There are only three types of Danish girls that I’ve noticed: the perma-student, the older woman, and the mom.

You know those people that have been students for what seems like forever, always working on a master’s or PhD? That’s your first category, the perma-student. Since the government pays for education, a Danish person would be stupid not to achieve the highest level possible, especially since in Denmark there is a strong correlation between years of education and income.

It will be rare to meet a girl under 26 who has a full-time job and is not in school at least part time. It’s great that she’s investing in her future, but the problem for you is that liberal universities destroy a woman’s femininity. The more years she spends in them, the less likely she will be able to please you, physically and emotionally.

Since Danish girls spend much more time in universities than American girls, I’m sad to conclude that American girls are more feminine than Danish girls. Yes, it’s true, I’ve found a species that is even more masculine than American women. After accounting for the fact that Danish girls aren’t as slutty as American or Icelandic girls, I hope you’re beginning to see that we have a real problem on our hands.

An annoying feature of the perma-student is that she has a chip on her shoulder. Even though she hasn’t worked a hard day in her life and has had her hand held by the government every step of the way, she thinks her education has given her everything she needs to know about the world, including your own country. She thinks that her time in school is a superior substitute for real-life experience.

I had cases where, in the process of obtaining sex from a Danish girl, she said some outrageous shit that offended my sensibilities so greatly that I had to terminate the interaction by telling her what a retard she was. It’s a bad sign when an American has to tell someone of another country they’re being arrogant, since we’re generally the most arrogant assholes on Earth.

The second type of Danish “girl” is the older woman, starting at 30 years of age. She’s finally done with school and ready to settle down, but is finding it harder to get guys since she has zero femininity units left (she used them all up during the decade she spent in college). The main problem is that her looks have faded and she never lost the freshman twenty. She’s reduced to trolling Internet dating sites with high contrast photos that hide what the unmerciful hands of time have done to her face.

While I don’t like older women, in Denmark they were great for breaking slumps since getting them into bed was easier and more straightforward with less flakiness. This type of girl is easiest to fuck, but you’ll regret it in the morning. I know I did.

The final type of Danish girl is the mom. While she can be young, I usually saw them in their late twenties. Motherhood has reignited her femininity and she will probably be more pleasing than her motherless counterparts. You will find the occasional MILF, but expect to see some serious degradation to her face.

You’re most likely going to encounter the perma-student during your stay, especially if you head to popular bars and clubs for gaming at night. I find that younger girls who are around 21 will be the most enjoyable to talk to because they aren’t as outspoken. The sweetest and kindest girls I talked to were all young.

The worst girls are around twenty-five, an age when they think they know everything. They will be the first to call you out on your game or to give you shit. By the second week in Copenhagen I got into four heated arguments with Danish girls after two months in Iceland without having one. For you, the most pleasant interactions will come from the youngest Danish girls you can find. Troll the high school if you have to.

—

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

Since she’s unable to flirt, a Danish girl doesn’t know how to show interest, and thinks that doing so would be showing weakness. She won’t go out of her way to make you feel like a man. She’s just… there, wasting space in a bar that could be better used by the cute foreign hookers mingling right outside.

Speaking of hookers, I’m not exaggerating when I say they are more charming than Danish girls. They consistently made me smile. On lonely walks home when they approached me for my money, they said things ten times funnier than anything I heard from a Danish girl.

If you’re stuck in Copenhagen and want something that reminds you of what a woman should be, your best bet is to find a foreign girl who has been in Denmark for less than one year. Otherwise you’ll get yourself a corrupted specimen of a woman that will make you less happy than your run-of-the-mill American girl who insists on wearing flip-flops twenty-four hours a day. It’s that bad.

Even the Danish girls who have somehow escaped the corrupting influence of the androgynous culture (she’ll probably be from Jutland) will have some random masculine quality that fucks everything up. She’ll look good from across the bar, maybe even slightly sexy, but when you interact with her you’ll discover that she has a deep voice. Or she has man hands. Or she moves like a man. Or she has a slight mustache. Or she is arrogant like a man. I’ve met girls in Denmark who were more masculine than me, and I’m the hairiest, horniest motherfucker I know. I’m barely exaggerating when I say that mimicking Danish women has taught me how me to be a stronger man.

Initially a Danish girl will be somewhat reserved, but it takes no more than fifteen minutes for her true outspoken nature to shine. Since a Danish girl thinks she’s an expert on everything, be prepared to get educated on matters your feeble brain can’t possibly comprehend. You’re going to hear the wackiest, most liberal opinions you’ve ever heard in your life (e.g., “The state should supply and inject heroin addicts with pure drug in a safe environment that is also provided by the state”). Take the most liberal shit you learned in college and multiply it by fifty to get a feeling for what you’re going to hear in Denmark.

If you don’t want to bang a Danish girl, disagree with her. While this may build attraction with American girls, for Danish girls it completely shuts off the pussy faucet. They want the role of the alpha while you’re left with the role of the dopey beta. Therefore if you want sex you’re best served by simply nodding or asking her more questions so that she talks enough to make your ears bleed. You will hate yourself for doing this.

If you don’t like a girl, just question what she says, tell her she’s wrong, and enjoy the argument. In Denmark, the girl is always right and it’s the guy’s job to validate her stupid beliefs long enough to get her into bed. Again, while in America, nodding along won’t get you laid, in Denmark it will. She wants an obedient little puppy dog, not a challenge who sees her as the idiot she really is.

Danish girls don’t like masculinity, cockiness, or outspoken guys. Because of Jante Law, any attempt on your part to even indirectly show that you’re more experienced, knowledgeable, or smarter than her will terminate the interaction. Even if you’re definitely more experienced than her (she’s likely to only be a student, after all), you must pretend that you’re both equal. I don’t care if you’re ten years older than her and have lived in a dozen locations around the world after succeeding at a million-dollar business built from scratch, but you must treat the stupid opinions of a 23-year-old Danish girl with reverence and respect if you want to get laid. In other words, you have to sell yourself out for pussy.

Yes, I did this. I sold out. I nodded along to a stupid girl’s opinions to get laid. I feel ashamed for doing it, but I got my nut every time and never called any of those girls again. Maybe I did come out on top a little.

A big problem is that just about everything offends a Danish girl, especially if you make casual observations about her culture, whether positive or negative. She doesn’t believe in stereotypes or generalizations at all. She has the belief that everyone is a completely unique snowflake and any attempt to generalize is wrong and offensive. The irony of this is that Danish people are so incredibly homogenous and alike due to Denmark being a strong conformist culture that they’re the easiest people to generalize about. When girls told me not to generalize, and I noticed that they were basically carbon copies of one another, I concluded it was a case of the lady doth protest too much. If you interact with one Danish girl, you might as well have interacted with them all.

The thing that pissed me off the most about Danish women was their hypocrisy. Like I’ve mentioned previously, they will bash anything non-Danish, expecting you to sit there and take it, but the moment you make even a mild criticism about their culture, they’re ready to call the police.

For example, it was common for a Danish girl to joke that Americans like cheeseburgers and French fries. She’s indirectly saying that Americans are fat. I get it, and I don’t care, because Americans are fat and I personally love cheeseburgers and French fries. I would counter her observation with one of my own by saying, “We love hamburgers, but you guys like the kebabs. Those places are everywhere.” Pretty innocuous comment, right? Wrong. The Danish girl gets offended and counters with, “No, Danish food culture is quite varied. You’re not looking hard enough to find other places.” Really, bitch? There would be no less than four kebab shacks within a stone’s throw.

There are so many kebab shacks in Copenhagen that if an alien landed in Denmark he’d conclude that kebabs, shawarmas, and gyros have been Danish cuisine staples for thousands of years. I’d ask Danish people what their typical cuisine is and they’d give me an answer like “thick wheat bread with meat on it.” In other words, sandwiches. Yeah, real indigenous. They’d rather die than admit that a “stupid American” got them pegged.

It’s the girls’ denial of reality (in exchange for an ultra-liberal worldview) that made it least enjoyable to spend time with them. They use conversation as a way to display the superiority of their beliefs, not hesitating for a second to immediately strike down anything you say. While she has a right to do that, the real-world effect is that blood rushes out of your penis. Talking to a Danish girl has the same effect on your dick as going for a dip in a cold swimming pool.

I could bite my lip for a couple hours just to get my dick wet, but the second after I ejaculated I could no longer put up with it. This means that I didn’t get one repeat bang during my entire stay in Denmark, simply because I couldn’t tolerate the girls any longer.

I had to “reset” my tolerability clock by hitting on new pussy, which unfortunately was almost exactly the same as old pussy. I was miserable. I dealt with my predicament by offending as many girls as I could and getting them ensnared in my “you’re a hypocrite” trap. My favorite bit was to say how Danish girls were the least feminine I’ve ever met and how I couldn’t wait to leave such an androgynous country. I got more satisfaction from bitching out Danish girls than actually fucking them, because one made me feel like a man and the other a pathetic sellout.

Sadly, the dynamic of insulting girls instead of banging them was similar to what I had with American girls, though at least the latter liked masculine, outspoken guys. If you’re a sniveling beta male, Denmark could be your heaven since you have the vibe that Danish girls like, but if you respect yourself and have trouble keeping your mouth shut when people are bullshitting you, Denmark will not be pleasant.

—

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

I should have unbridled happiness flowing from my pores, but truth is my life today brings me contentment, not bliss. I’ve gotten used to this lifestyle and see it as normal. Only when I think back ten years do I appreciate how far I’ve come.

I’ve become a man without goals. I don’t need more notches or a higher income. I don’t want a family (right now). I don’t want a smartphone or tablet device. Besides a couple of countries I want to visit in the future, there is nothing else I want. What should I try to achieve next?

I’ve meditated about this problem a lot for the past couple months. My thoughts kept going back to the pussy I had in Poland, where my penis reached the then pinnacle of its existence. I don’t need any more notches, that’s for sure, but I can’t think of anything else that keeps my mind sharper and my masculinity stronger than chasing pink. The day-to-day adventures of pussy chasing keeps me young, vigorous, and fully engaged in life. Being a slave to the pussy has made me a warrior. I’m miles ahead of the sexual pack when compared to my male peers of the world, whose approach to getting laid is based more on luck and hope than concerted effort and strategy.

If pussy is my fountain of youth, it is clear what my new mission in life must be. It was under my nose all along, something I must have known was the answer but could not admit to myself. Here is what I wrote almost a year ago:

Within a country there is a city that has a bar that contains a spot where you will be in disbelief at how easy it is to consistently get quality women, regardless of how many flaws you think you have. On this 3 foot by 3 foot patch of space you’re an unstoppable rebel force, though for the guy standing next to you the patch does absolutely nothing because it’s not his patch. It is your duty as a man to find out where that little patch of Earth is and reap the rewards that it contains.

Ironically enough, I titled the post “Your Duty As A Man.” At the time my duty was slightly different, just to travel through Europe and fuck around, not to find this magical patch, this pussy paradise. I wanted to meander through Europe and accumulate random experiences and flags. Then Poland happened, and that plan no longer made any sense after I realized that a consistent stream of high-quality pussy profoundly affected my immediate happiness in a positive way. The feeling that comes from being unstoppable with the women was like natural heroin. Every night in Poland I’d go to sleep with a little smirk on my face, ready to die in peace, even if I was alone in bed.

It’s finally obvious what I have to do. My mission today is to find a place that exceeds Poland. My goal in life is to find pussy paradise.

I want to be in a place where if I step outside and take a deep breath, pussy will come. I want to walk in a huge club and be the most desirable man who women compete over. I want zero-effort pussy of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever had in my life. Maybe you’re laughing right now that I’m dreaming, that this place doesn’t exist, but I believe it does, and sometimes belief is all it takes.

Before a man searches for pussy paradise, he must understand its transient nature. Nothing stays paradise forever. They’re like once in a millenia tsunamis that occur after a convergence of unlikely factors, never to be seen again in a location for many generations. In two recent countries I visited, Estonia and Latvia, I saw the scattered ruins of the paradise that existed before me. Stories from those who remembered its peak suggested great riches and glory to all those men who visited, but I was too little too late (actually five years too late). With the rapid societal changes that globalization brings, I estimate a 1-3 year window until emergent pussy paradises fade, with the only thing left for late arrivals is the smell of faint pussy juice in the air.

When you stay on the road you start to develop a sixth sense for where pussy paradise may be. You look at a city name that you’ve never seen and have a feeling that this could be it. Then you dedicate a lot of time and resources to investigate further, only to be likely disappointed. In my hand I hold yet another losing lottery ticket, but the jackpot continues to grow and I still believe in my numbers. I will find pussy paradise, no matter how long it takes me.

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

You’d think they’d be thinner with all that bicycling they do, but they overcompensate with frequent late-night kebab meals and an all-around fatty diet. Just like in America, it’s not proper to shame fatties into not being so fat, so Danish people are more likely to attribute someone’s disgusting obesity to a glandular problem than from constantly stuffing their pie hole.

I’m still in disbelief that the women of a country can be so ugly. Copenhagen is one of the few large cities I’ve been in the world where I can go several days without seeing an approachable chick. This was also the case in Bolivia, a place where my dick simply powered down due to lack of arousal.

While you’ll still spot cute chicks in the city (somewhere), the average Danish girl is both undatable and unfuckable. You won’t be wowed by the women and you won’t be changing your travel plans to stay longer. The few girls that are decent looking know they’re relatively beautiful and have large flocks of guys surrounding them. The worst part of this is that Danish guys are actually much better looking than the girls. The result is a surplus of good-looking dudes and a limited supply of hot girls. That means that guys are forced to date down.

It was routine to see decent-looking Danish guys with busted Danish girls, but never the other way around. If I saw a hot Danish girl with a man, he’d always be very good-looking. Unlike girls in Brazil or Poland, there’s no reason for a Danish girl to date down because the sexual market is heavily skewed in her favor. Denmark is one of those places like Washington DC where you have to work like a fucking mule to get a 6. The same amount of work in Brazil or Poland would get you an 8.

One feature of the Danish girl that bothered me the most was her masculine walking style. She keeps her arms still while hunching her shoulders over like a wild boar, as if she wants to barrel into something. Sometimes she tilts her head down to add to the masculine effect. I don’t know where they learned how to walk, but I can assure you it’s not feminine. Denmark is the only place where I got out of the way on the sidewalk if a thick girl was approaching, for fear that I might be injured in a possible collision.

Their tits are of respectable size, but their asses are pancakes, not helped by their love of jeans so baggy that they often have to pull them up. If you’re an ass man like myself, you’ll be in tears by your second night in Denmark. The fine asses you do end up seeing will probably be owned by a non-Danish girl.

The hottest girls are usually mixed breed daughters of Middle Eastern immigrants. If she’s good-looking and has a bit of olive in her, you can bet that she’s Danish in culture only. While most foreign girls in Denmark live a normal middle class lifestyle, many are prostitutes shipped in from Africa or Eastern Europe. They walk the streets at night in Copenhagen’s Vesterbro neighborhood, where prostitution laws aren’t enforced. In Denmark they tend to punish the johns instead of the whores, since the girl is an “unfortunate victim of her environment.”

In every country I’ve been to, prostitutes are bottom of the barrel. They’re almost always ugly, filthy whores who would have to pay me to have sex with them. While for the most part this is true in Copenhagen, there were a shocking number of streetwalkers that blew away the Danish women. The hottest girl I saw in my first five days was a sexy Middle Eastern prostitute who walked like a normal woman. I couldn’t believe that such an attractive girl had to sell her body. How did she arrive at that predicament? Why couldn’t she get a sugar daddy? How much did she charge, anyway?

Later, when I moved into my apartment, a Russian prostitute working in front was usually hotter than all the girls I’d see during a night out. Believe me when I say I was tempted. It seems that in Denmark the hottest girl a guy can get is a prostitute, while in the States the prostitutes serve mostly to provide orgasms. When streetwalkers are hotter than the local women, something is very wrong.

Even the style of Danish women is atrocious. They dress frumpy and dumpy, as if they just checked out of a homeless shelter. For some reason, these girls are big fans of dirty black military-style boots, turd-green or brown jackets (sometimes with a German flag on it), loose clothing, baggy jeans or MC Hammer parachute pants, and mismatched scarves or grandma shawls. Their favorite color is brown, since anything feminine like pink is sexist and breaks Jante Law. They step up their style game at night, but during the day they look like absolute hell. There seems to be a competition on how plain and unattractive they can make themselves.

For an idea of what I’m talking about, check out the blog Hel Looks, a site where some guy takes street photos of people in Helsinki, the capital of Finland. Though the country is different, people dress the same.

On the site you’ll notice odd hair styles that are similar to Denmark, as well. Many Danish girls go to a salon and say, “Shave the sides, but leave a bit in the middle.” I would estimate that 10-15% of girls have some part of her head shaved, usually only one side. If they elected not to shave it, they sometimes slick it back like in the Robert Palmer music video “Addicted To Love.” But even the girls in that video, who were designed to look like emotionless sexbots, are fifty times more bangable than your typical Danish girl.

I have painted a picture of ugly-faced women with thick bodies, flat asses, short (or no) hair, military styling, and a walk that makes you want to get out of the way. In summary, Danish girls would make fine soldiers. Even though Denmark is not a militant nation, if World War III breaks out, the government can call upon these female Scandinavian warriors to fight for their country. Since they’re not busy looking like real women, they’ll find adapting to life in the army most agreeable. If you like rough and tumble army chicks who can possibly open a beer bottle using their hands (and not look sexy doing it), Denmark is the place for you.

—

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

It’s taboo to show off, brag, or even indirectly show your value. You can’t talk about how much you enjoy your job, how you bought an awesome brand new anything, or how generally happy you are with life—anything that might show how you may be better than your audience. When you disagree with someone, you have to be very gentle about criticizing them because otherwise you would imply that you’re smarter. You can never say “you’re wrong” to anyone. Most Danes avoid possible arguments by simply not bringing up their contrary opinions.

Here are the ten rules of Jante Law:

1. Don’t think you’re anything special.
2. Don’t think you’re as good as us.
3. Don’t think you’re smarter than us.
4. Don’t convince yourself that you’re better than us.
5. Don’t think you know more than us.
6. Don’t think you are more important than us.
7. Don’t think you are good at anything.
8. Don’t laugh at us.
9. Don’t think anyone cares about you.
10. Don’t think you can teach us anything.

Take a minute to think about the resulting personalities of people who believe in these rules. Combine it with Danes not being risk takers. Can you imagine the type of conversations that result?

Painfully boring conversations.

Everyone is scared of generalizing or giving strong opinions. Risky topics are avoided. Showing knowledge or experience must be done in a light-handed way. All your accomplishments, no matter how small, must be minimized to make them a result of luck instead of hard work or innate talent. You can’t judge those who are less fortunate than you by calling them lazy or stupid. You’re immediately punished for showing any real spark or emotion. You must hide your individuality and conform to what society expects of you.

The Danish egalitarian system and Jante Law feed on each other to form what is one of the most liberal, feminist-friendly societies in the world. Therefore, when it comes to getting laid, your American attitude and belief system will cockblock the fuck out of you before you even open your mouth. Since basically the entire point of game is showing you’re better than the next guy, something that Jante Law specifically forbids, it’s no surprise to find that game efforts will not be well received in Denmark, especially if you consider yourself an alpha male. It was amusing how often and how quickly I’d offend every Danish girl without even trying.

In the States you may have heard someone say, “If the police want to get you, they will. There are so many laws on the books that you’re always breaking one at any point.” I feel the same way with Jante Law. As an American, you’re breaking every facet of Jante Law just by being American. Your confident body language alone is breaking tenets one and four. Understand that Danish culture will cockblock you on your every approach.

Even minor game techniques go over poorly in Denmark. For example, let’s take a look at this statement: “When I was in Colombia for six months, I studied Spanish. I got good at it, but now I suck again.” A pretty innocent way to show value to a girl, right? Not in Denmark. I’m implying that I’m more well-traveled than her and also more knowledgeable in the realm of language. I’m breaking Jante Law. The girl will punish me by withdrawing from the conversation.

You’re probably thinking that this is absurd. That’s because you’re from a country like America, England, Australia, or Canada, where that type of statement will be rewarded with female interest. The conversation you’re supposed to have in Denmark should be void of these types of “value drops” while at the same time not teasing her at all, since teasing implies that you’re better than her. Consider that even wearing a tight t-shirt that shows off your muscles comes close to breaking Jante Law because you’re bragging that you’re stronger than someone else. In Denmark, individuality must be destroyed for the greater good. You’re not an individual, just a worthless slug that is just like all the other slugs.

While the Danish government has made human rights more egalitarian, Jante Law has made sex more egalitarian. Instead of a few guys fucking all the women like in the States (while the sexual losers stay home and play World of Warcraft), you have more Danish guys getting laid, though with fewer partners. In other words, the alpha male is neutralized in Denmark. He’s not rewarded with more sex for his alphaness because alphaness breaks Jante Law.

If you were in a country where game didn’t really matter and everyone downplayed their attractiveness by looking like they had just come out of a thrift store, which man would fuck the most women? Answer: the one with the best social circle.

My biggest complaint about Jante Law is that there is a double standard in how it’s applied. I’ve already remarked how Denmark is a highly feminist country. It’s a place where women think they’re equal or superior to men, eager to castrate them for displays of alpha masculinity. So can you take a guess as to which gender will be hypocrites when it comes to the law’s application?

Danish women are the most hypocritical breed of female I have ever encountered. Let me give you an example. In conversations, I would make a comment about how Danish women aren’t feminine or that the state shouldn’t be so eager to take care of drug addicts who have no interest in quitting. I was then scolded for having “expectations” of how people should or shouldn’t act and that I was attributing a person’s faults to his nature instead of his environment. Fair enough—that was their argument and I can respect another person’s opinion.

Then five minutes later, I’d say I was going to Poland. The Danish girl would frown and say, “Why Poland? The people there are ugly. Polish girls are dirty prostitutes.” Really? You just got on me for generalizing, but now you’re doing it five times worse. This happened to me at least a couple of times each week.

You’re not allowed to criticize Denmark or their way of life, since you’re just a stupid, possibly fat American, but she can criticize anything she wants while shitting on your opinion at the same time. This angered me to no end, and the fact that Danish women ended up being so wrong about Polish women suggests they hold some jealousy towards them.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Jante Law has two real purposes. The first is to hold men down. It serves to cherish women and their opinions and hypocrisy while preventing you from “fighting” back. A girl can break Jante Law but you can’t, and if you do, you’ll be banished from the tribe. This is a classic case of women demanding equality but then perpetuating inequality to further their cause at the expense of men’s.

The second feature of Jante Law is to keep your neighbor down. If there is no benefit for your neighbor to show off his unique character, experience, or wealth, that means he’ll be more ashamed about doing better in life than you. Jante Law is like an anti-bragging behavioral modification drug meant to make people who aren’t as skilled or successful as you feel better about themselves.

What Jante Law ultimately does is protect the egos of women and the unambitious who constantly feel the need to compare their lot with everyone else’s. While I approve of the benefits the government gives to all its citizens, Jante Law is something I can’t live with. Unfortunately, we have to accept that they go hand-in-hand, that we can’t fulfill basic human rights for all without viewing everyone as equal. That’s fine for most people, but I’ve spent way too much time happily surviving in the jungle to pack my bags and move into the zoo.

—

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

The Danish welfare state is admirable: every citizen receives fully covered cradle-to-grave services. A Danish person has no idea what it feels like to not have medical care or free access to university education. They have no fear of becoming homeless or permanently jobless. The government’s soothing hand will catch everyone as they fall. To an American like myself, brainwashed to believe that you need to earn things like basic health care or education by working your ass off, it was quite a shock.

The biggest surprise was that the Danish government pays people to attend university for both undergraduate and graduate degrees. In addition to having health care costs covered and access to cheap rent, all students receive at least a $1,000 a month stipend to attend class. Along with part-time jobs that pay high wages, the average Danish twenty-something lives a pretty comfortable life getting educated to eventually follow a straightforward career path in a country where nearly full employment seems to be the rule.

Even if you don’t get a job, the government will pay you each month until you do. Do you feel like taking a little hiatus to a foreign country? As long as you can show you’re taking part-time classes, the government will keep the cash flowing. For a lower-class American, becoming a Danish citizen is almost like winning the lottery.

How is Denmark able to afford this? Two ways: they spend a third less of their GDP on the military than we do, and they tax the hell out of their citizens. Tax rates start at 40% and tilt above 50% for the top classes. My effective tax rate last year as an American resident was 20%, so the question I’ve asked myself is if I’d want to double my tax for not having to worry about being homeless or getting a serious disease. I’m leaning towards no, since of course one day I’m going to be a billionaire like every other American and don’t want half of it taken away. I would actually save money by being taxed at 20% and getting private health insurance, but then again I’m middle-class and can afford it. America is great if you have money, but Denmark is great for everyone.

What surprised me most about Denmark is their healthy job market. It’s almost guaranteed that a job will await every Dane after graduation, and I’m not talking about crappy jobs at McDonald’s or Walmart, but well-paying career positions. After taxes and the exorbitant high prices for basic goods, Danish people still live comfortably. No one is starving and you’ll have to look hard to find homeless people.

It’s no accident that the American media isn’t eager to discuss the many citizen benefits that countries like Denmark have. They are quick to do profiles on poor countries in the third-world, but they rarely write about the extensive services Scandinavian countries provide for all of their citizens, regardless of race or class. When they do talk about these countries, it’s usually about how budget cuts are looming for their “ailing” social models, as if the average American citizen is doing far better.

Unfortunately, there is a cost to providing your citizens everything they possibly need: you make them averse to taking risks. Why bother when you got it made in the shade? There is little incentive for entrepreneurship and striking it rich, even though the Ease of Doing Business Index ranks Denmark as number six, only one behind America. Danes would rather work for the man and do the minimum required of them to coast through the system than take a gamble. Being aggressive and taking risks may cost them some serious benefits, so they do what they need to in order to maintain a decent middle-class existence. While I don’t blame them, this mildly offends the entrepreneurial spirit within my American core.

The Government’s Role As Mother And Father

Thanks to its extensive services, the Danish government has replaced parents as the primary caregiver. The Danes decided that there was too much inequality in the system with the rich having access to all the benefits, so they constructed an egalitarian society. The government’s utopian visionaries told parents, “You don’t have to do anything but love your children. We’ll take care of the rest. Oh, and when you get old, we’ll take care of you, too.”

Since family is pushed out of the picture, one consequence is that Danish people very seldom talk about their families. I never saw a 20- or 30-something Danish adult with an elderly person, whereas in Poland I saw it a dozen times a day. The old people are pushed aside to be taken care of by the system, not by the kids, the opposite of what I saw in South America where the elders are cherished, often living in the same household as the younger generations. I’d bet that the average Danish person interacts with the government more than with their parents.

Another consequence of the Danish system is that women no longer need men. For hundreds of thousands of years, women have sought to marry powerful men with strong financial means in order to live a comfortable life (or to merely survive), but in Denmark this is not at all necessary. Danish women don’t need to find a man, because the government will take care of her and her cats, whether she is successful at dating or not. Her quality of life won’t be negatively affected if she happens to remain single until death, whereupon her cats will inherit her possessions according to Danish law.

Since a Danish woman is in no rush to find someone, she wants to hold out for her top choice instead of having to “settle” for any particular man while she’s still in her physical prime. The result is that Danish women like to sample men and play the field, thinking they have all the time in the world. They’re also less willing to change their behavior by adopting a pleasing figure or style that’s more likely to attract men. It’s no surprise that there’s a flood of sloppy 30-something women on dating sites, making Denmark one of the most popular countries where the Internet is used to find a mate.

In spite of the negatives, I think the Danish economic and welfare system is superior to the American system for one simple reason: it’s fair. They have achieved a near utopia of human equality, where everyone can educate themselves and seek employment without fear of possible bankruptcy from illness. Even the mentally decrepit and drug addicted are treated like human beings, meaning that everyone has an opportunity to rise up above their station. In the United States we have a bad habit of kicking people when they’re down. Watching people fall, especially the famous, is almost a national sport, but in Denmark, they put out a strong hand to help you back onto your feet.

I liken the United States to a jungle where everyone must fend for themselves. A lot of people don’t make it, but the ones that do can roam the land freely and suck on its glorious fruit. On the other hand, Denmark is like a pleasant zoo with scheduled feeding times and twenty-four-hour veterinarian care. While I’d prefer the American system if I was on top of the food chain, the average human being would be better served by the Danish system.

—

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

The Newbie Trip (Argentina)

Itinerary: 7 days in Buenos Aires and 7 days in Cordoba

Why You Should Go: The country is relatively safe and has lots of sights, making it a great place to break your South American cherry. Most importantly, it has women that will wow you, especially if you’re coming from fat America. Tourist infrastructure is well-developed and easy to use, though beginner Spanish will make your trip more enjoyable.

Why You Shouldn’t Go: There’s a high chance you won’t get laid.

Buenos Aires

The Easy Grenades & Old Rocks Trip (Peru)

Itinerary: 7 days in Lima and 7 days in Cuzco, the launching point for Machu Picchu

Why You Should Go: It’s cheap as hell, the archaeological sites will keep you busy, and Peruvian women think the white man is god, making it an ideal trip for game beginners to get their feet wet with flagging (as long as they’re not too picky).

Why You Shouldn’t Go: Women are generally ugly and you’ll probably get a foodborne illness.

Machu Picchu

Fun In The Sun Trip (Brazil)

Itinerary: 7 days in Rio de Janeiro and 7 days in Florianopolis

Why You Should Go: Assuming you visit during our winter (December-March), you’ll enjoy nice beaches while trying to bang sexy women. Brazilian culture is by far the most exciting and colorful in South America.

Why You Shouldn’t Go: It’s expensive and the women are becoming increasingly snobby.

Ipanema

Nonstop Game Trip (Colombia)

Itinerary: 7 days in Bogotá and 7 days in Medellin

Why You Should Go: Colombia is made for 24-7 approaching, particularly during the day and on the internet. If you go hard you should be able to pick up a couple notches.

Why You Shouldn’t Go: Girls are flakey and don’t speak much English. Conversational Spanish is somewhat required.

Colombian ass

South America is a huge continent and offers dozens of additional cities that are worth a visit, but I believe the above four itineraries are best for guys who don’t have a whole lot of time for long-term exploration. They’ll give you good experience for future trips within the continent.

For more tips on good travel locations, check out my travel forum.

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

After writing guides for three South American countries, and getting no local reaction besides a few hater comments on my blog, I was expecting more of the same when I released Bang Iceland. Instead, every major Icelandic media outlet reported about the book. Because the coverage was almost universally negative, for one week in November I was the most hated foreigner in Iceland.

Click here to view the timeline of how it all went down.

I received dozens of negative messages that included the occasional threat of being beat up if I choose to return to the island. A few said that I broke a law and would be pursued across Europe (one guy said I committed copyright infringement by using the Icelandic flag on the cover). The coverage jumped the shark when Iceland’s largest feminist organization denounced me via their morbidly obese spokesperson. In a case of “the enemy of my enemy is my friend,” the responses then turned slightly in my favor since apparently a vocal minority of the Icelandic population hate feminists.

I was in Poland when this was happening. I’m not shy of attention, but I began to get nervous and paranoid when the stories started coming in. I felt vulnerable that an entire country was against me, and wondered if they would use their power to crush me in some way (Julian Assange?). I asked my sister for advice and she said to stand up tall and attack them back, but by that time the coverage waned and Icelandic life went back to normal.

The irony of Iceland’s reaction is that it was far more intense than less progressive or liberal countries I’ve written about. It appears that the more fat feminists a country has, the more angry the populace will be when it comes to game teachings that help men how to sleep with women. Have you forgotten the mockery that Neil Strauss and Mystery had to endure when The Game came out in the States six years ago? While cliche PUAs are a sideshow for most, feminist countries particularly don’t like it when you teach anything that helps men get what they want from women.

Last year Colin from the Expat Chronicles was questioned by the Colombian government after his writings exposed some uncomfortable truths in that country. Locals only want you to write about how great their country is, not that the women like fucking foreign men, the country is a shithole, or that government agents are corrupt. In the case of Iceland, they didn’t want me saying that Icelandic girls were sluts. Icelanders, the shyest people I’ve ever met, gathered their courage on internet forums and Facebook to make fun of my appearance, call me a liar, say I was a typical American idiot, and threaten me with bogus laws so I’d “unpublish” the book, all while those instant bangs that I accurately described still went down every Friday and Saturday night in Reykjavik. Iceland calls itself a “global haven for free speech,” but the minute something was published that didn’t suck their dick, they were calling for censorship.

I will be releasing Don’t Bang Denmark in a couple weeks. While I don’t expect a shitshorm like I got from proud little Iceland, I have to accept the possibility that I may not be able to happily return to countries that strongly disagree with my writings. The wave of rage from Iceland has actually followed me into the Baltics, with local sites spreading “warning” calls of my arrival as if I was a dangerous serial killer. Sadly, when it comes to men chasing skirts, Europe’s views are a couple decades behind America.

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

1. Bakkus (Tryggvagata 22). This is the best bar in Iceland to get laid. The main floor has two bars and a large dance floor, while the bottom floor has a small bar and a tighter space for seating. I’d classify it as a rock dive bar, but it regularly plays house music and will feel more like a regular club. The girls aren’t the hottest in Iceland, but they are young and friendly.

What I’d do is arrive on a weekend night around 3:00 a.m. and hang out in the downstairs bar. It doesn’t get a whole lot of traffic, allowing you to save your energy for prime time (last call), but if a girl does come within your radar you can easily start a conversation since it’s quieter than upstairs. If a cute girl is giving you eye contact, definitely don’t be shy about approaching. I don’t want you to get the idea that you shouldn’t approach at all before last call; it’s just not essential to work hard before that time.

Around 4:30, which is a half hour before last call, go upstairs and lean against the main bar while looking out toward the crowd. It’s then you should start to approach. Since so many girls will be drunk off their ass, don’t be offended if she doesn’t respond (it’s not that she’s trying to be a bitch, but she’s having trouble with her sensory perceptions). Pick off isolated girls who were trying to get a drink in the bar, but don’t shy away from pairs since it will be easy to divide them. Try for the occasional triplet, though don’t waste your time on larger groups unless you’re getting serious eye contact.

When the lights come on, continue to approach girls who are meandering out until finally getting kicked out by the bouncer. Continue approaching in front of the bar and then on the streets until no girls can be found.

2. Austur (Austurstraeti 7). This club definitely attracts an older crowd, sometimes women in their thirties, but they’ll be more aggressive in showing their interest as they get just as shitfaced as their younger counterparts. The strange thing here is that there was a big disparity on how I was treated (either the women were awesomely friendly or just plain nasty). The music is top 40 and the drinks are expensive ($9 for a crappy beer). The best spot for chatting up girls is on the right side along the main bar.

3. b5 (Bankastraeti 5) is a compact venue that gets insanely crowded. This is hands down the craziest club I’ve ever been to in my life. Even though everyone is dressed wonderfully, with girls in heels and tight clothing and every guy in some type of suit, they are completely committed to getting blackout drunk.

There is constant pushing and shoving. Drinks get spilled everywhere. People fall on the floor and are unable to get up. Girls dance on the couch and then fall on top of people. Guys are itchy to get into fights. Girls pass out cold while friends try to wake them up by slapping them in the face. Thanks to the incompetent bouncers, it’s basically anarchy inside, and in any other country this spot would be shut down in a week. Now imagine that scene while everyone is dressed like they’re going to a formal function.

The biggest problem with b5 is that it’s extremely hard to pick up in. People tend to come here in mega-large groups so each girl is going to know at least ten people, causing your approaches to be constantly interrupted. Since it’s impossible to have a conversation, unless you like “clubbing” and plan to dance the night away, it won’t be a fruitful spot. If you’re a bar guy like me, you’ll be running for the door within an hour.

Above all other venues, it’s crucial to get to b5 early. The line outside, if you want to call it that, would offend the sensibilities of any bouncer. Line cutting is the rule and people actually rush the bouncers to get in, as if trying to escape from a fire. If you want to go, and I think you should for the experience, get there before 1:00 and then sit back and wait for the mayhem to commence.

4. Bar 11 (Hverfisgata 18). Thanks to their beer-and-shot combo special, young people go here to get seriously trashed, making Bar 11 one of the sloppiest bars in Reykjavik. The main issue is that it’s a bit small so you won’t have a lot of selection. Nonetheless, a lot of hookups go down here.

5. Kaffibarinn (Bergstadastraeti 1). This trendy bar, which is co-owned by the singer of Blur, attracts an older crowd with an average age pushing twenty five. I’ll admit that I wish this was Bakkus. I love the music, the back bar, the “scene,” and what have you, but there are two big problems. First, the girls are snobbier here than anywhere else. This bar attracts the famous musicians, writers, and people from the Icelandic fashion industry and art scene. The front of the bar has a line for commoners who have to face up to thirty-minute waits while “VIPs” are whisked right in. You can still pull here, but it’s more of a “who you know” type of vibe than anywhere else in Reykjavik. The second problem is that sometimes it’s a huge sausage fest, something that’s not a problem elsewhere. Now that I think about it, I really wasted a lot of time here.

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

2. Eat street food every meal so that you can get a food borne illness. Make the assuption that street food in the United States is the same as street food in the Philipines or Ecuador. Full-blown diarrhea, with its accompanying pain, dehydratation, and frequent trips to the bathroom, will tighten your game.

3. Make no effort to learn the local language. Nothing turns on a local girl more than to suspect you’re a sex tourist with your inability to say basic words like “hi” and “thanks.”

4. Take the advice of nerdy travel bloggers who say you should pack as light as possible. Leave all your nice clothes at home. Pack one pair of hiking boots, sweat-proof nylon pants that make a swish-swish sound when you walk, and a couple t-shirts with ironic sayings on them. Foreign girls throw themselves all over guys who are rocking the backpacker style, especially those who wash their clothes in the hostel sink with bar soap.

5. Jump from one ultra-popular tourist city to the next. Your trip should be a roller coaster ride of picture-taking in as many mega-cities as possible, not a slow meander where you learn the best spots in second-tier cities to meet and date local women.

6. Do not pipeline on the internet before your trip. Instead of messaging cute girls you may find on dating sites, Badoo, OkCupid, or Couchsurfing, it’s better to assume that on your first night out you’ll find a bar with dozens of beautiful women who like the beige fisherman hat you bought specifically for the trip.

7. Makes friends with other foreigners who have zero game and just want to get drunk. Going out alone is boring and hard. Instead, you should hang out for several hours in the hostel until everywhere can agree on going to the crappy bar across the street. Sure, you won’t get laid, but you’ll no doubt enjoy the crazy antics of Noah the Australian who threw up in the bathroom.

Follow these seven tips and I promise you that foreign pussy will remain foreign.

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

Notice how in my night game breakdown there is absolutely nothing about going on dates with girls. If you’re moving to Iceland permanently, get as many numbers as you want, but if you’re only there for a short time, asking for phone numbers from girls you meet in the bars or clubs is a dumb move. Unless her boyfriend is right there and she wants to give her number for a late-night rendezvous, your phone’s dial pad shouldn’t be used on weekend nights. In Iceland my cell phone mostly served as a heavy watch.

The lack of dating in Iceland creates a fascinating bang progression. In America, it would take a certain number of digits, kisses, and dates to get one bang. For example, you could get twenty numbers, go out on four dates, kiss two of them, and bang one, building momentum off smaller closes to get the big close—sex. In Iceland, you can go seemingly long periods without anything at all, not even an innocent kiss on the cheek, and then bang—you catch a girl at the right time and she’s down for your afterparty.

The smallness of Iceland does a good job of explaining why there isn’t a dating culture. Consistently running into the same people over and over again encourages men to bide their time and take less immediate risks. For them it’s okay that they didn’t make a move on the pretty girl they’ve been eyeing because odds are he’ll see her again next week, possibly with a mutual friend who can set up an easy social introduction. Even if conversations do go well, why should he ask her out on an expensive and possibly awkward dinner date when he’ll see her again while she’s more liquored up and horny? The guys are passive not because they’re genetically weak (they come from Viking stock for fuck’s sake), but because the environment encourages them with more bangs if they pretty much wait for pussy to fall onto their laps.

2. You’ll run out of girls to approach if you stay too long.

If you’re staying for a while, you’ll feel the smallness in the second month once you start to recognize most of the people in your regular bars. If you plan on moving to Iceland for a long period of time, you’ll eventually run out of girls to approach. In that case, it will be worth reapproaching girls in the hope that they’re hornier the second time around.

Reapproach by saying, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” This is actually the common approach that Icelandic men use, and it works because it will help get a conversation going about who you know and what places you frequent. Even if you’re 100% sure where you’ve seen her before, pretend that you’re only vaguely familiar about how you met. You lose a lot of value by vividly remembering people, because it implies that they impacted you strongly.

3. What you think of as “game” has little effect in Icelandic.

The game that works best in a country is a reflection of that culture. In hyper-competitive America, with a wide gap between the haves and have-nots, the proper game is showing how you’re better than the next guy, either by being funnier, more talented, more famous, more of an asshole, or what have you. In Iceland, a small, egalitarian culture where class differences are minor and everyone treats everyone else the same, the proper game is being a chill, outgoing guy who can provide the best logistics for private sex.

I must stress that in Iceland I didn’t feel like I was using game at all. I definitely didn’t win over any Icelandic girls with complicated routines or techniques like I would with their American counterparts. On one hand, this news should be welcome to guys who have a ways to go before having tight game, but on the other hand, for guys who rely exclusively on game skill, trying to get laid in Iceland can feel like taking a step backwards.

4. Minorities do better in Iceland than in America.

The tricky part of generalizing how well a black man would do in Iceland, for example, is that you don’t see much hooking up in the bars. So while on the surface things seem to be neutral, who knows if they’re actually going to have sex afterward. That said, it wasn’t obvious to me that minorities would have an easier time than myself (girls consider me more Latino-looking than Middle Eastern).

The guys who should do best are Latinos, since their olive complexion is considered sexy. Next up are black guys, who should focus on clubs that play hip-hop music to better target a more open-minded audience. Then we have Asian and Indian guys, who will see less discrimination from Icelandic girls than American girls. I don’t like making generalizations on race because individual variance is so great, but I believe minorities should have it easier in Iceland than in America. White guys should find it easier as well. In fact, Iceland is easier for everyone!

5. Being an America is neither a strength or weakness.

The only time being American really helped was if she happened to love America or had traveled there, something that is becoming increasingly rare due to the weak Icelandic currency. Therefore don’t expect much of a warm welcome, even if you dress or look completely different from the locals. Your bangs are mostly going to result from approaching a horny, drunk girl at the end of the night, not by somehow broadcasting your exotic status by looking cool at the bar.

That’s not to say that you won’t be approached for looking cool at the bar. I was approached more in Iceland than I was in Washington DC, but waiting to get approached isn’t a sound game model if you have a short timeline. Also, the typical girl coming up to you will be chubby with average looks. Depending on your standards, this could be good or bad, but for me the hottest Icelandic girls I fucked were the ones I approached.

6. Icelandic guys have horrible game but great style.

It’s safe to say that Icelandic guys can’t approach. Until I got to Denmark, I’ve never seen such piss-poor all-around game. I’ll give them a pass because the Icelandic environment promotes passivity, a strategy that may actually increase the chance for a permanent male resident to land a girlfriend. While sometimes they do approach while drunk, the only time I saw “normal” approaches was from Icelandic guys who had lived abroad (in places where they had to approach to get laid) or guys who like American culture and have been exposed to game writings on the internet.

Don’t take any advice from an Icelandic guy about women. Either they have no idea what they’re talking about or they’ll fuck with you by giving obviously bad advice (a part of me thinks they don’t like the idea of richer foreigners coming to Iceland to bang their women). If an Icelandic guy is talking a big game to you, ask him to demonstrate. Chances are he’ll pile on the excuses about how he doesn’t think any of the nearby girls are cute or how he has a girlfriend. Unless a dude shows you how it’s done, don’t listen to him because it’s just way too tempting for them to sabotage foreigners.

However, feel free to accept fashion advice from the guys, who dress as if coming out of a GQ photo shoot. I brought some nice clothing to Iceland that would have made me stand out in an American bar, but I looked almost underdressed in Iceland, where guys rocked bow ties, skinny ties, suit jackets, pocket squares, and cardigans. Their dedication to style is especially surprising considering how expensive clothing is, making me conclude that most of an Icelander’s income goes toward booze, clothes, and food—in that order.

7. Icelandic hookup culture is kind of fucked up, and that’s coming from me.

I still can’t get my head wrapped around how strange Icelandic hookup culture is. It’s basically backwards: they have sex first before having an extended conversation that women from almost any other country in the world would require as a prerequisite to sex. While I’m not complaining, it was sadly all downhill after I had sex with an Icelandic girl, because she’d then start with the lame, arrogant feminist shit that I don’t care for. Thankfully all that nonsense came after I already got what I wanted.

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

“What’s that building there?” she asked, in a thick accent that made it clear she wasn’t Icelandic. She pointed to a large glass structure that was being constructed. I had asked myself the same question two weeks before, curious enough to research the answer on the internet.

“It’s the new theater house,” I said. “They’ll hold plays and shows there. Are you a tourist?”

“Yes. I’m here for two weeks.”

“Your accent is different… it sounds Russian.”

“Yes, how did you know?”

I nodded. “Where I come from, there are a lot of Russians. Their accent is easy to spot.”

It was her first day in Reykjavik and she was eager to learn about the city. It was only a couple days after I had fucked the Icelandic girl from the street, so I couldn’t believe I might get my Russian flag in the exact same way.

I said, “I’m actually about to walk by the center square on my way home. If you want, I can show you a couple of spots.” She was eager, so we started walking.

The first place I showed her was my day hangout. “This is the bookstore I spend a lot of time in. I like it because they close late at ten o’clock. A lot of the other coffee shops close much earlier.” We walked inside and went into the café, where we talked for almost an hour about Iceland, Russia, and America; a cultural conversation that comes easy with other foreigners. Her English was good, but she had to talk slowly, and I slowed down so she’d understand me.

I got a better picture of her body once she took off her coat. She was extremely thin, making her seem taller than her 5’10″ height, with light brown hair that came all the way down to her stomach. Her cheekbones gave a slightly hollow look to her eyes. I had trouble identifying any obvious physical flaws. She was generic and void of anything unique, but pretty close to perfection. She had the ideal proportions to be a runway model, and with the right makeup and clothing I knew she would blow away most girls.

After some time chatting, I wasn’t convinced she was genuinely interested in me. Even though she had approached me, the interaction had almost a professional feel to it. Did she just want to practice her English? Was she trying to tap my head for information on Iceland? We exchanged email addresses after I told her of a bar I was going to the next night.

She didn’t show up at the bar, emailing me to say she couldn’t find it. I invited her to a small rock concert a couple days after that, but she didn’t even reply. I was going to give up on her forever, since I never reinitiate contact with a girl who doesn’t reply to one of my messages, but I still had a long way to go before understanding Russian women. For research purposes I decided to probe the situation and see if she’d react the same way that an American woman would (with radio silence).

I sent her an email that said: “Did you leave Iceland already?” Of course I knew she hadn’t.

She wrote back quickly, asking if I wanted to go for a walk, apologizing that she hadn’t replied previously due to internet trouble. The plan was to meet in the same bookstore at eight on Friday night.

By that time I had been in Iceland for three weeks. After I got my flag, I became temporarily disinterested in Icelandic girls because their personalities were so cold. While they look marginally better than American girls, have silkier hair, and aren’t as fat, it felt like I’d been talking to rocks. It was hard to draw them out in any sort of fun conversation since they didn’t socially respond the way women in other countries would. They didn’t seem to be curious about other cultures or other people and they had nothing remotely interesting or funny to say. I was ready to conclude that their specialty is getting trashed, acting silly on the dance floor, and fucking.

The consequence of dealing with socially withdrawn people is that you become socially withdrawn yourself. It got so bad for me that I’d go for two or three-day stretches without even having a conversation with another human being. I’d talk to myself out loud at home, just to hear the sound of my voice. Combined with the five hours of weak sunlight a day, I felt like I was in a social isolation chamber. I started to get nervous that Iceland was infecting me with some type of antisocial virus, and that I was losing my bubbly nature.

The Russian girl showed up a half-hour late. She wore knee-high boots, a short skirt paired with black leggings, and a leather jacket over a black shirt. We sat at a table and talked about ourselves.

“So what do you do?” I asked.

“I’m a model.”

“Interesting. How long have you been doing that?”

“Four years, since I was fifteen. I’m considered an old model now and probably won’t do it much longer. These days they recruit girls starting at twelve.”

“That’s weird—a girl that young doesn’t look like a woman.”

“Well, with makeup and clothing they make them look much older. I look completely different when I’m on a job.”

I became curious about seeing photos of her glammed up, later making a strong effort to add her as a Facebook friend.

“So what are you going to do afterwards?” I asked.

“I’m in school now and currently teach runway walking to girls. In Russia, you have to work very hard to get anywhere, so I’m trying to secure a good future. There’s no time to hang out just to hang out. When I spend time with someone, there has to be some sort of exchange.”

That confirmed something I’d heard from guys who had dated Russian women: “They are always playing some sort of angle.” I didn’t know what she wanted to get from me, but I was hoping for it to be cock.

A café was holding a little concert featuring a Brazilian singer from Rio. I wanted to stop by and see if there was a Brazilian community in Reykjavik I could snake my way into. The Russian agreed to come.

“Maybe we can go to a bar after the concert,” I said. “I know a couple nearby.”

“I don’t drink,” she said.

“Really? But… you’re Russian.”

“Are you saying all Russian people are drunks?” She wasn’t smiling.

I wanted to say yes, but I could sense it was a touchy subject. Maybe her father was an alcoholic and had beaten her mother when she was a little girl.

“No, but the Russians in Washington DC are hard partiers. You’re honestly the first Russian person I’ve met who doesn’t drink. That’s like meeting an American who doesn’t like cheeseburgers and french fries.” I smiled.

“I can drink Coca-Cola, juice, water, and hot chocolate.” At that moment I noticed her necklace. It had a pendant of the Virgin Mary. My hope of sex was fading.

We killed some time in the bookstore before the start of the concert, talking a lot about her life in Russia. For being only 19 years old, she had a lot of interesting opinions on the things she had experienced, offering them at will without me having to drag it out of her. She asked follow-up questions to my own opinions and even had a sense of humor that kept me laughing, something most girls I meet are incapable of doing. The funniest thing she told me was, “Reykjavik feels like the Russian countryside instead of a capital city. I’m expecting a cow to walk by any second now.”

The more laughs and stories we exchanged, the more I felt my social nature coming back. Even though I hadn’t been in Iceland long, I had almost forgotten how rewarding human interactions can be. I was a little upset to know that my new friend was leaving in only two days.

I was more upset that she wasn’t a drinker. I’ve only fucked one other girl who was a non-drinker in my life. That girl wasn’t hard to get into the sack, but it did take longer than normal. I gave myself a 10% chance of fucking the Russian, a low number, but enough for me to pursue matters.

In heavy snow we walked to the concert venue. The Brazilian singer performed and almost brought a tear to my eye, not because I could understand what she was saying (though I’m sure it was about love and heartbreak), but because I knew I could have been in Brazil instead, spending less money to be with wonderful women who were sexy, feminine, and eager to please me.

After the show, the singer came up to me and the Russian. “Thank you for coming,” she said, greeting me with a double cheek kiss. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from America, though I lived in Rio for a while. That’s why I wanted to come tonight. Do you live here now?”

“Yes. I’m trying to move permanently to Iceland. I came with my daughter and we have a nice life here.”

Is she fucking crazy? Exchanging Rio for this? Then again, she was in her 40s, and forty years of anything wonderful will make it stop being wonderful. I also couldn’t discount the fact that Brazilians really like blue-eyed white people.

The singer engaged the Russian girl by asking questions and patiently waiting for her labored responses. She spent only three minutes talking to us, but the interaction was so pleasant that afterwards I was glowing. In one day the Russian girl and Brazilian singer had made me feel more human than any Icelander had. It was that night that I knew I’d never return to Iceland.

When it was time to leave the café, I looked at the Russian girl and said, “My socks are wet from snow getting into my shoes. Do you mind if we stop by my apartment one block away so I can change them?” She didn’t mind. My plan was to make my move once there.

I walked in, but she stayed outside in the freezing cold, waiting for me to change my socks. I gave her an “Are you serious?” look. She reluctantly came inside, but not any farther than the door mat.

“Are you going to change your socks?” she asked after I had opened my laptop.

“Are you in a rush? I mean, what do you want to do now?”

“Well, I have an excursion tomorrow morning, so I should be getting home.”

“You sure you don’t want to hang out more?”

“No. I should go.”

“Well, then, I guess I don’t need to change my socks after all. Let me walk you to the street corner and point you in the right direction.”

I wasn’t upset or bitter about her decision, since I had seen it coming a mile away. She gave me a nice hug at the intersection but lingered afterwards as if she wanted to keep chatting.

I said, “You seem like you want to hang out some more. Do you want to go to a bar? We don’t have to chill in my apartment.”

“No, no. I really must go.” She leaned in to give me a kiss on one cheek, then the other. I held onto her and she smiled, then we kissed on the lips for a few seconds.

“Why don’t you come back inside for fifteen minutes?” I asked. “We can listen to some music.”

“No, I shouldn’t,” she said, then turned and walked away.

I went back home, slightly discouraged but feeling good about the night. I was content with staying in, but with only two good nights to go out in Reykjavik during the week, I’d have to take advantage of both. I watched some old episodes of Seinfeld on my computer while drinking a fair amount of scotch before heading out the door at three.

I went to Bakkus near my apartment, not motivated to talk to Icelandic girls. Time flew and the bar lights came on. Realizing I had absolutely no prospects, I started approaching in earnest.

First girl, nothing. Second girl, nothing. Then I noticed a girl who was the friend of another girl I had approached on my first night out. I had barely exchanged three words with her, so I wasn’t sure if she’d remember me, but she did. That was surprising since she was now drunk out of her mind and holding onto the wall for support. I was inebriated myself, but nowhere near the way she was.

Her friends had ditched her and left her all by her lonesome. She desperately looked for them, fiddling with her phone, but they were all gone. I couldn’t believe my luck.

“I guess I’ll walk you home,” I said. She didn’t say anything. Once she started walking I followed her.

Five minutes into the walk she fell into the snow, hiking up her skirt so that I could see her stockings almost all the way up to her pussy. Helping her get back on her feet confirmed that her body was the real deal, like a little ballerina with a big ass (my ideal type).

“Look at you, falling all over the place,” I said. “You’re a mess.”

“Fuck you!” she said. “You don’t have to walk me home!”

“It would be cruel to leave you because another man might try to do something to you. I don’t want you to get raped.”

“No one rapes anyone in Iceland,” she said.

“You sure you want to test that out right now? You can’t even walk straight.”

“Whatever, you’re such an asshole!”

I didn’t know if she was joking or flirting. She kept telling me to leave and I kept saying it was my duty as a man to make sure she got home safe. I said, “I have a sister who’s a couple years older than you. I’d want a guy to walk her home as well.” That was the first time I had leveraged a family member in the hope of building enough trust to get laid. I couldn’t decide if it was tight game or pure evil.

Then she grabbed my hand. For balance? For intimacy? I didn’t know, but I did know I wasn’t going to fuck her. I’ve never fucked a girl in her parents’ home while they were sleeping, and while there’s a first time for everything, I wasn’t counting on it. On the other hand, I did have to piss like a racehorse.

When we got to her place, I asked, “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Her speech was like an American girl. It turned out that she actually lived on the East Coast for a few months.

I took a leak in her bathroom, which was decorated like a ski lodge with various woodsy knickknacks and little troll figurines. I came out to find her in the kitchen, warming up a huge pot of chicken soup.

“Do you want some?” she asked.

“No, I’m good.”

“Thanks for walking me home,” she said, in what was her kindest statement of the night.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Can I take off my shoes?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

She was talking loud, as if no one was home, but I did notice a shut door that I assumed was her parents’ bedroom. I sat down on the couch while she messed with the soup. Eventually she sat down next to me, putting her legs over mine. Her wet feet were tiny and I compared them to my hands, which were a few inches larger. I went into horny creep mode and started rubbing her legs while talking. She placed a hand on my arm.

“Tell me something about you,” she said.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything, I don’t care.”

“My life is pretty shallow,” I said.

“Why?”

“Because I’m never somewhere long enough to put down roots. I just go from place to place, and even if we were to be perfect for each other, it still wouldn’t work because I’m leaving soon.”

She leaned closer and said, “That’s sad.”

Then I kissed her. She tasted like beer and cigarettes, but now with my hands exploring her body I got more aroused in five seconds than I had with the Russian girl all night. Without saying a word, she got up, poured out a bowl of soup, and went into her room. I followed her.

It went so fast in her bedroom that even I felt weird. Clothes ripped off. “Do you have a condom?” Jam the dick inside. Barely any kissing. I was too drunk to feel anything and she was too drunk to produce much in the way of lubrication, so after five minutes we stopped having sex, if that’s what you want to call it, and lay on our backs. She fell asleep and started snoring. Her soup went untouched.

I took a short nap and when I woke up, her alarm clock said eight a.m. I figured it would be a good idea to leave in case her parents woke up early, so I ducked into the bathroom, threw the condom into the toilet, and flushed. It wouldn’t go down. I flushed again, but still nothing. I wanted to protect her honor (more like get rid of the evidence), so I fished it out the toilet and wrapped it in half a roll of toilet paper. I went back to the room and put it in my coat pocket along with the condom wrapper. Then I got dressed and left while she slept.

The next day, I heard a knock on my window. It was the Russian. I thought, “Yes! She wants to fuck! Two bangs in one weekend!” But no. She sat next to the door with her coat and scarf on, shying away whenever I got close. I tried to go caveman at the end but she just kept saying, “When you come to Moscow, I’ll show you around!”

Two weeks later I went to Bakkus again. After last call I stood outside in front of the bar, looking for targets, when the Icelandic girl I had fucked walked out with a guy in the same way I had walked out with her. She was so drunk that he was holding her arm so she wouldn’t fall over.

—

The above story is from Bang Iceland, an 80-page book that teaches you how to sleep with Icelandic women during a visit to the country. It contains tourist tips, game advice, and five additional sex stories that give you all the information you need to pillage creamy white Icelandic women, with extra details not released on the blog. It’s available in both paperback and ebook. Read sample pages or learn more about the book.

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

The only problem was that I couldn’t come up with the motivation to approach. I just didn’t want to do it. I sat at the bar for over an hour, talking on and off to the Belgian bartender. His coworker was a cute girl from the Czech Republic.

“You’re totally blind,” she said. “That girl with the curly hair was staring at you.”

“Oh, I saw that, but she’s way too stocky for me. I like my women around your height, about 110 pounds.”

“I weigh 50 kilograms—what is that in pounds?”

“Let me check.” I pulled out my cell phone and used one of the tools to convert 110 pounds to kilograms. Then I looked at her and said, “My phone says that 110 pounds is 49.9 kilograms. Soooo… what are you doing next week?”

We laughed and she playfully hit my hand. I would have loved to ravage her, but unfortunately I already had a Czech flag and my next fuck had to be Icelandic. I didn’t want to be in the dangerous position of running out of time before flag attainment.

Why was I putting such pressure on myself? One reason was that it would be a fucking travesty to be in a country for two months and not get a bang. Toss in a big dollop of ego, in that it “should” happen quickly for me since I teach this shit, and the pressure was even higher. I’ve arrived at the point where if I don’t get laid within two hours of landing in a country, I’m a phony who no one should listen to.

I did a couple of warm-up approaches and they went how they normally went. The girls were polite until we got interrupted or they ditched. I had trouble sustaining things and couldn’t transition from superficial conversation to playful teasing and flirting.

Later I saw a cute dark-haired girl with olive skin. I approached and she turned out to be Australian, on vacation with two girlfriends. I actually had more trouble understanding their accents than with the Icelandic girls.

I said, “Alright, I’m going to guess which city you guys are from just by hearing you talk.”

“Go ahead,” one said.

“Melbourne?”

There was a chorus of “Oh my god, how did you know? That’s so awesome!”

It was a lucky guess.

I was accepted into the group and the other girls allowed me to isolate the cute one. We talked for quite a while until I felt a kick on my shin. I looked to my right and it was a girl who dipped on me earlier. I leaned into her and said, “You ditch when I’m talking to you but then you see me talking to another girl and now you want to chat? I see how it is.” I then ignored her because I never let a girl reject me twice.

The girlfriends of the Australian eventually came back and wanted to drag us to the louder part of the bar to dance. I went reluctantly. Once we were there, I realized I’d have to stay with those girls for the rest of the night for an opportunity to bang, because they weren’t going to separate any time soon. Just like when talking to the Czech girl, I got on myself for losing focus. I returned back to my spot. I had to get the Icelandic flag first.

Then I saw the girl I had gotten to within a few feet of my front door. I hadn’t contacted her and it had been a week, so I wasn’t surprised when she shot me a visible scowl and turned around. A player always keeps his options open, so what I had done a few days earlier to prepare for this very scenario was change one digit of her number on my phone. I knew there was a good chance I’d be desperate and horny if I ever saw her again.

I went up to her and said, “Hey, I think I know you.” She was visibly annoyed and didn’t even look me in the eyes.

“What happened? I texted you and you didn’t write back,” I said.

“You didn’t text me.”

“I definitely did.”

“Well, I didn’t get any text, so—” she said, looking away.

“Well, that’s weird. Let me see.” I pulled up her number on my phone and said, “This is your number, right?”

“Yeah that’s my num—wait! No, you got it wrong.”

“Oh, shit. I must’ve entered it incorrectly,” I said, putting on a performance that would have gotten me nominated for an Oscar. She told me the digit to change, but it didn’t register in my brain.

“Hey, I have to leave right now to go to another bar, but text me later,” she said, giving me a big smile that let me know I was back in it.

I watched her walk away and thought about my brilliant execution of the old “I put it in wrong” trick. Then I looked at my phone to correct the number, but I had forgotten which digit was wrong. Fuck, so much for brilliant execution.

I did more approaches, but it was the same shit—an okay start to a conversation that went nowhere. The girls gave me absolutely nothing to work with and it felt like I was having a monologue with myself.

Last call came. It was my fifth night out in Iceland and I had to admit I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. My game had been only marginally effective on one girl out of the thirty or so I had approached in the country so far. I was throwing everything and anything out there, hoping something would work, but none of my best prospects for the night were from Iceland. The Czech and Australian were fun girls who knew how to flirt, and I felt like I had a solid chance of getting somewhere if I had pursued them, but how could I elicit such a reaction in Icelandic girls?

It turned out I was asking the wrong question. Instead of trying to elicit a certain reaction, I had to ask myself if I needed to elicit that reaction. I assumed all girls went through the same progression of flirting and touching and so on, but could it be possible that some girls don’t need that in order to have sex?

The next thirty minutes went by quickly. First there was the tall ballerina. She was drop-dead gorgeous, but the conversation ended quickly. Then there was the girl with custom feather earrings. That conversation lasted three minutes. Then there was her friend, who actually asked me questions, but that died out, too. Then there was the friend of that friend. She barely spoke to me but did something peculiar upon leaving. As she was walking away, she gave me a long stare. I’m standing there, waving goodbye as if she was leaving on a ship, while she stared with her head craned around to face me. Did she want me to follow her? Was that a sign?

The back bar shut down, but the bartenders let me stay with them. I did a shot with the Belgian and gave him a recap of the night. Then he said, “You know, it’s funny, sometimes after work I go sit on a bench outside and some girl starts talking to me and takes me home.”

“Wait, right on the street?” I asked.

“Yeah, right here,” he laughed. “It just happens… they pick you.”

“How many times have you banged a girl that way?”

“A few times.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, man, it’s weird here. It’s hard to explain.”

I helped him clean for a few minutes and then went to the part of the bar that was still open. I stood next to the window and looked outside while a girl stared at me. I asked her when the bar closed.

“It closes now,” she said.

“That sucks.”

“Do you want to come with me and my friends?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said.

“Do you want to do cocaine?”

“I don’t mind weed, but, um—”

“Come on let’s go!” She grabbed my arm and led me outside to meet her friends. The only problem was her ugliness; she actually had a tooth missing on the bottom row. Two blocks away we stopped for a minute and I decided I just couldn’t sleep with her. She sensed it and walked away, leaving me alone on the street corner.

I looked around for a bench and found one, but concluded it was ridiculous to even try. I gave up for the night. I still hadn’t gotten a flag in a country where sex was supposed to be easy. I was a failure and a total fraud.

During the walk home, I slowed my pace to relive the night’s approaches and to identify my weaknesses, stretching a ten-minute walk into more than twice that, but nothing was coming to me. I was tired and intoxicated and just wanted to go to bed.

What I’m about to share with you next will seem like fiction. If I read it, I’d automatically assume it was false, regardless of who had written it.

I was almost within sight of my front door, walking slow with my head facing the ground. I heard a woman’s footsteps behind me, but I was so dejected that I didn’t bother to look back to see if she was attractive or not. The footsteps got louder, and then I heard a voice.

“Are you okay?”

“Who, me?” I said.

“Yeah, you. Are you sick?”

She was decent-looking, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a petite body. She wasn’t quite pretty enough to approach a few hours prior, but at six in the morning I couldn’t believe I was in the game with a bangable prospect so close to my house.

I livened up. “Oh, I’m fine. I’m just a little tired. I’m not used to staying out so late like you Icelanders.”

“Where are you from?” We stopped walking at the exact same corner where the girl from the previous week had escaped into a cab.

“I’m from the States.”

“I love foreigners!” she said, taking out a cigarette as if to say she wanted to stick around for a while.

The hardest place to pick a girl up is on the street. It’s such a pain that I don’t bother unless the nightlife sucks, so for a girl to approach me so late at night on the street was something I’d never experienced in my life. If I had seen an approach go down like that in a movie, I would have been disgusted and turned it off, yet it was happening to me.

I said, “You spoke to me in English. How did you know?”

“Oh, just by the way you dress and look. It was easy.”

We talked about Icelandic culture, American culture, and what I was doing in Iceland. She was about to finish her cigarette when I asked if she was tired.

“Not really,” she said.

“Well, do you want to have a drink with me before you go home? I live right there,” I said, pointing to my front door.

“You live right there?”

“Yes, I live right there.”

“Who are you staying with?”

“No one. I’m alone,” I said, maintaining eye contact.

“Sure, I can use a drink.”

I made her a scotch on the rocks. She took off her shoes and settled on my bed while I put on some music.

“Do you think I’m a slut?” she asked out of the blue.

“What do you mean?” I said, needing time to think.

“I mean, don’t you think it’s weird that a girl will come home with you after only a few minutes?”

“Not at all. We had a nice conversation and the natural thing to do is to share a drink and get to know each other better. You have to understand that in America things can move really quickly. If you get along with someone, anything can happen.”

She smiled and took off her jacket. “That makes sense.”

I played it slow, and by slow, I mean I didn’t join her on the bed for about two minutes. I tinkered with the music queue on my laptop and changed into shorts and a t-shirt in front of her. Only then did I join her on the bed. We kissed.

She pulled away and said, “Icelanders don’t date. We’re not like Americans. Only Americans date.”

Obviously she hasn’t been in other parts of the world. ”So, what do Icelanders do?” I asked, humoring her.

“We meet at night and have sex. Then we say goodbye the next morning and run into each other some other time.”

“But how about if you like the person?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

It seemed to me that she was trying to prove that she didn’t get attached to guys. She calmed down on the tough-guy crap and her clothes started coming off. Then I heard the sweetest five words a girl could ever say: “Do you have a condom?”

There was maybe only two minutes of total kissing time before I violated her vagina. I felt so little investment in the bang that I didn’t even make the slightest effort to delay my orgasm by changing positions. I simply went directly for the nut then rolled over and fell asleep. It was the most impersonal sex I’d ever had. She might as well have been a prostitute.

In the middle of the night I got another boner, put on a condom, and jammed it back in while she was half-asleep. I came and passed out again with the condom still on my dick.

In the morning, she lingered longer than I would have suspected for someone who “doesn’t date.” I fiddled around on my laptop, hoping she would leave.

“What song are you playing?” she asked.

“This is something by Empire of the Sun,” I said.

“Oh, I’ve heard of them before. They have the same singer as MGMT.”

“No, that’s a different band.”

“But their singers are the same.”

“I assure you, they’re not.”

“No, I’m sure they are,” she insisted.

You stupid dumb bitch. I went on Wikipedia and proved her wrong, but she still remained skeptical.

“So,” I said, “do you need help getting home?”

I walked her to the door and then said, “Well, if you get horny next weekend, I’ll check the street corner at exactly six a.m. to see if you’re there.”

I gave myself a fist pump when the door closed, then went back to sleep.

—

The above story is from Bang Iceland, an 80-page book that teaches you how to sleep with Icelandic women during a visit to the country. It contains tourist tips, game advice, and five additional sex stories that give you all the information you need to pillage creamy white Icelandic women, with extra details not released on the blog. It’s available in both paperback and ebook. Read sample pages or learn more about the book.

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

To execute the afterparty move, first say, “Are you going to sleep right now?” Give off a tone that makes it seem like you’re definitely not trying to go to bed. Unless she says yes, add, “Well I’m thinking of throwing an afterparty in my apartment. I have some good music and scotch. I’m staying right down the street.” (If the girl is really digging you, then all you have to say is, “Do you want to come over for a drink? I’m staying right down the street.”)

It’s as simple as that. If you get to the point where you can suggest an afterparty, your chances of getting laid are already at 50%. You make it very easy for her to say yes since you’re giving her the privacy she needs in order to get intimate. If you’re staying at a luxury hotel, don’t be afraid to namedrop it.

I know what you’re thinking: what happens if you invite a girl to your place and her friends want to come? One time I rolled an afterparty on a girl and she invited two girlfriends, so it was the four of us walking to my place. Then suddenly the friends got into some sort of fight and dropped out, leaving me isolated with the girl, who still wanted to come. Even if you end up taking a couple chicks back, Icelandic girls don’t babysit or cockblock one another, so all you have to do is hang in there until the others drop or pass out.

One thing I loved about Iceland is that at the end of the night people really don’t give a fuck what happens to their friends. You’ll be surprised how many girls are drunkenly wandering alone on the streets at five a.m., whereas two hours earlier they were with a group of twelve people.

There’s a kidnap variation to the afterparty move that I want to discuss. Let’s say you approach three girls at the end of the night and they seem interested in your afterparty. Then two of those girls go off to the side to have a conversation with some other people, leaving you isolated with the third girl. It’s at this moment you should double down on your afterparty—in effect “kidnapping” her. Say, “Well I guess your friends don’t want to come to the afterparty, but how about we still do it?” Reiterate how close your hotel room or apartment is. If she says yes, say, “Cool, let’s go” and start walking. If her friends are out of sight to the point where the girl concludes that they have walked away, the bang is in the bag.

As you can see, this is more logistics than game. You need to approach at the right time, get her isolated, and then swoop her away with the afterparty move. Once in your room, get comfortable, make some drinks, put on some music, and then sit back as she makes it all too easy for you. Sex will be a foregone conclusion even though you haven’t kissed yet or talked long. The sex will be sloppy, her pussy will be dry since she doesn’t care about foreplay, and her breath will probably be awful, but hey, the speed of your “seduction” will make up for it.

Let’s say you approached a bunch of girls after last call in the bar and then in front of the street, but got no bites. Your next gambit will be walking around the center of the city approaching lone girls. While you can also approach pairs and triplets on the street, go for singles first. This strategy would never work in the States, but it does in Iceland.

Be polite and ask girls if they know of another bar that’s open. Try to get a chat going by sharing details about the bar you were at and how you’re still trying to figure out Icelandic nightlife. If she asks where you’re from or any other personal question, hit her with the afterparty move a minute later. If she declines the afterparty, your last-ditch play is to offer to walk her home, weaseling your way inside once you’re at her front door by asking to use the bathroom.

She has to be moderately inebriated for these moves to work, but chances are she will. It’s the late street approaches that are actually your best chance of fucking a young college girl who stubbornly didn’t separate from her pack until the very end of the night.

The bottom line in Iceland is that the game is just beginning at last call and keeps going until there are no more people on the street. If you gave up and went home alone to fall asleep at 6:00, you didn’t work hard enough. As a last resort, you should get a late night-snack at a busy food shack and continue approaching there, asking girls for an open bar.

—

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

On the weekends, Icelanders start heading out around midnight. By 1:00, places start to fill, and by 2:00 there are long lines for the most popular venues. Thursday night generally sucks, since only a handful of bars have people and everything shuts down at 1:00 instead of 5:00 on the weekends, but it’s still worth a try.

In America I’ve always recommended going out early, about four hours before closing. Since it generally takes a few hours of talking to get a one-night stand, it’s best to start a conversation with an open girl between 10:00 or 11:00, venue change to another spot a couple hours after that, and then close out the second bar before making the final venue change to your place or hers.

That’s not how things work in Iceland. There you have a 10-30 minute conversation, sometimes mixed with dancing, before relocating to your apartment and fucking. Because there are no “long” seductions like in America, there’s absolutely no benefit to going out early. All the action happens at the very end of the night.

My first two bangs came from girls I started talking to after closing, which definitely confused me at the time. It was surprising to learn that as the night goes on, girls get more and more friendly, hitting maximum receptiveness after five (in America, it’s just the opposite).

Icelandic girls have a term for the men they meet at a late hour: the “last-minute man,” sometimes also referred to as “the six a.m. man.” They don’t give a damn about rapport and personality because in their drunken state all they want to do is fuck (god bless them). All you have to do is present yourself as the best last-minute man option as the bars close. Do this by casually approaching girls as a normal, cool guy who drops the fact that he has nearby private lodgings. If you’re thinking, “Wow, this sounds too easy,” that’s because it is.

The best type of game in Iceland is therefore last call game, where you start approaching at the end when she’s at her drunkest while separated from her friends and possibly looking for a hookup so she doesn’t have to go home alone. It will seem weird to wait until the last minute to approach, since it doesn’t work in America, but it’s the way to go in Iceland if you want to get laid at night.

If you’re only in Iceland for a weekend or two, by all means go out around 1:00 and enjoy the nightlife, but it doesn’t matter where you are before 4:00, since it’s unlikely you’ll be able to sustain an early approach. I did all my venue experimentation early in the night, but come 3:00, I was on my way to my favorite spot to get ready for real work. All you need is one girl to bite by closing time to arrange for the afterparty move.

When you’re ready to approach, use simple, indirect openers. My favorite opener, which works on just about any girl, is “You don’t look like you’re from here.” Squint your eyes then make up another country that you “think” she is actually from. Act surprised when she says you’re totally wrong. Inquire about her ancestral lineage and ask her to say a few words in Icelandic as a playful way to give proof that she really is from Iceland. By that point she should ask where you’re from and how long you’re staying in Iceland (if not, she’s not interested).

In most countries a girl will get turned off when you say you’re only visiting her city for a short while, such as in Colombia where I’ve advised men to be as vague as possible about their departure dates. Not so in Iceland. Since girls value privacy in a town where she runs into former lovers on a weekly basis, she’ll be excited to hear that you’re going to leave soon. Because I was staying so long, I actually insinuated that I was leaving sooner that I was, the first time I’ve ever done so. Iceland could be the only country in the world where the women don’t like it when you stay.

While opening Icelandic girls is incredibly easy, making headway with them is another matter. I had a lot of conversations that would simply die around three to five minutes, especially early in the night. I’d go on and on about my observations or opinions and she would just stare at me and nod, offering absolutely nothing that I could use.

Only if she has lived abroad will she respond in a social way that you’re used to. For that reason I became averse to opening girls before they were at their maximum drunkenness, when ironically they were more capable of having a conversation. Your chances of getting a basic chat off the ground after four a.m. is dramatically higher than before.

The main reason it’s hard to converse with an Icelandic girl is that she’s so used to meeting people who already know her friends. I noticed that most Icelanders start conversations by talking about who they know and what school they went to. A ten-minute conversation is just about guaranteed.

She likely won’t have the tools to build a connection with a completely random man who isn’t connected to her life or social circle in some way, regardless of how good his conversational skills are. It doesn’t mean she won’t fuck you (she definitely will), but it does mean she won’t do so from the value you’ve built through a long conversation. What you must do in Iceland is go back to the Stone Age by using less language and more persistence in dragging her back to your cave.

The second reason it’s so hard to have conversations is that you’ll be interrupted every other minute, since she literally knows half the people in the bar. She won’t be so keen to resume the conversation with you especially if you’ve been talking for a short while, which will probably be the case since the interruption will come soon. Thankfully, at the end of the night, most of her friends will have already left or have been neutralized by too much alcohol. Approaching at that time is money because the chances of an interruption are greatly reduced.

Keep all your conversations basic and refrain from teasing too hard. Hit her with questions about things you’ve seen during the day. Joke around by asking if Icelanders really believe that elves and trolls live in the hills (many do). If there’s a dance floor and she’s in the mood to dance, use it, because it can only help you.

You’ll know you’re putting out the correct fun, laid-back vibe if Icelandic guys or girls are offering to buy you drinks. At first you may be reluctant to accept a drink from a stranger, but in Iceland it’s pretty close to an insult to refuse. Accept graciously. Think of Icelandic nightlife as a happy party where alcohol flows and strangers buy other strangers drinks. When it comes to buying girls drinks, though, I recommend you do it only after she buys you one first.

If she has bought you a drink and the conversation is still going after ten minutes, she probably has serious interest in you. Your instinct may be to get closer for a kiss, but you have to be careful about this. While touching and mild groping is acceptable, trying to kiss girls in bars shows you don’t understand how big of a problem gossip is on the island. While she’s a card-carrying feminist, she still doesn’t want the slut stain because her community is so small (it was common for me to repeatedly run into girls I had previously fucked).

It’s no big deal if you don’t get the kiss out of the way when you’re in the bar since it’ll happen quickly once you get her isolated. Sex will follow the first kiss within minutes. Definitely touch her to establish an intimate vibe, but if her friends are around and you’re in a crowded place, the risk of going for a kiss far outweigh the benefits (if she doesn’t mind being kissed in public, she’ll definitely let you know by coming within a couple inches of your mouth).

A good prediction of how far you’ll get with a girl is by counting how many of her friends are circling around. If you decided to murder the Icelandic girl you’re talking to, how many witnesses would have seen you with her? The fewer witnesses there are, the more likely she’ll accept your afterparty suggestion. If there are too many witnesses, she’ll be hesitant to show genuine interest since she’ll be so worried that members of her tribe think she’s easy.

While she’s in denial of the fact that she’s a slut, we know she is, and all we need to release that inner slut is to get her isolated and away from prying eyes. Though Icelandic girls are wary of foreigners, we have an advantage over local guys since fucking us won’t “count.” If she wants to fuck just to fuck, which she will if she’s out drunk on a Saturday night without a boyfriend, then you’re her man… her last-minute man.

One Icelandic girl told me, “Everyone thinks we’re sluts, but that’s a misconception. There are consequences to sleeping around.” While I disagree with that statement and think that the girls are indeed hardcore sluts, there are almost no consequences for her to sleep with someone who is going to leave the city soon, which is why we make it clear we’re not staying for long. These girls want one-and-out fucks, not potential long-term relationships. At first I was slightly offended at this, since I think I’m a good catch, but when I realized how little work I had to put in to get laid, I quickly got used to it.

Let me sum up how your average Saturday night in Reykjavik should look like so far. You had a couple of drinks in your room then walked out the door around 3:00 a.m. You got in line at the bar and eventually wound up inside with another drink in your hand by 4:00. You picked a prime post-up spot and made small talk with the Icelanders around you to get into a social mood, letting them buy you drinks and buying them drinks in return. Around 4:30, you increased your alert level and made a more conscious effort to approach cute girls close to your spot. You did not run around the bar approaching girls like a monkey, but remained cool, casual, and tethered to either one or two locations. When a girl bit by asking where you were from and what you were doing in Iceland, you pulled her chain by hitting her with humorous responses. She proved to be too drunk to talk further, so you suggested some dancing, which she accepted. Your faces got slightly close, but you didn’t try for a kiss. The clock now strikes 5:00 and the bar is closing. It’s time for the afterparty move.

If a bar is closing and you haven’t gotten any bites, pick a new spot by the exit and approach singles and pairs on their way out. Increase your hustle and, if necessary, run around the bar like a monkey to find women. Here’s the opener to use after last call: “Do you know if there’s another bar that’s still open?” You’ll either do this in the bar or, if the barman kicks you out, in front of the bar where people gather in impromptu street parties before heading off. If she’s helpful, go on about how you think it’s still early and wouldn’t mind having another drink. If the girl continues to engage you, asking more than one personal question like your name, job, travel plans, home country, or place of lodging, do the afterparty move, which I’ll describe next week.

—

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

No matter how great a movie is, it just isn’t the same when you watch it a second time. In October I went to the same clubs that I was so successful before, but I couldn’t regain the excitement, and decided that I’d be happier trying to find another great movie. Even paradise feels normal after a while.

My time in Poland can be represented in two innocent events, both of which happened on the same day.

I went to the dental clinic for a basic cleaning, surprised to find that my dentist was an attractive woman younger than me, with revealing curves despite her loose white coat.

It took me ten minutes to realize that she was actually flirting with me. After she did a fine job sand blasting my teeth, I sat by her desk and flirted back. We talked for a short while and one step short of going for the number it comes out that she’s married. Not comfortable pursuing a married woman, I aborted my attempt, but how common is it to be in a country where not only the dentists are pretty, they’re interested in you as well?

I was on my way home when I saw a tall girl on the street walking towards me. I immediately focused on her sexy legs; they seemed five feet long. My eyes slowly moved up, savoring her magnificent body, building up to the moment of eye contact. I got up to her face and immediately recognized her as a girl I had fucked a couple months prior. How common is it to be attracted to an anonymous girl on the street only to find you already banged her?

I’m completely aware that it may never get better. Poland may be the best place in the world for me, but leave I shall. I don’t want to bleed, and I don’t want to suffer, but I need the drug of new experiences, new action, new places, and new women. I’m like a baby who needs a new toy jingling in front of him, or else he gets irritated and kicks wildly into the air.

Goodbye Poland. You’ve made me a happier man, a better man. Even though I can come back to defile you anytime I want, I know it won’t be quite the same.

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

In the beginning of my trip I wanted to conclude that Icelanders were an anti-social species, but very often I saw people having long conversations with their friends in coffee shops and bookstores. So while they’re capable of normal human interaction, their shyness, combined with a lack of charm and skepticism of outsiders, makes it challenging to establish rapport in a way you’re used to. The vibe I got from many of my interactions was that they simply didn’t care to put one ounce of work into helping the conversation, especially when they were sober. It’s unfortunate that unless she was drunk and borderline about to puke, talking to her was like getting a tooth pulled.

There is a big exception: if the Icelandic girl has lived in England or America for a while. In that case, she’ll be used to long-form conversation that you already do on girls. She’ll also be more accustomed to dating, something that Icelanders don’t do (they simply fuck, only developing relationships if their social circles happen to overlap).

With the Icelandic girls who have been exposed to Western culture, you can use gradual escalation in the form of chatting, flirting, touching, kissing, and so on, as if it’s a timed program. Otherwise, you’ll have to adopt some new techniques to account for the fact that having more than a thirty-minute heart-to-heart conversation with her is just about impossible. In addition, she won’t be turned on by your charm, wit, or cocky and funny game because, after all, she doesn’t mind sleeping with Icelandic guys, who are boring as rocks. Therefore, you have to time your approaches toward the end of the night so you can go for a quick venue change to your room, a strategy I’ll elaborate on in the future.

What I want you to understand is that good chat is not valued by Icelandic girls. They really don’t care about your status back home, your vast experience, or your accomplished humor. While I’m not saying to be boring on purpose, the things that get you laid with American or British girls will be of little help on an Icelandic girl who hasn’t had long-term exposure to your culture.

So what criteria do the girls use to select for sex? Appearance and vibe. If they like both and you can eke out a respectable fifteen-minute fluffy conversation where you’re being a non-cocky cool guy, you have a high chance of getting her in bed.

I asked several Icelandic girls about the vibe they wanted in men, but I didn’t get any clear-cut answers. Most said they liked “sexy” guys who were “different” and “stood out,” vague statements that could mean just about anything. Looking back at my own Icelandic bangs, it seems that timing and logistics were the primary keys to success, assuming the girl didn’t mind my appearance or vibe. This means approaching a girl at the right time when she was looking for a hookup and then providing a nearby private room to make it happen. My Icelandic bangs felt more like plain old luck than any other country I’ve been to, but since the girls love to fuck and will do so quickly, that “luck” became somewhat consistent.

So far I may have painted a picture that the girls are boring and quiet, but they’re a rambunctious bunch when hanging out with friends, doing all sorts of crazy, silly, and obnoxious shit. You look at a girl, think she’s the most fun in the bar because of her wild dance moves, then approach only to have her clam up. In another instance, you think she hates you because of how withdrawn she’s acting, but then she offers to buy you a drink. Even guys get into the drink-buying act. In Iceland I’ve never had so many people buy me drinks before, even as expensive as they were. It seems to me that drink-buying is a crutch for shyness, since one of the most reliable ways for them to break the ice is, “You want a shot?” In Iceland the general goal is to go with your friends and get retarded, not to have a deep one-on-one conversation by the bar. I’m not saying that deep conversations don’t happen, but it’s rare.

On the plus side, the girls are extremely polite. I can’t say I’ve ever been blown out, even when they were drunk. They’ll be nice as long as you’re asking for some type of help, like a bar recommendation or how late some place closes, but don’t be surprised if they quickly shut down and give no additional information that might help the conversation proceed. They’re sort of like guys in the fact that their communication is to convey information instead of to flirt. Sadly, flirting or charm is nonexistent, as is the case with most Scandinavian girls. Until Iceland, I had no idea that a girl would be interested in fucking me after a conversation where absolutely no sexual or playful vibe was established.

I can easily say that an average conversation with a Colombian taxi driver was far more intimate and enjoyable than one with the average Icelander. The night I went to see a Brazilian singer with a Russian girl about one month into my trip was eye opening. The Russian was chatty about life and travel while the Brazilian singer was charming, smiley, and graceful. The fact that the Russian girl asked for my opinions almost blew my mind, because even Icelanders didn’t give a fuck what I thought of their country. One month into my Iceland stay, I forgot what it was like to experience basic human warmth.

Don’t confuse my criticisms on Icelanders with bashing them. Not every culture will fit what you’re accustomed to, and Icelanders actually think American friendliness is fake, forced, and superficial. I’m not here to say which culture is better, but a discussion on their personality traits, including their weaknesses, is essential if we want to identify the optimal game in banging the women.

Another important trait of Icelandic women is that they’re die-hard feminists. They believe in equal rights, suffrage, and abortions for all, but thankfully they don’t do the American thing of calling you out on your perceived flaws or mistakes. In the early stages of your interactions with them they won’t try to jam their liberal opinions down your throat, they won’t go on about the inferiority of men, and they won’t try to make you feel small.

While I could argue that a lot of American women actually hate men and get joy out of shaming them, in Iceland the girls are more laid-back and just out to have a good time and get drunk. She’s too busy drinking to have a verbal battle with a guy because she didn’t like his approach style. (In America and Denmark, though, I believe girls have a hidden agenda and go out with an intention to feel superior). An Icelandic girl is definitely quiet and boring, but she won’t disrespect you early on.

Her overall attitude will be positive when you first meet. She won’t say much, but she won’t make you groan or roll your eyes. She’s just a shy girl who takes a long time to get to know strangers, but once she starts to feel comfortable with you, let the groaning and eye-rolling commence. I once had a girl argue with me about what “real hip-hop” is, pulling up a YouTube video of two chubby Icelandic guys rapping in plaid shirts on a green hill. Thankfully, the opinionated feminist only reveals herself after sex, and since most sexual encounters are one-and-out, you may never get to experience the annoying side of an Icelandic girl. The fact that she doesn’t talk much before sex can actually be chalked up as an advantage, since the things they have to say are likely to irritate you anyway.

The picture in your mind of the average Icelandic girl should be a decent-looking shy chick who gets a little sexy and a lotta drunk for the weekend. She’s not particularly feminine or graceful, and her movements and body language are sometimes gruff. She won’t care about appearing ladylike, even when she’s wearing sexy clothing. What this ultimately means is that Icelandic girls are for fucking, not for falling in love with. While there are countless tales of men visiting Latin America or Southeast Asia and finding a wife, this will definitely not happen to you in Iceland. Go there to drink, get laid, and see some interesting scenery, but be prepared to pay a bit of coin for that privilege.

The last point I want to make is that Icelandic girls have a very loose concept of fidelity, meaning she’ll definitely cheat on her Icelandic boyfriend for a guy she knows isn’t staying long. If she claims to have a boyfriend but he’s not currently in the same venue, you can safely ignore what she says. The only question you may want to ask is, “Are you meeting up with him later?” Because the girls get so drunk, they’ll easily succumb to cheating if the logistics are right and there are few spying eyes.

—

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

And then you were told that you had to move to a deserted island with this girl:

You’d be disapointed, right? Now how would you feel if you had to move to the island with the above girl after dating this:

You’d probably feel like you just won the lottery. It turns out that the girl you were with yesterday directly influences how you feel about girls you see today. It can also affect how you see women of an entire country.

The Bolivia Effect: You will overvalue women of any country you visit if the previous country had uglier women.

I’ve experienced three Bolivia Effects. The first is when I actually left Bolivia for Argentina. I was so floored by the beauty of Argentine women that I was ready to renounce American citizenship and permanently move there. While the women are indeed beautiful, the Bolivia Effect made me miss out on a lot of their flaws. In my second visit to the country (after living in Brazil for six months), I couldn’t believe I thought they were so amazing. I only lasted one more month until leaving.

My second Bolivia Effect was going from Washington DC to Iceland. Because Icelandic women dress sexy, something that DC women don’t know how to do, I initially thought they were above average when in fact they have the same problems shared by their Scandinavian cousins. They were of respectable stock but nothing special.

The third Bolivian Effect was going from Denmark to Poland. I was so repulsed by Danish women that I could have stepped in North Korea and thought it was paradise, but thankfully Poland really is a place where horny man dreams come true. Still, it has its weaknesses. The Bolivia Effect caused me to ignore a butterface problem that didn’t begin to register until three months into my stay. Only when I forgot about how bad Denmark was did I start to see Poland for what it really was.

The problem with the Bolivia Effect is that it prevents you from objectively comparing your exploits for choosing an end game location in order to sow your wild oats or settle down. If I originally visited Argentina after Brazil, would I have still stayed for three months? If I went to Poland after Argentina, would I have been able to tolerate the butter? When it comes to women, there is no truth except for relative truth. Our most recent experiences color current ones, which is why I overhyped Poland and Argentina while underhyping places like Colombia and Brazil.

Unfortunately, the more experience I rack up the less confident I feel that I’m being objective. The best I can do is tell you my stories, relay facts (not emotions), and let you make decisions on where to visit yourself. Even then, it is impossible to make the absolute best decision possible for you’ll always be deciding from incomplete and impartial data. Not only will no two men ever see a country the same, but with separate visits, you’ll never see the same country the same.

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

Your average Icelandic girl will have pale skin, light brown hair, a small chipmunk face with nose pointed upward, and a body that is average to slightly chubby with slightly large breasts and an average to small ass. When it comes to hair color, I estimate that 25% of the women are platinum blondes, 25% have dark brown hair, and the rest are in between. Regardless of hair color, her skin stays pale thanks to limited sunlight for half the year. If she’s a shade darker than everyone else, there’s a good chance she’s from Denmark, where most Icelanders can claim ancestry.

If you like Latina women with dark hair, olive skin, and big asses (I’m thinking of Brazil right now), Iceland won’t have what you’re looking for. I will say, though, that fucking a pale, hairless girl gives a great “beauty and the beast” contrast to my darker skin color and hairy body. I felt like a wolf from the woods coming into the city to rape a fair-skinned woman, then escaping back into the darkness before the townspeople could find out what happened.

One way that I’ve found pale women can beautify themselves is to apply eye makeup as thickly as possible to give their eyes a dark contrast against their light skin color. Icelandic girls don’t do this. Instead they insist on bright red lipstick that makes them look clownish. I never thought I’d complain about girls not putting on makeup correctly, but I strongly feel that Icelandic women aren’t maximizing their appearance.

When it comes to weight, they are generally a little thick with flabby arms (there’s no gym or exercise culture in Iceland), but nothing on the scale of American obesity. Nonetheless, it was shocking to see fatties walking around with the price of food being what it was. This suggests that higher-priced food won’t be a cure for America’s obesity epidemic and that more drastic action must be taken.

One positive point is their dedication to looking sexy, even in the hipster bars. Girls wore heels (usually boots), skirts, black stockings with interesting patterns on them, and generally tight clothing that revealed their figures. Even a more butch Icelandic girl with the sides of her head shaved off put effort into her appearance. While I did question some of their fashion choices, especially when it came to wearing jean shorts over black leggings, the girls generally highlighted their figure regardless of how cold it was outside, especially on the weekends.

Overall I’d say that Icelandic girls are slightly sexier than American girls, but since they’re not as fat, this causes a considerable increase to their rating. The best analogy I can give for how the average Icelandic girl looks like is Jodie Foster in The Accused, the movie where she gets gang raped on a pinball machine. I find her appearance in that movie to be rather reasonable, and can therefore recommend Iceland as a place where you’ll be pleased with the level of talent.

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.

The average high temperature during the winter in Reykjavik, Iceland’s capital, is about 32 degrees Fahrenheit. Cold, but bearable. Depending on where the thermometer falls, you either get daily doses of cold rain or fat snow, meaning it’s rare to see the pavement completely dry. You also have to deal with a brutal wind coming off the Atlantic Ocean, sometimes topping fifty miles per hour. The weather and darkness were so bleak that it was actually neat in a somber way.

Summer is better. The average high temperature rises to the 50s, and around the solstice you get to experience nearly twenty-four hours of sun per day (bring a night mask). Summer also means tourists. College lets out and everyone takes their vacations in the interior or abroad. Even smack in the middle of winter, I was surprised to see so many foreign travelers, but thankfully they were the older type who came to make day trips to the countryside. There were very few guys like me who had come mainly to pillage the women.

2. Icelandic girls don’t throw themselves on foreign men.

If you’re thinking of visiting because you want to stand out, I have some bad news: Iceland is a tourist-plagued country, especially with visitors from Northern and Western European countries, though the closing of an American air force base several years ago has helped make Americans slightly novel once again. By the time you roll up on cute little Inga, she will have met dozens of guys just like you. While that fact in no way should discourage you from going, don’t for a second think you’re visiting some type of isolated tribe in the Amazon that will be amazed by your steel tools and exotic spices.

Unless you’re into chubby chasing, you’ll definitely have to move your ass to get laid with what you think of as a pretty Icelandic girl. To make it happen, I recommend a two-weekend stay, which if you start on a Thursday would be a minimum of ten days. You’ll be able to do some pipelining on an Icelandic dating site and then go all-out on two sets of Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, which are the only suitable nights to game. If you want to get your Icelandic flag, two weekends will be required.

3. Iceland is a village founded by rapists.

Iceland was founded by the Vikings, supreme badasses who some-how figured out how to live in one of the least pleasant environments on Earth. On their way to the island, they stopped by Ireland and kidnapped some Celtic women as wives. It’s safe to assume that brutal rape was part of the program, which is why you see a surprising number of brown-haired Icelanders. While their skin is almost always milky white, less than half of the women are platinum blonde, which is probably the stereotype you had about them. Disappointingly, there were some Icelandic guys who even had my dark hair color and beard.

The tiny population of the country (less than half a million) means that no one is more than one connection away from anyone else. The running joke goes that when two strangers meet, they aren’t surprised to find out they’re distant cousins. Due to this extreme smallness, Iceland is like a little high school where gossip spreads like wildfire, causing privacy to be more valued than in other cultures. If just one person finds out that Inga slept with Janus, then literally the entire “village” will know in just a few days.

4. Icelandic girls are incredibly easy once drunk and isolated.

Thanks to a wonderful synergy between feminism and an Icelandic girl’s desire to self-medicate with alcohol, you’ll find that night bangs happen incredibly quickly, often within an hour. While getting an “in” with an Icelandic girl will be hard due to her introverted and skeptical nature, once you get that in you’re going to be rocking the bed in record time. Iceland is the only first-world county I know of where nearly instant sex is possible without having to pay for it.

5. Where you stay is half the battle.

The best way to get Iceland bangs is to find a girl and throw an “afterparty” at your place once the bars close, so you’ll need your own room stocked with a bottle of booze within walking distance of the nightlife zone. I can’t stress enough that your hotel or apartment room must be close. The more likely a stone thrown from the bar you’re gaming in will land on your hotel or apartment, the more girls you will fuck, all because you’re making it easy for drunk Icelandic girls to continue their night. If your place is so far that you need to take a taxi, you’ve already lost the game.

Open Google Maps and do a search on Reykjavik. Zoom in and locate the domestic airport on the left (Reykjavíkurflugvöllur). Above the domestic airport is a park and a lake, and then a square called Austurvöllur, which is in front of the Althingi parliament building. Above that square is nightlife ground zero. Don’t lodge more than ten blocks from this area! I lodged a respectable five blocks away, so all I had to do was say the name of the street I was on (Aegisgata) for the girl to say, “Oh, wow! That’s close!”

Since logistics are such a big part of banging in Iceland, you want to make it as easy on yourself as possible. If you’re not ready to pony up the cash to stay in a nearby hotel or apartment (no hostels!), don’t go to Iceland.

6. Everyone speaks English.

English is widely spoken, even by old people, so there’s no need to bone up on your Icelandic (the girls won’t even give you bonus points for saying a few words in their language). The natives possess sharp enough English that you can successfully hit them with typical American or English sarcasm without having to dumb it down. If learning the local language is important to you, then go to the following site for free lessons: icelandiconline.is.

7. Iceland is not for the budget traveler.

Iceland is expensive as balls and definitely not for the budget-minded traveler. Understand that just about everything except whale meat and some species of fish are imported by ship or air, leading to some eye-opening prices in restaurants, grocery stores, and bars. Clothes and electronics are also expensive, and even a “handmade” sweater crafted by Icelandic children in sweatshops will set you back at least $150. Hell, even a decent knit cap or pair of gloves approaches $50.

Pack everything you need for your stay so you don’t have to waste money, including basic supplies like contact lens solution, which costs about $20 a bottle. Definitely bring an unlocked cell phone (get a SIM card after arrival in the main tourist office off Ingólfstorg square), though you probably won’t use it since one-night stands are the way to go.

8. Iceland is a wonder of nature.

If you have some money to blow and get excited by landscapes and touristy things, then Iceland will satisfy your craving. Besides Blue Lagoon, there are several day tours where you can view glaciers, geysers, mountains, and whales.

Two well-known tour agencies are Mountaineers of Iceland and Eskimos. They appear to have identical tours, with Eskimos being cheaper. Sample programs include night tours above the city to see the northern lights, riding ATVs to explore caves and glaciers, horseback riding through the country, snowmobiling on glaciers, and the popular Golden Circle tour to see all of Iceland’s environmental extremes. I didn’t do any tours because I got my fill of nature stuff in South America, but at the minimum a Golden Circle tour, which will run about $350, will make you feel as if you did your tourist duty of exploring the island.

9. Icelandic people are very serious drinkers.

The irony of Iceland’s sky-high liquor prices is that I’ve never been to a place where people get so consistently drunk. I guess if you lived on an island in the middle of the ocean with nothing to do you’d probably take to drinking as well. Beer is the most popular drink of choice since it’s cheapest, with Viking and Tuborg being the most common (Tuborg Classic was my favorite). The two national liquors that are taken in shot form are Brennivin, a strong schnapps, and Opal, a disgusting concoction that you’ll want to wash down with something smoother like Jagermeister.

If you’re not a drinker, there is no point in going to Iceland.

10. Iceland has an Approach Index score of 40.

My approach index states how many girls an average-looking guy with decent game has to approach before he’s likely to bang a cute girl (not including internet approaches). Since there are so many variables involved, the index is best used to compare easiness of one country with others. First let me share the numbers from previous countries:

Argentina: 90
Brazil: 50
Colombia: 60
United States: 45

From these numbers we can conclude that a man has to do twice as many approaches to get laid in Argentina than the United States.

To make the index more scientifically rigorous, I counted my actual approaches until I banged my first Icelandic girl. That number is 34, with eight of those being from daytime approaches, a method that I already mentioned is rather unfruitful. For an average-looking guy with average game and average standards who doesn’t mess with day approaches, I’m assigning an approach index value of 40 for Iceland.

This means you’ll get your flag at about 40 approaches, give or take a few. This also means it’s slightly easier than the United States, but only by a small amount. If your standards are a little lower than average, you’ll get the flag in fewer approaches. If you stay for two weekends and do 50 quality approaches, odds are you’ll fuck an Icelandic girl. While I can’t guarantee that, I would bet on it.

P.S. I'm huge on Twitter, with over 1 billion followers. Click here to check out my feed.