.” I replied.
“I hope someone else was buying your tickets.” Was the response.
Dax and I got to our Business Class seats and get comfortable.
We looked around and First Class was full, Business Class had one or two open seats and coach? Well, pretty much empty except for those souls who wanted a whole row to themselves to rack out on the upcoming 7.5-hour journey.
I asked if could get my Dr. Dax Business Class upgrade miles back.
The flight attendant said that ‘she’ll see’. It was more of a rhetorical question, based on the absurdity of international flights these days of scary infectious diseases and global idiocy.
The plane was probably 1/5th full. If we played our cards right and Dr. Dax and I could have our own private airline cabin attendant.
With a minimum of fuss and puling, after the obligatory “Please. Just sit back, enjoy our flight and don’t do anything stupid” lectures, in English, Arabic, and Dutch for some reason, we pushed back, rolled out and were heading off to our take-off position.
It’s Zombie Apocalypse time out here; without the drooling creatures lusting for brains; which is odd, even for Dubai. The airport’s dead, few ground vehicles scurrying around, and very, very few planes doing much of anything. We rolled into takeoff position, sat for less than a full minute, and suddenly went 110% throttle.
“Adios, Dubai. See you on the flip side.” I said to no one in particular, saluting the city one digit at a time.
We were wheels up so fast, I didn’t even get the obligatory “Welcome aboard, Dr. Rock, here’s your complimentary pre-takeoff drink”.
I sought to alleviate that sordid situation straightaway.
We leveled out and were headed generally north-northwestward when I waylaid the unsuspecting cabin-crew worker.
“Hello. How are we today? Good. Good. Might I trouble you for a drink?” I asked, sweeter than 1.23 kilos of jaggery.
“You’ll get a drink when I’m good and ready to get you a drink”, she barked back like an Alligator Snapping turtle with tertiary clap and barbed-wire undies.
“Now, now. See here, Miss. There’s no reason for all this. All I’d like is...” I tried to continue.
“Yeah. We know. ‘Vodka. Ice. Sliced limes. Bitter Lemon’, right? We’ll you’ll get that when I get around to it. Not before.” She snarled back.
“Evidently my reputation does precede me,” I said, somewhat perplexed and a bit miffed. I never am nasty to those who serve my alcohol, so I was genuinely perplexed at this turn of affairs.
“Yeah”, I hear a familiar voice from the back of the plane, “Everyone in existence knows of the one and only Dr. Rocknocker.”
What the actual fuck?
I swivel around and standing there with a shit-eating grin some representational three kilometers wide is Toivo.
“Toivo? What the actual flying fuck? What the hell are you doing in Dubai?” I asked.
“Paying the cabin crew real money to give you a hard time.” He laughs, as the red-faced cabin attendant hands both me and Toivo a drink.
Toivo is sputtering along in delighted laughter.
Dr. Dax is out like a light, snuffling his way westward.
“That still doesn’t answer my question, Toiv: what the blinkered hell are you doing in Dubai?” asked again.
“Well, you know I own an oilfield service company. Most everyone is in a global lockdown, but I can afford to fly where I want when I want. Only ‘essential’ employees are at the office. What better time to drop by some oil companies Middle Eastern HQs, make an impression, and try to drum up some business? If nothing else, they’ll remember me when the need comes for oil field servicing.” He laughs.
“Well, I can’t argue with the logic, but I might with the execution. Why not move up here into Business and we’ll catch up?” I ask.
“Nah, Rock. I’m bushwhacked. I got a nice, little row of four seats all laid out as my own, private Idaho. I’ve got in-flight entertainment, a patented ‘Dr. Rocknocker’ never-emptying glass and a desire to count high-velocity aerial sheep. Give me a few hours kip and I’ll come back and we can catch up. Deal?” he asks.
“Sure. No problem. Just don’t ask what I’m up to because it’s super-secret, really dangerous, and ridiculously ‘Eyes-only’ confidential. Have a nice nap.” I smile and turn back to my drink.
Toivo slowly rises and head back to his nest, shaking his head over what I was on about this time.
“Fuck with my beverage service? OK. I fuck with your head”, I smile quietly to myself.
“Why, yes, I’d love another. Could you make it a double?” I ask the flight attendant, who has now recovered her previous bit of Toivo-induced embarrassment She was well on her way to redeeming herself mightily in the eyes of this grizzled world traveler.
I spent the flight time writing up my field notes. I devised a brand-new form of encryption that no one would be able to break; except for me, of course. I planted primers through the coded entries to remind me how simple this code was, but how unbreakable the code would be if the people trying to decode it weren’t, well, me. There were little asides and personal accounts linked to the decryption key that would be impossible, I fervently hoped, for anyone without certain key pieces of history, to unravel.
I’m going to a primitive and paranoid place, and I’m the one sweating the encryption of my hand written notes.
Weird.
I built up a file system on my really cheap ass-looking Toshiba laptop that would prove to be impenetrable to anyone short of a batch of NSF Crays with nothing to do for the next geological epoch. It was an old, beat-up looking, field notebook computer, circa 1999.
However, looks can be deceiving.
I had it juiced with all the latest computer gizmos and gimcracks that brought its guts right up to 2020 or possibly beyond. It had 6 TB Samsung 860 PRO, 2.5" SSD, with all the attendant bells and whistles according high-juice operating systems today. It runs on Win 7 because I hate Win 10 but it also runs on Windows XP. I had my computer guru do whatever it’s called so I could run both systems simultaneously so I could show it doing XP things to a concerned TSA agent when it really was running Win 7 covertly in the background.
This thing could, in a pinch, process raw seismic data.
The logic? Well, I show customs and that crowd, and it’s an old, beat-up geologist’s field electronic notebook. In the hotel room, I can activate it’s alter ego and have access to all the goodies I need that frankly are equivalent or better than my workstation back home
Truth be told, it’s an old ploy that Rack and Ruin suggested. There are even some packages of ones and zeros that had originated from some shady place in the hills of the East Coat of the US swimming around the guts of the thing. This makes for the ideal situation to keep prying eyes where they belong and yet still allow me to have the access to all my latest geological, geophysical, and petrophysical software; as well as communication and snooping programs.
We secured permission to bring in one laptop or iPad per person on this trip; so I decided with the paucity of the internet in the place I was headed, I’d bring along my satellite lash up and the necessary computer to drive it. No one, unless they’re really tech-savvy, which I‘m not, would realize I have a fully functional satellite Internet machine in that old beat up Toshiba notebook facade and those couple of bags of adapters, wall warts, and patch cords.
That all done, I ordered another drink, pick a bit at the Full English Breakfast I thought sounded good until it arrived, and read some of the latest newspapers.
COVID-19! ALARM! RUN IN CIRCLES! SCREAM AND SHOUT!
Oh, bother.
Toivo finally arrives back from his little trip to the land of Nod and sits down in the unoccupied seat next to mine. We have some time and need every minute to catch up. I must say, thus far, it was the most agreeable part of the trip. It was good to see an old face from back home.
Toivo’s staying in London for a few days, trying to drum up some North Sea business, then he’s back to Houston via Mexico City and overland to Matamoros. The things as citizens that we’re forced to do under the guise of security.
We’re readying for landing when Dr. Dax finally wakes up. He just has time for his morning ablutions before we land in sunny ol’ England.
I had printed out the list of attendees and first thing, after we deplaned, went through all the passport and customs folderol, got to the hotel, checked in and had a couple of drinks. Then I’d requisition a conference room in the hotel for all of us to meet before our flight out to China the next day.
That’s why I get the big money. I can plan logistically like a motherfucker.
Dax and I get through all the entrance formalities and I arrange for our baggage to be sent to the hotel, which is connected to the airport Terminal 4. It was a near thing, though, as we were some of the last guests who were allowed to stay at the hotel before it closed due to the whole Bad Mexican Beer virus absurdity.
However, our rooms wouldn’t be available for a couple of hours, but they’d keep our bags for us until we decide to show up. So, with time in an airport to kill, where else do we go?
Off to the nearest bar.
It was a long walk to our hotel, and since we didn’t care to walk after being locked in an aluminum tube for the last 8+ hours, we found the first pub right after we sorted out our bags with BA. It overlooked the international arrivals area, and had a ringside seat to the comings, but not goings, of international adventurers.
So we were sitting in the Pogo Lounge of the London International Airport...in the patio section, of course, drinking Singapore Slings with mescal on the side.
Dax and I ordered several drinks as I wanted something different for a change. We sat back, got comfortable, and wanted to fire up cigars, but here in the Northern Hemisphere of late, that would probably be an executable offense.
“Y’know, Dax”, I said between sips of a really fine cocktail, “We’ll probably be seeing all our compatriots walk right on by us here. We should let them know that we’re here.”
As another aside, all the team members of this little excursion spoke English. I didn’t mention that until right now because I didn’t think it important, but I suppose it is. With the translations to the native language, to and fro, of where we’re going; additional languages would have just fuckered our timetable, which was long enough as it stood.
Dax agreed, procured some crayons, literally, and a paper placemat and ginned up a fairly credible International Union of Petroleum Geological Sciences (IUPGS) logo and our names for all to see.
So much for anonymity, inconspicuousness, and clandestineness.
Ha! With this bunch? Hardly…
Dax and I ordered another round which arrived expediently, as we pretty much had the lounge to ourselves.
It was weird hanging around a place that I’ve never before seen without bustling, hustling, thronging mobs of people. There were a few fellow travelers, but it was like after a great conflagration, a reverse decimation, where instead of only 10% of the population being laid waste, it was 90% and we were part of the lucky 10% of survivors.
“Yes, thank you. ”, I said to the smiling barkeep. I didn’t know you could double a Singapore Sling. The more you know…
Dax and I sat there enjoying our libations. Well, I was. Dax was having the damnedest of times keeping up; not that I asked him to or challenged him in any way. I was itchily lusting for a good smoke; those Dubai Camachos were taunting me just a foot or two away in my field pack.
To be continued…

Tl;dr - a weird looking couple phase shifts in and out of vision at close range in a small Spanish tourist town.
I lived for three years (2015-2018) in a village on the southern coast of Spain. Many many tourists.
This particular village has an outcropping of rock that juts into the Mediterranean, with a large promenade ending in an overlook that is paved with a pattern of two interlocking five pointed stars. We found this unusual as one would expect an eight pointed compass star near the ocean, and we would joke that this was a dimensional portal and UFO landing pad.
As it happens, this village has another overlook with an eight pointed compass star, and another eleven pointed star (quite unusual- a kind of angular eleven circuit labyrinth).
One day I was browsing in the small liquor store close to the ten pointed star and I noticed (you couldn't not notice) a very tall (close to 7') slender couple enter. There are lots of Swedes Norwegians Finns Danes Dutch and Estonians prowling this latitude at that time of year and my ear is pretty good for languages, I have facility in six. They were so remarkable looking I moved closer to see if I could pick up their language. No dice. Many guttural vowels and consonants, sibilants, no identifiable word roots, it was totally opaque to me.
They looked like siblings, dressed in the same white tee shirts, washed out jeans shorts, and white canvas sneakers.
Then I looked at their proportions. Something very unusual. Very small heads set on long necks and narrow shoulders. What looked like one or two extra vertebrae in their necks (they sported almost identical short blonde haircuts). I'm an artist and I follow da Vinci's rules of proportion for the human body and their ratios were all off. Small faces, very long hands, arms a bit too short for height, legs very long, short torsos.
I thought I was either looking at a spectacular case of inbreeding within a little-known northern dialect, or something else. I shrugged and went with the inbreeding, moved past them and across the calle to the convenience store.
They followed me out, and came into the convenience store behind me.
This is where things began to go wonky.
The convenience store is shallow and wedge shaped, with low shelving and a poorly lit corner in the back left side. When you stand at the cash that faces the entrance, you have a clear view to the back, even into this poorly lit corner. You also have to pass by the cash in order to exit. There is no other door in the store. No back entrance because all the buildings run together.
So I see this couple enter behind me and they go directly to the back into the poorly lit space. I pick up my items right at the front by the cash. Total time elapsed maybe five seconds. I'm waiting my turn at the cash, one customer in front of me, nobody else but the couple and me left in the store, and I look towards the back and the couple isn't there. Not like I can't see them. I can see the back wall and they are not there.
I look around the store and they are gone. No way could they have gone out, they would have had to bump into me to get past me on the way out. Just "poof".
So I kind of laugh to myself and think "Well maybe it wasn't inbreeding after all".
I step up to the cash, chat for a second with the owner, and then I see out of the corner of my eye the woman is coming out of the back corner. I'm like WTF? I take my stuff and turn around and I run straight into the male. I mean he's standing so close behind me I stomp his foot and smash my nose on his sternum. I'm 5'8" and he's more than a foot taller than me.
I'm like "OMG I'm sorry!" thinking "but where the hell did you come from?" There's just no way this dude could have snuck up on me. I would have seen him in my peripheral vision like I saw his partner.
I made an embarrassed bee line out the store, started to unlock my bike, and saw them exit. I followed right behind them. I was maybe two seconds behind them and they turned down a narrow alley. I turned right behind them and they were nowhere. Closest doorway is about fifty meters down the alley. Even if they were the fastest runners they could not have made it through that door in the two seconds they were out of sight.
Some funny looking tourists all right.

Obligatory Discord Link: https://discord.gg/FZ5Ky5P
Welcome back to another Crusader Finns developer diary! This time we will be discussing some religions on the map, their backstories, and their features. Looks like we're in for a long one today!
LIBERAL
Southern Finland has for long been different to other parts of Finland in many ways. The most striking difference is the level of urbanization. Most of the major cities of Finland lie in the south, even more so after the apocalypse struck sometime after the year 2000. The general worldview of the southerners is subject to many jokes for other Finns. As a southern suburbanite myself I know this quite well. Indeed, the religion of Liberalism is in many ways the most appropriate choice for this region.
It was sometime in the 23rd century, or that is at least the best quess of the people of 2517. In the very heart of the slowly recovering Helsinki, a new philosophy has emerged. Well, "new" in a sense. The legacy of Old Finland has been very much visible in the South for quite some time before this. The beliefs of the South were a mix of old Finnish liberalism, folk traditions, and some Christian influence. What happened in the core of Helsinki was merely a codification of these beliefs. This event, known as the Liberal Reformation, had a massive impact on the region. Many communities in the South quickly adopted the new Liberal religion. This was not limited to Finland, as the faith spread to Northern Estonia very quickly. Northern Estonia is in many ways similar to Southern Finland, so Liberalism had no trouble expanding there. By the start of the 24th century Liberalism had solidified its grip over Southern Finland and Northern Estonia. After that Liberalism has not really expanded, with the exception of Jyväskylä, a Liberal exclave furthern north.
Liberalism in 2517
Liberalism, as a religion, is quite philosophical. The gods of the religion are more like omnipresent forces rather than the personal beings of other religions. They govern the Universe, and also reward and punish people based on their actions. Liberalism has concepts not unlike Buddhism's Karma. Besides omnipresent forces of the Universe, Liberalism has also taken much from pre-apocalypse Finland. The leader of the religion is the President, and he is also nominally the secular ruler. His secular authority doesn't really extend beyond his own household in Helsinki though. Regardless, the President is a powerful figure due to his religious authority. He holds the office for life, and every time the President dies a new one is elected by delegates nominated by the electorate. The electorate concists largely of nobles, wealthy merchants, and stock exchange CEOs. Despite being elected for life and having great religious authority, the President still has much to worry about. First of all, while there is a lack of legal mechanism to remove a President, many dissatisfied Liberal rulers of the past have disputed a President's authority and appointed a person to fill his role in the their realm.
Secular rulership in Liberalism is an interesting topic. All Liberal rulers nominally govern their province or municipality on behalf of the President. It is here where the roots of the titles of Liberal rulers are. What others would call a king Liberals instead call a governor, and his realm is called a province. Lower-level rulers bear the title of Kunnanjohtaja, which is Classical Finnish for "municipal manager". Many Liberal titles are based on archaic administrative positions and divisions in Classical Finnish. Many of them are clearly republican ones, but their original meaning is a thing of the past. The titles have also been exported to other languages, such as Estonian, to legitimize the locals nobles' and rulers' status in the Liberal World. In recent times there has also been some changes though. Some Liberal rulers, most notably Governor Pasi of Tavastia Proper, have also adopted more conventional titles. Pasi, for example, has been using the title of King alongside his more commonly used title. The President has not liked this, but there really isn't much he can do about it.
Liberalism grants a buff to stewardship, but also a small debuff to fertility. The President is elected by the Electoral College, which is essentially just the College of Cardinals from base-game Catholicism. Besides that, Liberalism also has three brances: the Agrarians, the Neoliberals, and the Democrats. They slightly dislike each other, but not by much. All grant some modest buffs to their members. It is also possible to switch your branch.
Neoliberal
Agrarian
Democrat
SVECOMAN
Disclaimer: Swedish-speaking Finns are not, and should NOT be called Swedes. However, due to simplicity and the historical context of this mod, I will be doing exactly that.
Svecomania shares a somewhat similar origin story with Liberalism. Much of the Finnish coastline is inhabited by Swedish-speakers. In any case, Svecomania was a very real thing at the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century. It formed in opposition to the Fennomans, who sought to remove Swedish elements of Finnish culture and making the country monolingually Finnish. The Svecomans, on the other hand, favored bilinguality and wanted to keep the Swedish legacy alive in Finland. Although Svecomania is a thing of the past, many of its ideas are still alive in the Swedish-speaking population of Finland.
Like with Liberalism, the birth of post-apocalypse Svecomania likely dates to the 23rd century. It was around this time that Swedish culture experienced a great revival in Finland. This is no doubt partially a result of the Liberal Reformation. Many Swedish communities did not take the spread of Liberalism very well. They saw it as a threat to their Swedish culture due to it being dominated by Finnish-speakers. As a countermeasure, the Swedish-speaking people of Uusimaa came together to turn their own traditions into a cohesive religion. Until this point, the beliefs of the Swedes were mostly a big mix of old world legends with some outside influence. The Swedes of Uusimaa had a very strong national identity, so it was easy for them to fight the Liberals as a unified force. Following the failure of the Liberals to convert the Swedes, conflict ensued. Despite their greater numbers, the Liberals were at the time rather weak at fighting. The Uusimaa Swedes won battle after battle in the various wars of the 24th centuries, as the Liberals could not counter the Neo-Carolean infantry of the Swedes. Ultimately the Swedes had gained much of the coastline of Uusimaa, formerly Swedish-Speaking territory. Since then the Svecomans and Liberals have coexisted in peace, despite the occasional minor war between the two.
Svecomania in 2517
In the 24th century Svecomania expanded to most other Swedish-speaking communities within reach. The Archipelago in particular was a major success for Svecoman missionaries. In North Bothnia in Northern Sweden a special kind of Svecomania developed, but we will talk about it later in more detail. Small minority communities also formed in Ostrobothnia, as Christianity had already entrenched there by then. However, by 2517 the Svecoman world had seen better days. The loss of the Archipelago was devestating. It meant that the Svecomans only had majority communities in Uusimaa. The faith, it seems, is on the decline.
In terms of doctrine, Svecomania shares much in common with Liberalism. It is in many ways a philosophical religion. There are no theistic gods, as that role is instead occupied by omnipresent forces that govern the universe. However, the similarities largely end there. Being Swedish is very important to the faith, as the Svecoman religion is essentially based entirely around Swedishness. Alex Olof Freudenthal, a 19th century Svecoman, is revered in the faith almost to the point of worship. His works are in many ways central to the doctrine of the religion, even if much of it comes elsewhere. The Svecoman faith can be divided into two schools. The dominant Orthodox school, which generally emphasizes the importance of Finland-Swedish culture and identity over a "purely" Swedish one. Accordingly, the other school does the opposite, emphasizing the importance of a Swedish identity over a Finland-Swedish one. The followers of this school are known as the Rikists.
Rikist
Orthodox
Generally speaking, Finland-Swedish cultured characters are more likely to be Orthodox Svecomans, while ones of "proper" Swedish cultures are more likely to be Rikists. This is not absolute though, Finland Swedes can be Rikists, and other Swedes can be Orthodox Svecomans.
Svecomans also have another mechanic that they share with the Karelianists. Due to the nature of the religion, converts to Svecomania essentially have to adopt Swedish culture. This applies both to individual characters and provinces on the map. Following conversion to Svecomania, the characteprovince will adopt an appropriate Swedish culture. This also includes many unique melting pot cultures that can only appear in this way.
KARELIANIST
This religion was already partially covered in DD4, so this section will be a bit shorter.
Karelianism is a strongly militaristic religion. After all, the primary goal of the religion is to reclaim territory from the Russians. The religion's rite of passage reflects this very well. It is known as Intti. In Intti, young Karelianist men are taught skills vital to the faith, and by this I mean military training. Upon turning 16, every male Karelianist gets an Intti event chain. Many things can happen here, including some rarer event. At the end of the event chain you will receive a trait that reflects the kind of military training you got.
Jäger
Engineer
Artilleryman
Medic
Scout
Besides that, the Karelianists get a passive boost to levy size, and start out with two holy orders. I will talk about one of them in greater detail in a future DD. From an outside perspective, it would seem like these changes make the religion overpovered. Mechanically this is the case, but it should be remembered that the Karelianist world is relatively small and divided at the start. This gives them a better chance to survive the challenges of early game, and there are plenty of them. Additionally, if you are able to reconquer most of Karelia, you will be able to make yourself the Karelianist religious head, the Commander-in-Chief.
COMMUNIST
Communism is the fourth Old World religion. Like with other Old World religions, its roots lie in 19th and 20th century ideologies. The original ideology has been greatly confused by the apocalypse, and turned into something almost unrecognizeable. Communism is the majority religion in many less developed areas in Russia, and also small parts of Finland.
Communism in 2517
Communism is a strictly monotheistic religion. The sole god of the faith is known as The Revolution, a deity that makes itself known to humanity via prophets who embody Him. There have been many prophets, some of them greater, and some of them lesser. It is believed that The Revolution has sent at least one prophet to every nation on the earth. The most revered and well-known of the prophets are the Prophets Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Stalin, with Prophet Lenin being almost universally regarded as the greatest of them all. The message of the religion is simple: the Word of the Revolution should be spread until it is the law of every nation, so that none of them would be enslaved. Indeed, Communism is a rather warlike religion. Despite all nations receiving their own prophets, the only ones to achieve great success were the Russian ones. This has resulted in a doctrine known as "Russian supremacy", which decrees that the liturgical language and language of religion in general is Russian. As one might expect, this has resulted in the spread of elements of Russian culture among non-Russian Communists.
In the center of Communist legends is an ancient Communist empire founded by Prophet Lenin himself. It has many empires, but the most widely used seems to be "The Soviet Union". It was vast, stretching far beyond the Ural Mountains in the east, into totally unknown territory. Much of original Communist doctrine was codified there, and the Union's legacy is the primary reason for the doctrine of Russian supremacy. However, the faith of the Union is unknown. The most popular theory is that it perished in the Apocalypse, but some dispute that, believeing that it fell even before that.
Communist rulership is rather unique. First of all, the rulers should have absolute authority over their realm. The Communists have the Socialist government type, which is unique to them. They can hold castles, temples AND cities freely. Besides that and the lack of decadence, it is mostly just the same as the Iqta government type of vanilla Muslims. They can name their successors and revoke duchies (or rather A.S.S.R.'s) freely.
The Communist world in 2517 AD is divided. Three major areas of Communism can be identified: Formerly Finnish Karelia, East Karelia, and Finnish Lapland. The Communist realms in all areas are divided and often disorganized and tribalistic. There is no clear leader of the Communist world, or even clear regional powers. However, their enemies are often just as weak, so the Communist world has not so far been under active threat. That might change soon though, as Karelianists incursions have increased in the last decades. It would seem like the Karelianists are organizing and preparing for conquest. However, the greatest question of all is if someone will be able to unify the Communists under one banner, and give birth to a new Communist golden age...

Link to Part 2
Charles had brought his forces into the Ukraine. He hoped his army would be able to live off the land, more than that though he hoped for two great reinforcements. First he hoped to meet with the supply train that he had opted not to meet up with on the retreat from the Moscow Campaign, and second he hoped to engage Ukrainian Cossacks to serve as his allies.
But now Peter himself was on the field, as the supply column that had been supposed to provide relief to Charles's army had been intercepted by Peter. The initial fighting was fierce, again the Swedish army was half the size of the Russian force, but despite this, for a moment it looked as though they might shatter the Russian lines anyway.
This time though, Peter was with his army, and with him the hardened elite Russian Guard, who stood firm and anchored the wavering line. The fighting turned into a brutal slog. By nightfall, neither the Swedes nor the Russians had made any conclusive blow, and both sides withdrew with the setting sun - the Russians to the nearby woods and the Swedes to their defensive position.
The Russians settled in to rest, but the Swedes stayed in battle formation, fearing another attack. As the night drew on though it became clear that no new attack was coming, so rather than fight against rested and reinforced Russian troops with his exhausted army, the Swedish commander ordered a withdrawal under the cover of dark.
But as they crossed the muddy ground behind them, the wagons and the artillery began to get stuck, slowing them down. Abandoning some of their artillery and baggage, they would manage to make it to the nearest town.
But the bridge they needed to truly make their escape, had been burnt by a Russian detachment. Seeing this the men began to panic, but the Swedish commander made the tough choice. They would unload the wagons, carry what supplies they could, and burn the rest. Unfortunately, in these wagons was, amongst other things, the Army's alcohol rations, weeks worth of it.
So as the men began to unpack, many of them also took the opportunity to consume the liquor that they would be throwing away. Soon the army was drunk, men got lost in the woods, others had to be left behind, the orderly Swedish retreat dissolved into a chaotic fight.
What few men were still good for fighting were given mounts and these few thousand troops made their escape. No supplies from this Caravan would ever find their way to Charles in the Ukraine.
Charles's other hope for succor was a man named Ivan Stepanovich Mazeppa. Ivan had grown up the bastard son of a minor Polish noble, but as a young page in the Polish Court he had been caught "in flagrante" with a married nobleman's wife. He had been promptly tarred and feathered, then tied to a horse, with Ivan's face firmly tied to the horse's rear, and the horse had been sent packing, running off unguided into the wild.
Everyone had expected that Ivan would die on the Ukrainian steppe, but Cossacks had found him, untied him, and gave him a home in their tribe. Valorous and ambitious, he had risen within their ranks until, when he was 48, the tribe had unanimously elected him to lead them.
For years he had ably served Peter the Great, but secretly he had always hoped to be free of Peter, to create an independent kingdom for his cossacks. When Charles had begun rampaging through Poland, Ivan began to negotiate with him. After all, this Swedish king might have a real shot at overthrowing the Russians
Charles never took these overtures too seriously though, at least not until desperate circumstances forced him too. As his campaign to Moscow began to fall apart, he reconsidered the value of this Cossack hetman.
He agreed that in exchange for the 30,000 horsemen that Ivan said he had under his command, the Swedes would offer their protection to the Cossacks. It was with the intent to meet up with this force that Charles turned southward, it was for this Cossack force that he abandoned the inebriated and ill-fated resupply train that was originally meant to catch up with him.
Charles needed these troops, and the sooner he could link up with them, the better, but Ivan Mazepa had severely overestimated the Cossacks loyalty to him. When he made his rebellion known, it was 3,000 Cossacks, not 30,000 that decided to follow him, the rest maintained their allegiance to Peter.
Peter then burnt Ivan's capital and sent the bodies of Cossacks tied to crosses floating down the Dnieper to discourage further rebellions. By the time Ivan struggled into Charles's camp he had nearly 1500 men with him and few supplies.
Now cut off in the Ukraine, the situation for the Swedish army was desperate, they were using saltpeter instead of salt to preserve food, they didn't even have enough wine to give the sacrament to dying men, so Charles made a bold plan. He would attack the fortress of Poltava and gain a secure location for his men to rest and await supplies from the rest of his empire, but the privations of the Winter had taken an even greater toll on his army.
Almost all of his artillery had been left behind. They had almost no shot and the powder had gotten so damp and waterlogged that men complained that when they fired they could see the balls drop to the ground 30 feet away.
They had also lost much of their officer corps, and now that it was Summer, Gangrene was spreading through the camp, but still they put Poltava to siege. Each day they tried to mine underneath the fort and use sappers to drop its walls, but without artillery, the going was slow. All the while Peter raced toward Poltava with a massive relief army.
And then Charles's legendary luck finally ran out. While overseeing the siege works, a stray bullet caught him in the heel, passing straight through his foot and embedding itself near his big toe. That day he rode and worked through the pain until his men noticed that he was ghastly pale, when they took him to his tent and cut off his boot, they found that his foot was a wreck. He would have to be carried on a litter for at least the remains of the campaign.
Then Peter reached Poltava, his massive army of 80,000 dwarfed the 18,000-ish men of Charles's army that were actually in fighting shape. This giant force arranged itself in front of the fort and began to dig in, yet still Charles and his commanders chose to rely upon the expedient they had always relied upon - Assault.
At first things go well, Swedes overrun the forward batteries and the assault sweeps forward, but then things begin to bog down, inopportune orders are given, the Russian line is given time to firm up.
Between the men left behind to guard the camp and those ordered to maintain the siege, even while the main fight is going on, the Swedish army is down to about 4,000 men.
The order is given, they are to rush the entrenched Russian line. Cannon fire rips through the lines of charging men, bullets rained down upon them. By the time they reach the Russian works, nearly half of them lay bleeding on the field. The king orders his litter raced to the front to encourage his men. One by one, his litter bearers are shot dead around him, until only three of the original 24 remain.
The King's litter drops, smashed upon the ground. What few men are left surged forward trying to prevent the Russians from capturing their King. A Major rides up, dismounts, and lifts the King onto his own horse only to be torn to pieces by Cossack Sabres moments later. The king is whisked to safety, but at what cost?
The army is routed, stumbling back across the steppe, disorganized. They need to cross the Dnieper river to escape, but the Russians are fast on their heels, and the Swedes are forced to make a difficult decision.
The King is sent ahead with 1,500 of the fastest combat ready cavalry they have left, the remainder of the army is transferred to one of the Kings Generals two days later with the Russians.
Closing the Army's line of retreat, fourteen thousand of what had once been the world's finest army, surrender on mass.
And so the Battle of Poltava comes to an end, as a decisive victory for the Russians.
Nearly starving, suffering from the heat, the remaining Swedes raced South until they arrived at the very border of the Black Sea. But as the local prince haggled over prices for boats to ferry them into the Ottoman Empire, Peter overtook the Swedish Rear Guard.
Eight hundred were lost. Only five hundred remained. But those five hundred made their way into the Sultanate. There, they were treated regally. Given food and drink, even allowed to set up an almost autonomous colony, which the Ottomans helped them to build.
But Peter did not relent. As his forces approached the border of the Empire, he demanded that Charles be handed over. The Sultan, who was no friend of the Russians, refused. So Peter decided to force the issue. He would bring war to the Ottoman Empire itself. His army, augmented by forces from Moldovia, plunged towards Pluth River, where they were rapidly cut off by the giant home army of the Ottoman Empire.
For a moment, it looked as though Peter and his entire force might fall into the Sultan's hands. But where Peter and his subordinates clearly lost the war, you might argue that they had won the peace. Deftly using diplomacy to extricate his army, Peter was allowed to leave the Ottoman territory with his army intact, for little more than an agreement to give Charles safe passage back to Sweden, and a handful of minor territorial concessions.
But this was not good enough for Charles. He showed no interest in returning, established a provisional court in his colony, and sought to persuade the sultan to engage in an Ottoman-Swedish assault on Russia.
The Sultan, having no interest in such a costly project, put an end to the generous hospitality granted and had the king arrested in what became known as the "kalabalik" in 1713.
Later Charles abandoned his hopes for an Ottoman front and returned to Sweden in a 14-day ride.
And it was at this point that Augustus the Strong, deposed King of Poland, returns to the spotlight. He proceeded to basically roll Swedish forces back to the very borders of Polish-Lithuanian territory. Then, after a heroic last effort from the Swedish troops, he bottled them up in a fortress in Holstein-Gottorp. And when no aid came to save them, he forced them to surrender.
The last truly major army of the Swedes had vanished, along with the remains of any Swedish Baltic and German Possessions.
So the dominoes began to fall.
Russia, Norway, and Poland-Lithuania were already at war with Sweden. Those who had fallen out of the alliance due to previous defeats were now back in.
Then, the King of England got into the mix under his other title as Elector of Hanover, and then, so did Prussia. So at this point, Sweden is basically at war with all of Northern Europe.
Their resources are tapped, and the great armies that had swept them to empire were now shattered or imprisoned.
But Charles was not deterred.
Never one to surrender, never one to make peace, he raised what forces he could, and kicked off a campaign in Norway. And this began pretty well. He cut his way through the thin Danish-Norwegian defenses, threatening to overwhelm the knife at the back of Sweden. But then, disaster struck in the Baltic.
Norwegian naval forces ambushed the Swedish fleet, nearly wiping it out. This left Charles unable to resupply, and he was forced to retreat once again.
Meanwhile, in Finland ( which was part of Sweden at the time ), the Russians had invaded. Initially, the going was slow. The Russians were impeded by poor roads and bad weather, but Peter, with his love of ships, settled on a new course of action, one where the Russian offensive would be centered on the coastline, where men and material could be rapidly transferred by sea.
The Swedish commander in Finland was continually on the retreat, having neither the men nor the supplies necessary to contest the Russians. For this, he was recalled and replaced with a man who was much more likely to agree to the native Finns' demand for a fight.
And fight they did, twice. But long gone were the days when Swedish forces could beat the Russians 8:1, or even 2:1. The Swedish army in Finland was almost made up entirely of Finnish troops, not the Swedish core who had done so much at the outset of the war, only to be eventually wiped out in Russia.
This Finnish army was beaten back both times. This all occurred just before the Swedish navy got crushed outside of Norway.
And if these timelines are confusing, just keep in mind that by this point everything is pretty much happening at the same time.
The Swedish fleet was sent out to help the Finnish forces, to take some of the pressure off, but Peter, great lover of sailing ships that he was, ironically, used a fleet of galleys to counter the Swedish ships. This battle became known as the Battle of Gangut, resulting in every Swedish ship either getting sunk or captured, and is famous for being the first important victory of the Imperial Russian Navy.
Soon, the Finnish front was untenable, and what troops were left were recalled to defend Sweden itself.
But Charles was not yet done.
He planned a return to Norway. He knew there was exactly one hope. He needed to capture the fortress of Frederiksten, the very same place he had just lost his fleet failing to capture. He raised another 22,000 men for his last attempt to turn things around. Their campaign in Norway was hard-going, always in want of rations, having to swim across rivers, or climb whole mountains to achieve the positioning that Charles wanted.
But despite this suffering, Swedish discipline won out. And through this privation, the army had never truly wavered, because they had always the example of their king, who always took the roughest tasks for himself.
By November 1718, they made it to the fortress. Charles himself led an assault on the outer works and overwhelmed them with his loyal grenadiers. Things were progressing nicely, but now the fortress had to be breached. On the 30th of November, Charles went to inspect the trenchworks, laughing and joking with the men, he encouraged them in their work.
Then, as night fell, the defenders put burning wreathes on the fortress wall to illuminate the surrounding ground. The king suspected that they might sortie out and try to smash the progress made on the siegeworks, before returning to the safety of their fort. So he climbed to the lip of the trench to get a better look.
A nearby French officer ( who had just joined the Swedes ) called out to him,
"That is no fit place for your majesty. Musket balls and cannonballs have as little respect for the king as for the common soldier."
The king simply responded: "Don't be afraid."
And one of the common Swedish officers told the Frenchmen,"Eh, let him be. The more you warn him, the more he'll expose himself."
The moon now washed the whole battlefield in a pale light. Soldiers worked, officers directed, and then, there was a soft wet sound. No louder than that of a rock gently dropped into a pool. The king was dead. A shot had passed through his left temple and out the right.
He died where he lay: right at the top of the trenchworks.
The succession passed to his sister, but the spirit of the army was gone. A retreat was made, and preparations to defend the homeland began. But defense was only a dream.
From 1719 to 1721, Sweden suffered brutal raids and incursions from the Russians, until, at last, they were forced to make peace.
Sweden had to cede almost all of its territory ( Except for the home country itself and Finland, which, after an occupation known as "The Great Wrath", the Russians agreed to leave be ).
The grand dream of Charles was smashed. And with it, the Swedish Empire. Sweden would never again rise to such a position of prominence on the world stage.
But as Charles' dream lay in ruins, Peter's became a reality. Russia pushed westward, gaining ports along the Baltic coast. More importantly, they proved that they were a power on the rise. That no longer could calculations about European politics be made without factoring the Russians in.
Thus, the Great Northern War ends.
And the wheel turns as one empire falls...
...and another rises.
​
Sources: Wikipedia and the Extra Credits Youtube Channel

I have heard Finns would rather stand if they can’t find a vacant pair of seats on the bus
A myth once said Swedes will wait for their neighbours to disappear before leaving the apartment to avoid any conversation but they are very happy when you say they are better than the Danes.
While Norwegian will never talk to a foreigner unless it comes to the argument that Kvikklunsj is better than Kitkat.
And finally lovely Danes, you guys don’t talk because even if you do no one will understand since your guys speak like having a potato stuffed in your mouth.
And Dutch, I can’t think of what to joke about your country, I will skip this one.
I will be traveling to Finland, Sweden, Norway, Denmark and Holland this winter holiday and I wanna make some new friends before this trip. I might be mean when joking about your country but I truly love the culture of your country and especially your language. I would love to meet people from nordic tho you guys are cavemen when it comes to social interactions except for Dutch, you guys are easier to find. I will talk a little bit about myself so you can roast me as well, talking about equality here. I am 19 years old teen from Hong Kong. I speak fluent English and actually learning German at the moment, anyway mine is shit. I wish to know your culture so reddit is the place to go. I would love to make some friends and if we click, I would love to meet you in real life. You can take me to your favorite cafe, hangout spot or even a bar. We can talk about our stories which I bet it is gonna be fun, wait I forgot swedes don’t talk about their personal life, I guess I will do all the talking then.
I am now studying psychology in uni. I have quite a few hobbies. I love watching movie, lost in translation by Sofia Coppola is one of my favorite. I also love cooking, if you don’t love food, I will beat you with my frying pan till you admit it. I love hiking, sadly I can’t hike Trolltunga during winter. I am quite an amateur in videography but my dream is to take a travel video in every trip I go so I can capture the beauty of memories. If you wanna discuss politics or dark humor(reserve for Danes), I am pretty open as well. As for my music preference, Phoenix (the french band), Novo Amor and San Holo. Sorry Norwegians, Kygo is not my fav DJ, I heard you guys are pretty proud of him.
I genuinely wanna make some new friends which I did before and made a friend from Latvia which we still talk a lot today. I am different from some of ur online friends but will come and find you in real life (now I just scare away everyone who fear social interactions lol). Trust me, I won’t bite so if you are interested hit me up!

Hi, to whomever it may concern,
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My name is Mikael and I am from Finland.
I am a 34 year old Finnish teddybear. If anything threatens my near and dear ones however, I will turn into a protective Brown Bear. Most of the time I will be able to disarm situations by talking though.
I am trilingual; Finnish, Swedish and English. Finnish and Swedish both being my native languages and my English being fluent. Basically quadrilingual if you ask some Finns or Swedes as I speak both Finnish Swedish and Sweden Swedish. =p
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I am not religious, but would call myself spiritual. I believe there's something higher, but I do not name it. I am also open to any kind of spiritual views and I will not judge. In fact it doesn't matter if you're agnostic, religious or have your own kind of mashed up view on the spiritual side. As with everything else; as long as you don't try to force me into believing something I am ok with it. That's how I view the world at large; as long as one doesn't hurt others or try to force their view on others, they may be or believe whatever they want.
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I am very open minded on all planes and ready to try new things, as long as it is comfortable for all parties.
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Cooking is one of my passions. My speciality would be my own wok. This morning it was a simple classic however; pizza and cookies. So don't expect to have the kitchen all to yourself. ;)
I know how to handle myself in most situations, but beware that there are two things I will eat by hand even at a restaurant: Chicken and pizza. (If it's very formal, it can be negotiated. =p)
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When it comes to hobbies and interests, they are variating. I read. Anything from fact to fiction. When it comes to fact I am interested in all kinds. Fiction wise I have read, for example: Exodus, 1984, Harry Potter, His Dark Matters, Agatha Christie, Patricia Cornwell, Wilbur Smith, Robert Ludlum, Elizabeth George. Can't list them all, so sorry great authors that aren't on this very very short list. Why did I even try to start listing them? ;) Anything from Nordic Noir to classics by Charles Dickens.
When it comes to music it's the same. I enjoy anything from 50's -> today. I usually don't fall for an artist or genre, more for particular songs where I like the melody/lyrics. Hit me with a song and I'll either talk about it, or then be eager to hear it to get a new experience. Same again with movies and series. These are not top lists, just some examples. Animes: Death Note, Cowboy Bepop, Neon Genesis Evangelion. Thrillers: The Game, The Prestige, American History X, Shawshank Redemption. Based on a true story: A Beautiful Mind, American Gangster, The Imitation Game. Best chic flick: Save The Last Dance (Is it even a chic flick?). TV Series: Absolute no.1 would be Life On Mars/Ashes To Ashes. Well made documentaries, of course. Too bad Discovery changed so drastically years ago... This list is getting too long, I do see even clearer now that I am an all eater. =p
I am a casual gamer. Want help with an achievement? Sure. Expect me to go tryhardy to get it for myself? No luck. Gaming is relaxation for me and having fun with friends. If you don't game, that's fine. ;) For my creative side. I usually do stuff on and off, for my own enjoyment. I make music at times, draw with lead, do photo editing and so on. If we get close you will get your own custom made Christmas and Birthday card. When I send you something during the day out of the blue in between the other talks, it will most likely be a quotes pic I have dug up for you. I know my way around a computer and tech, both hardware and software wise. Linux administration being my strong side. This is again one of the parts where I don't expect you to be the same, either is fine. It's just so you know what I know and what I do. =)
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I am very flexible and I don't just think, but know, that compromises are part of a relationship. I however also know that there are things one compromises with and things one doesn't. One thing for me is something I already mentioned; never force somebody to believe in something they don't want to. That said, as also said; I am open to new ideas and views and I think we evolve and learn each and every day. Oh and I will never give up sauna. You don't like it? Fine. I can survive without sauna for a long time, but I will never give it up. =p
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According to my DiSC profile I am an Inspirer. I have studied both computer tech and business administration. Your degree level doesn't matter, or what field you are in. I have met enough people throughout life to know that there are several different intelligencies, and that a degree doesn't make up the person. Emotional intelligence counts too. That said, having intelligent deep discussions is something I enjoy, besides the usual banter and jokes. The subject can vary though.
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Who are you?
Someone that likes to go out and appreciate the world, take a walk, travel and doing things. I however do not mind evenings spent at home either, as long as that is not the defacto all the time. I see the home as a base and a castle, but from there one goes out to explore and experience.
I don't care about race, location or age. Age is just a number, it's what you are inside that matters. There are planes nowadays and I on my side am at least in a situation where I can relocate if need be. So if you're narrow minded when it comes to where people come from or where their journey begun; keep on walking.
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Trivia:
- I am taking care of a dog named Nappe, I haven't taken ownership of him even though I could. Don't ask about the name, I didn't come up with it. =p
- My sisters cousin is the drummer in Nightwish (Never heard of Nightwish? Maybe not, then perhaps one of the Nordic artists HIM, Ace of Base, Avicii, SHM, Aqua or Abba is more familiar to you)
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Specs:
183cm (6ft)
77kg (170lbs)
Broad shoulders
If I let my hair grow too much I will get an afro (Yes, it becomes that curly =p)
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And I have no pre-set expectations or preferences when it comes to your looks.
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If you have read this far, wow and thank you!
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Here's a link to the pictures. The most nudity you will find there is me in winters clothing. ;)
https://imgur.com/a/uer9rs3
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Best of wishes,
Mikael

Link to image: https://img00.deviantart.net/9920/i/2017/235/1/c/improved_flags_of_europe_by_theromanruler-dbl28qy.png
So my intention was to just create more unique flags for Europe that follow heraldic rules where possible and be easy to distinguish from each other. You don't need to see every detail when they are small, you just need to be able to tell them apart from other flags. I think i have successfully done at least that last one. Aside from thinking that every flag should be as unique as possible and where possible, include large, heraldically accurate coat of arms, there is no political agenda. Apologies for any possible errors there is. And i should point out that things such as aspect ratios can be tweaked. Switzerland is also missing, because their flag already includes their coat of arms so i could not think of anything to make their flags more coat of arms-y. And since their flag is so old, i could not really think of anything to make it more unique either. Darn you peace loving neutrals!
I chose to use nations that are part of this list of nations under title "flags of European sovereign" states https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flags_of_Europe with addition of Holy See, which theoretically is different from Vatican city. Like i said, no politics involved - aside from my opinion that every nation should have as patriotic, traditional, heraldically accurate and coat of arms-y flag as possible.
So first we have Albania. I added helmet from their coat of arms and added golden borders surrounding eagle. Color they use in Albanian coat of arms is technically gold, but since shade they use is such weird one, i just took it and made it slightly more golden. I believe this is good compromise between heraldic accuracy, Albanian traditions and visual clarity. I think this flag is straight upgrade froim their current flag.
Then we have Andorra. Thank you for having such a good flag, i simply made coat of arms little larger. I think this flag is another straight upgrade from their current flag.
Then we have flag of Armenia. I had to change arrangement of colors. I again tried to stick close to original colors, but i made orange into gold to follow rule of tincture. I also added blue shield as background to their coat of Arms, for visual clarity.
Austrian coat of arms were another easy one. White shield as background to their black eagle was all that was needed. Thank you Austral... Austria. I meant Austria. Lets move on.
Azerbaijan. I don't know anything about Azerbaijan, and their national heraldry is foreign to me. So i just used their flag as it is but added large national emblem in the middle. Crescent and star was left out for no specific reason. It could be added to canton.
Flag of Belarussia. Since Belarussia and Lithuania use basically same coat of arms, i recolored Belarussian ones using same shade of green as their current flag. Reason why i recolored Belarussian coat of arms instead of Lithuanian is because i believe Lithuania was first one to use them. Maybe i am wrong. If so, sorry. Their flag is proper flag, meaning it uses proper heraldic rules of tincture. Sure it was sometimes used by some political groups that are not popular. So what? Flag itself is neutral. If you stop using your flag simply because someone who you oppose uses it, you have to constantly change to new symbol. Completely idiotic. If everyone uses the flag, it becomes politically neutral. If you stop using the flag, you have essentially given up that flag to those who you don't want to have it. Only way to make anything neutral is for everyone to use it.
Belgium was another easy one. This time, no shield because their lion thankfully is on black background, so it was easy to fit to black part of Belgian flag.
So far, i see only improvements compared to existing flags.
Bosnia and Hertzegovina use flag which is designed after old Bosnian coat of arms. Maybe this flag would be sensitive there, but it looks way better than their current flag or coa.
British flag. Ah. This is first flag that is not direct upgrade over current one. I think this looks way too busy. It has cross flag of Wales included, hence the black and yellow. But it is way too busy i think.
Bulgaria. So i swapped green and red around, made sure that colors don't look like they are depressed and added beautiful Bulgarian coat of arms in the middle. Beautiful!
Crotia already had brilliant flag. but i made coa slightly larger.
Here is flag of Cyprus. It is exact opposite of flag of North Cyprus, and in place of Crescent and star it has Greek coat of arms. I don't think it looks too much like flag of Israel, but if that is a problem, coat of arms could be made bigger.
Those 3 were all upgrades over current flags. So far, only British flag has been downgrade.
Flag of Czechia (yes, i do call it Czechia. I still might not know how to write it correctly, but it is far better name than CzechoSlovakia or Czech...Czech what?) Point where red, blue and white meet is exactly in center of their coat of arms. Not sure if heraldic rule of tincture is obeyed here, but at least border shared by blue and red is very small one. So maybe it is obeyed?
Flag of Denmark. Does look better than without coat of arms i think, but you also could have added coat of arms on canton instead of in middle of the cross.
Flag of Estonia is Nordic flag because Estonia can into Nordic and then Finland and Estonia could unite into Greater-Finland! If this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jaeSHfNTuQ&ab_channel=SurvivetheJive) is accurate, then Finnish are at the same time most European and least European nation of Europe, being some kind of Super Aryan ethnicity mixed with mongol blood. Russia can invade Germany if they want, but invading Finland would just be impossible. But back to flags!
This is flag of Europe, or European union or European Union or Union of Europe or what ever you want. I think flag of European Union looks visually great, but is really bad symbol for Europe. If flag needs to be made that symbolizes peaceful ambitions and unification of Europe, then this would be far better than current one. It has pigeon of peace. That is Christian symbol, but absolutely anything can be made into religious symbol. So lets draw the line, and use it. Northern Cyprus also uses it, so it is certainly neutral enough. I don't think there is anything wrong with using Christian symbols in Europe, just like i don't think there is anything wrong with using pagan symbols. They are traditional symbols that have been used in Europe, those symbols alone don't need to be political. But this flag anyway, is neutral flag with clear symbolism and calm colors. A direct improvement over current European flag.
Flag of Finland. Current state flag of Finland (one with coat of arms) actually looks better, but shade of red looks sometimes bit faded. Not big difference anyway, and this one still looks good.
Flag of France. A single fleur de lis on blue background instead of multiple as used by coat of arms of French monarchies. Later French monarchy used it on white background, and later fully white flag - meaning that at one point, France officially used international sign of surrender as their official national official flag official. French eating surrender monkey jokes... That was actually genuine error, i meant to say Cheese eating surrender monkeys. Oh well.
Flag of Georgia already looked good, but i still added coa in the middle of the cross.
Flag of Germany uses nordic flag design. I don't think everyone should just use Nordic flag, and in 2017 Germany should not use nordic flag. But maybe in future Finland could puppet Germany or something and they could use this design.
Flag of Greece is based on their coat of arms.
Flag of Holy see. Holy See is actually different from Pope and Vatican. It has it's own coat of arms, which are somewhat different from Pope's coat of arms and have keys reversed. So it felt appropriate to reverse colors of flag of Vatican and replace white with red, which is also on coat of arms.
Flag of Hungary. Their historical flag was great, so i changed shade of colors to be more alive and it is perfect.
Flag of iceland uses their traditional coat of arms. Their current coat of arms is basically just their flag, which is bit boring.
Flag of Ireland. I think this flag might neglect some parts of Ireland, but it looks good.
Flag of Italy is shaped like their Napoleonic era flag, but has their own coat of arms as taken from their merchant flag.
Flag of Kazahkstan. Here i just moved central eagle and sun to top right corner and added their national emblem in the middle. I have no idea what is happening there, but it looks good. Not heraldic though.
Latvia. I think i should have used more simple version of Latvia's coat of arms. But this version of their flag looks unique.
Here i just replaced crown with full coat of arms of Liechenstein and added tiny golden line to enforce heraldic rule of tinctures. It actually looks good.
Flag of Lithuania uses coat of arms with supporters to make it more different from Belarussian coat of arms. I believe, but i might be wrong, to say that Lithuania was first one to use these arms. Also swapped colors of green and gold around because of 1 000 year old rule based on practical necessities.
Flag of Luxembourg simply has their coat of arms added in the middle. Might sound familiar.
Flag of Macedon. I don't know anything about this modern day Macedon, but apparently they are not really Macedonian? In any case, their earlier flag looked awesome, so i added their coat of arms suggestion (or is it official now?) in the middle. I don't know if Macedon has moral right to use that sun, but flag looks great.
Flag of Malta is their alternate flag. Also looks better than their coat of arms i think.
Flag of Moldova looks good, i just made heraldry larger.
Flag of Monaco now actually looks different from Polish, Indonesian and other such flags. And it does not even look too horrible!
I have always liked this flag. So why would i change anything? Don't fix what is not broken. So naturally, i made some changes. Well, i just made the eagle larger.
Flag of Netherlands now uses orange as it arguably should. Also, Coa.
Norway has cool coat of arms design but is drawn by 5 year old. So i used different version of their coat of arms, but i think crown might be wrong or something. I blame that 5 year old who drew Norway's coat of arms.
Flag of Poland. The lipstick shade is there, but it should be changed. I hate colors that look like they are 2 000 year old clothes.
Flag of Portugal. current Portugese flag looks brilliant, but i would like it to have larger coat of arms. But this just looks way too busy. And i should not have separated red and green from each other, it just looks even busier. This is second flag in the list that looks worse than current flag.
This flag of Romania is based on their old military flag or something. I don't remember exactly. It also has coat of arms. Since it would be unique without coat of arms, it does not need large coat of arms. Same reason why some other flags have so small coat of arms, altough sometimes it just looks visually better to have smaller coa.
This is royal flag of UK. I replaced duplicate arms of England with arms of Wales. Wales clearly can't decide if they prefer English lions or Scottish lions so they used both. Darn you... And did i change Irish coat of arms? I don't remember, but change is not big.
(this) Flag of Russia looks awesome. As you see i enforced some heraldic laws and beheaded some people in progress, and made flag look properly evil. It honestly is truly good looking flag, i would love it if Russia would start using it.
San Marino is one of those small, and worse, filthy neutral nations with no army! But i still made their coa bigger. I expect to become their new God now.
Flag of Serbia already looked great, but Coa is bigger. Because why not? colors are still not correct though.
This flag of Slovakia looks great.
This flag of Slovenia uses some old coat of arms that have been used in Slovenia. I am tired so my jokes get worse and explanations shorter.
I simplified coat of arms of Spain, made them larger, and made them more complicated by adding eagle in the background...
Flag of Sweden with better shades and coat of arms. I am fine with Sweden using baby blue washed out discolored flag, but that is because i am Finnish and Swedish are our brothers. And we love our brothers. We just like to joke about them because Swedes are gay. But there is one brilliant thing about Sweden: their eastern neighbour! I am hugely jealous of their eastern neighbor. But why does Finland have to border Russia? Why can't Russia be Sweden's neighbour? Russians clearly want the same, that is why they keep invading Finland. I would love if Sweden would be Russia's neighbour and Finland would be located where Sweden is. Finns could just let Swedes defend Finland instead of Finnish constantly defending Sweden.
Flag of Turkey.
Ukraine.
Vatican.
Done!
Link to my Deviant Art thread where i originally posted this https://theromanruler.deviantart.com/art/Improved-Flags-of-Europe-700504522?ga_submit_new=10%3A1505502759&ga_type=edit&ga_changes=1
Not all flags have their shades of colors altered. Flag of Serbia for example has shade of color that looks bit depressing, i would change it. And some shades of colors are just copy paste from each other. Polish flag on other hand looks like shade of lipstick.
Sorry for long post with constantly worsening jokes and explanations. I am tired, so i will just watch one more video and read one more reddit thread and one more... before i go to sleep. Promise.

The Clan Ostoja was not normally a secritive bunch. They were rather loyal servants of the Crown, having partaken in nearly every endeavor of the Polish crown since somewhere around the twelfth century. They were an organization nearly as old as Poland itself, and unashamedly placed on the front lines of duty in virtually every war.
Yet this was not the front lines that the Clan was used to. Here they sat, meeting behind closed doors in Wawel Castle, the five of them. A strange assortment to an outsider - two calvanists, two counter-reformers, and an alchemist. Almost like the beginning of a bar joke - but such differences didn't matter here. Here, loyalty and the furtherance of the clan came before faith.
"Estonia has been promised; and Estonia we will have!" Krzysztof Słuszka thumped the table before him emphatically. His brother, Aleksander Słuszka, nodded beside him. They had won favor with the King in the past, with Krzysztof becoming voivode and Aleksander looking to receive one as well. The Słuszka family had only recently risen to power, however, having proven themselves loyal to the crown and capable of management... but they were not about to stop with mere voivodeships. "This is our chance - a landed duchy of Livonia, one to surpass Courland. A bastion of Ostoja, rather than these simple starostas and voivodeships. We must put our every effort forward to ensure victory for the Commonwealth."
Sendivogius smiled. "I have the King's ear - so long as we make a show of force, we should be justly compensated. I do not know if a duchy is so much that he would give it to us, but the land itself and another voivodeship - more likely than not. Yet, how do we go about ensuring our victory?"
"Through intrigue, and destabilization."
The group then turned their head to the two clergy seated at the table. Marcin Szyszkowski, a powerful intelectual and chancellor of the bishop of Krakow. He smirked, and motioned to his compatriot, Abraham 'Bzovius'. "We have been talking for some time on this matter, and have come in agreement - a kingdom falls when it's vassals are turned against itself. Tell them, Abraham."
Bzovius cleared his throat, before starting. "It is clear throughout the course of history that a state falls when not supported within itself. I have recorded such events, and even witnessed it within the church - this division we find ourselves in is a direct result of it, as we can all agree. Sweden is no different - already they have turned against one monarch. So, let us turn them against another."
He opened before him a leatherbound book, reading from it after clearing his throat once more. "I would propose that we appeal to those wronged by this new King, who has no right in the first place to this crown he holds, and move from there... I've, uh, written a few of them down, helps with the memory... Ah, yes. Firstly among them. Sofia Gyllenhielm, bast- I mean, illegitimate daughter of late John III Vasa, father of our own beloved king, was in turn beloved as well. Between herself and her sister, Lucretia Gyllenhielm, they did not live long lives - one could propose that their short lives were the machinations of the now current 'king', Charles IX. Now, let me piece together this puzzle I have laid out before you, and how one man's love out of wedlock will bring forth the downfall of a nation..."
"Sofia, God rest her soul, had married one Pontus De la Gardie - you know of the man, for he is the reason the Swedes have the land called Finland. Yet this Frenchman's offspring lives on; his child is a baron in Finland, on account of his father's efforts. The poor, late Sofia died supposedly in childbirth, but her sister as well died at an early age due to suspected witchcraft - something we all can agree is a little far fetched in this day and age."
Aleksander looked like he was going to awkwardly protest at this, but left the matter silent. The table chuckled at his slight showing of his belief in the supernatural, but moved on regardless. Bzovius continued. "There are others, of course; like I said, the sister of poor Sofia, Lucretia, died shortly after having become betrothed to Karl Gustavsson - who has indeed remarried, but that's not important. What is important is that Karl and Charles have had greviences in the past - just mere months ago, the man had to escape certain death from prison. With him, there is certainly a friend - especially if we can convince him that Charles was complicit in Lucretia's death. He is governor of Kalmar, and a count of Oland at that, too - not to mention he fought on Sigismund's side in the first portion of this war. There is no doubt in my mind that he will come to our aid once more."
"There is also the matter of Sofia and Lucretia's mother, that is John III's lover, Karin Hansdotter. She was killed suspiciously during the Finnish Peasant Uprising, that cudgel war they talk about, right before her estate was sacked. Interestingly enough, Charles supported the side that sacked her holdings. Make no mistake - Charles is not a man without blood on his hands. All we need to do is shed a little light on the subject."
He chuckled lightly. "And, to make matters wonderfully more interesting, it would seem that Charles has usurped not only our good king Sigismund, but also the next in line - John, duke of Finland. He's a mere adolescent, but one that can be used to our advantage. It is interesting to me that Charles has usurped his regency outright and placed the crown upon his own head... this may prove to be his undoing. And, last but not least, there's always the possibility of throwing around presumptions that the Catholic vote was discarded in a sense of 'verbal defenestration'. We can propose if nothing else that if Sigismund may leave the Kingdom with his lands, so too can the Catholic and loyal vassals should they wish it."
Krzysztof smirked devilishly. "Beautiful, wonderful, glorious plans, my friends! Clan Ostoja will have a dukedom - better yet, a grand dukedom - perhaps within our lifetime! Charles be damned, Estonia is ours, and Sweden our king's!"
The Clan Ostoja is going to stir up the pot of Sweden by labeling Charles as a usurper and a murderer - Not only against Sigismund, but against his own brother John III, and against his own vassals. The steps that I am hoping to take are as follows.
Step 1: Getting There
I will be getting there by using contacts with Karin Månsdotter, someone who has housed supporters of Sigismund in the past and who has connections with the aristocracy and is well respected by the local Finns. A former queen can work wonders for someone's travel visa, after all. In return for her help if she is reluctant, the Clan Ostoja will promise to make every effort to find and re-unite her son Gustav with her after the war is over. We will also attempt to use her influence with the local Finns to get the Finnish on our side, and to re-ignite the Cudgel War if possible.
Step 2: Goals
Locate the following and perform these actions:

• Baron Johan de la Gardie of Ekholmen Castle

Inform him that Charles assassinated his mother, poisoning her and weakening her during the birthing process in a string of events that would lead to Charles assuming the throne unopposed. Remind him that Charles fought on the side of the peasants that killed his grandmother Karin Hansdotter and looted her estate, too, and that he imprisoned and had planned to execute Karl Gustavsson, his sister-in-law's husband; not to mention his sister-in-law died suspiciously of "witchcraft". Tell him all these things, and incite him to work with us as needed; however, we do not want him to rebel unless the Duke of Finland does.

• Count Karl Gustavsson of Kalmar and Osel

Tell him essentially the same thing as above; he shouldn't need convincing, he already fought on Sigismund's side once and the King has tried to have him killed within just a few month's timeframe. However, due to his simply geographic location, the clan Ostoja would advise against him rising in open revolt; instead, just have him help us when the time comes.

• Duke John of Finland

Tell him everything that we've told the other two, and then tell him this. Charles has obviously had no problem with killing or removing whoever might have even a hint at a claim to the throne - why would he not do the same to him, the duke of Finland? He, John, was in line for the throne, after all. Charles was supposed to only be his regent. Instead, Charles has usurped the crown without his say-so. This is grounds for war - and his bloody history only serves to re-enforce the emphasis that he will go to any lengths to secure his throne - including killing a 12 year old.
Step 3: Lies and Slander
Begin to regurgitate this same basic message to anyone and everyone who will listen. Obviously, the clan Ostoja themselves will not be there; instead, servents, merchants, freemen, or whoever we can get to spread the word is going to be used. The intent will be to get the Catholic minority of Sweden in open revolt, and with Sweden battling internal issues due to a corrupt, murderous, impatient usurper with no respect for the line of succession, an easy victory will be had for the Commonwealth. Sigismund will appear like a liberator, and the Clan Ostoja will hopefully get a landed duchy instead of an appointed office of voivode.
TL;DR Diplofuckery in Sweden, hopefully causes revolts.

I'm American live in Japan and plan to spend a year in Norway on sabbatical and hope to establish a student exchange relationship between my university and a Norwegian university while I'm there.
My wife and I are studying Norwegian quite hard and just have each other and Internet resources as our study. My wife and I are both language professors and do research in memory as it relates to language learning.
Here is the program we've put together for our study. I'd love to hear comments and about what other people are doing to study Norwegian.
Pimsleur--Good for listening, pronunciation, and speaking. It is difficult to spit the speaking part out in the time that they give, but this seems to be very important. The .mp3s cost $119, so you may want borrow them from a friend if you can.
Traditional Textbook--Grammar, reading, lots of conversations, vocabulary grouped by function. (Complete Norwegian: Teach Yourself Norwegian $16.04 for the Kindle version.). Pimsleur is great for what it does, but we need a broader range of examples of the language and reading. Also, it helps to get more detailed descriptions of the grammar. I started with På Vei, but as a beginner, needed the grammar descriptions.
Bliu Bliu--Awesome extensive reading that records words you know, words you don't know, and words you should be learning next based on what you know. At my level, the "Controversial Jokes" are the easiest to understand. (I was shocked at all the Swede Jokes. I wonder if the Swedes have similar jokes about Norwegians, or if they just pick on the Finns.) Anyway, Bliu Bliu is fantastic. I get a "Huge Daily Dose" every day and use Google translate when I don't understand something because the built-in Google translate on the site only provides one possible meaning of each word and it is often not the right one. I also just started using http://enno.dict.cc/ through the Dict.cc Translator extension for Firefox and it appears to be much better than Google Translate. Bliu Bliu informs me that I know (receptively) over 1500 Norwegian words after a few weeks of (obsessive) use. You can use it free, with limits after a week, or pay for unlimited use. It appears that they'll let you pay less if you ask.
Memrise--We use the Complete Norwegian text alphabetical list of words that goes with the textbook. I wish there was a list organized by chapter, but I can't find one. I don't feel competent enough to make my own list yet.
Texting--My wife and I text each other almost exclusively in Norwegian. I keep translate.google.com open all the time for when I get stuck.
Dictation--I dictate all the conversations from Pimsleur and Complete Norwegian.
Movies--We are not yet good enough for movies to be very effective forms of study, but we've found that with Norwegian subtitles and movies that don't require much brain (Betty og Bettina, Trolljegeren) are fun to watch and we're surprised at how much we actually understand.
I spend at least three to six hours a day working on all this.
I've already made more progress in one month of studying Norwegian than I did in my first two years of studying Japanese and spending an equal amount of time. My wife is moving even faster than I am since she already knows both English and German and the combination of those two seems to give her an amazing advantage.
I think the progress that we're making is motivating us to keep studying hard. (It is almost like magic compared to studying Japanese.)
We plan to keep this up until we've mastered the content in Pimsleur and Complete Norwegian and then look into options for getting speaking practice with a native speaker. Either we'll find someone locally (there's a big university nearby) or possibly try one of the Skype tutors.
We'll also probably move to the second book in the På Vei series.

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"Haha, What a joke. Finns are definitely not "exotic people" in Europe. I guess the Finnish-Swedish historical relationship (after the split) is quite similar to the English-Irish relationship. The English racists depicted the Irish as black Africans or closer related to them, the Swedish racists thought that the Finns were of Asian origin. The Irish and Finns were "uncivilized low classes" in England/USA and Sweden, respectively." "If the Finns aren't "white" due speaking an Uralic language and maybe having ancient and minor "Asian" DNA, then African Americans and not fully Spanish-descended South/Central Americans are white Iberians because of having Spanish or Portuguese ancestry and speaking Indo-European languages. The analogy doesn't really last. But then again, there are lots of Americans who think that ethnic Spaniards aren't white but exactly the same as Mexicans. So I guess Finns are not alone about being victims of ignorance." "And Finns aren't the only group where you can cherry pick images of individuals with "Asian-looking" eyes. Even Brits are capable of having it, like Diana Rigg, Chris Rea and Timothy West. No ethnic group is "pure". The Europeans ancestors all came from somewhere in Asia, humans never emerged there."
Here are several pictures of the Finnish athletes. How many of them have dark skin, dark hair or asian look ? They all are national teams athletes and represent Finnish from all around the Finland. Researchers predict the last truly natural blonde will be born in Finland - the country with the highest proportion of blondes. [link]¹ [link]² [link]³ [link]⁴ [link]⁵ [link]⁶ [link]⁷ [link]⁸ [link]⁹ [link]¹⁰ [link]¹¹ [link]¹² [link]¹³
"Although the Finnish gene pool is mainly European, it also harbors distinct eastern elements. Estimates of the relative contributions of these sources to the nuclear gene pool have been 75% European and 25% non-European (Nevanlinna 1984) or 90% European and 10% Uralic (Guglielmino et al.1990)." "Finns appear to be genetically closest to Swedes, Estonians, Germans, and Poles, among others (Seldin et al. 2006, Bauchet et al. 2007, Lao et al. 2008, Novembre et al. 2008, McEvoy et al. 2009, Nelis et al. 2009)." Here are some direct speech from doctoral thesis : "Genetic structure in Finland and Sweden : aspects of population history and gene mapping" ; "The genetic structure of populations is a potential source of population history information and an important factor in gene mapping studies. The main aim of this thesis was to study the population structure in Finland and Sweden using, for the first time, genome-wide data from thousands of single nucleotide polymorphism (SNP) markers. Furthermore, this thesis introduced a novel gene mapping approach, subpopulation difference scanning (SDS), and tested its theoretical applicability in the Finnish population. " "The study subjects included 280 Finnish and 1525 Swedish individuals, and genotypes from Russian, German, British and other populations served as reference data. The results revealed that the Finns differed clearly from central Europeans. Within Finland, the genetic difference between eastern and western Finns was striking. The Finns, particularly eastern Finns, also showed reduced genetic diversity as well as an increased genetic affinity to East Asian reference populations. In Sweden, the overall population structure seemed clinal and lacked strong borders. The population in southern Sweden was relatively homogeneous and genetically close to the Germans and British, while the northern subpopulations differed from the south and also from each other. Overall, these results are congruent with earlier observations from smaller numbers of markers and with population history, particularly the small population sizes that have led to genetic drift. "Although the Finnish gene pool is mainly European, it also harbors distinct eastern elements. Estimates of the relative contributions of these sources to the nuclear gene pool have been 75% European and 25% non-European (Nevanlinna 1984) or 90% European and 10% Uralic (Guglielmino et al.1990)." Finns appear to be genetically closest to Swedes, Estonians, Germans, and Poles, among others (Seldin et al. 2006, Bauchet et al. 2007, Lao et al. 2008, Novembre et al. 2008, McEvoy et al. 2009, Nelis et al. 2009). " Link to 136 pages doctoral thesis : Genetic structure in Finland and Sweden : aspects of population history and gene mapping. [link]¹⁴
Finland is the country with the highest proportion of blondes; "According to this map – and if you really believe that blondes have less brains –a nasty fall like that is more likely to happen in the central parts of Norway, Sweden and Finland, where at least 80% of the population is fair-haired, the highest figure in all of Europe." Frequency of fair eyes in Europe; [link]¹⁵
The last natural blondes will die out within 200 years, scientists believe. Jonathan Rees, professor of dermatology at the University of Edinburgh tells that Researchers predict the last truly natural blonde will be born in Finland - the country with the highest proportion of blondes. [link]¹⁶
Naturally also Sami people how are living in northern parts of Norway, Sweden, Finland and the Kola Peninsula are related to all the Nordic countries in some way. [link]¹⁷
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Context Link
Go1dfish undelete link
unreddit undelete link
Author: Finnhare
1: http://i.imgur.com/nnkB7u4.jpg 2: http://i.imgur.com/AyUd6gC.jpg 3: http://i.imgur.com/KqATJFa.jpg 4: http://i.imgur.com/MimqfeK.jpg 5: http://i.imgur.com/GSTQaCu.jpg 6: http://i.imgur.com/DsW68WN.jpg 7: http://i.imgur.com/Ij3re8D.jpg 8: http://i.imgur.com/HqRNFnK.jpg 9: http://i.imgur.com/jwiPu32.jpg 10: http://i.imgur.com/sdpSnNp.jpg 11: http://i.imgur.com/sHgp1aq.jpg 12: http://i.imgur.com/bMHStLf.jpg 13: http://i.imgur.com/uwUZi4N.jpg 14: h*l*a.*elsin*i.fi/ha*d*e*1*1*8/36772 15: ww*.***edia.*om/europe/*en*tic_m*ps_of_***ope*s*tml 16: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/2284783.stm 17: *ww.unr*c**rg/e**ind*g*nous*people/2730*-the-s***-*f-norther*-e*r*p**-*n*-p**ple-four-coun*ries
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