11/01/2017 by Tom Torero
I’m sitting in a sun-drenched outdoor cafe right now in South America, escaping the winter blues of arctic Europe for a month or so, so it’s strange to get back to a project which is all about my frosty fornication adventures in the Former Soviet Union.
My new book, entitled “Cold Calling,” was due to be published at the end of last summer, but recording for my infield product took over and I put the book on the back burner. With the videos now done, I’m returning to finishing the book and have decided to publish an early draft of it here in daily segments.
For the next month or so I’ll be posting a section of the book daily, in the serialised publishing tradition of Dickens, Dumas or Dostoevsky (but without the literary greatness). Whilst this might seem like a goodwill gesture, it is in fact a kick up the arse for me to complete around 2,500 words a day in terms of writing / editing / proof reading. Keeping it up for 32 days will bring me to my total of 80,000 words.
So, without any more procrastination, let the games being….
©Tom Torero 2017
Chapter 1 – FSU Girl Characteristics
Chapter 2 – Logistics
Chapter 3 – Russia
Chapter 4 – Ukraine
Chapter 5 – Belarus
Chapter 6 – Moldova
Chapter 7 – Baltics
Chapter 8 – Poland, Czech Republic
Chapter 9 – FSU Girls Abroad
“From Russia with Love (and Hate)”
I’ve spent a large part of the last five years travelling the world to seduce women. Not online, on Tinder or in bars and clubs, but by approaching them directly during the day (“daygame”) and taking them on a date. With below average looks and a below average bank balance, I’ve learnt how to sleep with hot girls as the outlaw lover rather than the stable boyfriend. The cad rather than the dad. This skill set I term “Street Hustling.”
My travels have taken me to over fifty countries, from Japan to South Africa, Sweden to Colombia. I’ve run my Street Hustle toolkit around the world and discovered the type of girls I really like, and the places where I can find them.
Again and again I return to Mother Russia and the other Former Soviet Union (FSU) countries. I consider these Slavic girls to be the hottest in the world. Unfortunately the ex-Communist countries where they live are some of the bleakest places to travel to on the planet.
Thus my love-hate relationship with the FSU. Paradoxical places where the girls dazzle but the conditions are depressing. In order to successfully seduce these icy girls, you have to learn to find warmth in these places and enjoy the “cold calling” daygame approaching. A hot 21 year old Russian girl with you under the duvet certainly keeps the sub-zero conditions outside at bay.
This, my third book, aims to unravel the complex contradictions of daygaming in Mother Russia and her satellite countries. My first two books mainly concentrated on the seduction victories, but in this book I’ll lay bare the harsh reality of FSU daygame in between the successful stories. I’ll also give detailed logistical guides to the countries so you can save time on your own FSU adventures if you choose to tackle the ice queens too.
Tom Torero, South America, January 2017
My first encounter with Mother Russia was as a child at my Primary School in South Wales. Around the age of six or seven I remember an assembly where a Russian lady who had moved locally had brought in her accordion and sang some Russian songs. She was middle aged, typically plump with a strange perm half covered by a colourful headscarf. I was mesmerised by the melancholic sound of the instrument and the intensity of her singing.
For story time my teachers at that school would often take the class to a “video room” where we’d watch cassette tapes of fairy stories. My favourites were always the stop-motion animations of traditional Russian and Eastern European tales. Snowy forests, dangerous wolves, brave princes and beautiful maidens; these stories had a much darker edge to them than the more sanitised western stories we saw and heard.
Again I sensed the melancholy and wild intensity. The contradictions of the beautiful snow against the blood-soaked wolf’s fangs. It was unsettling but immediately made an impression on me.
My father was an emigree from the former Czechoslovakia, fleeing Prague in 1969 from the brutal Soviet Invasion. Whilst his sister ended up in the USA, my father found himself in industrial Sheffield in the north of England, working as an orthopaedic surgeon and meeting my mother in the hospital there.
Despite escaping from his homeland occupied by Russians, my father was never anti-Russian, only anti-Soviet. Most of his friends and girlfriends in Prague had been emigree Russian intellectuals. One was the godson of the Russian writer Nabokov, another a relative of the Belarusian painter Chagall. His Russian was excellent, and his sister worked as a journalist for a Czechoslovak magazine in Moscow.
Growing up, my father would introduce my sister and I to not only Czech fairy stories (our favourites always being the darker, scarier ones involving the water goblin Vodnik) but also to other Slavic tales. He was also an excellent pianist and would play us the Russian Romantic greats – Tchaikovsky, Rachmaninov, Rimsky Korsakov, filling the house with Slavic soul.
These early seeds wouldn’t bear fruit until over ten years later when I was finishing secondary school. The Velvet Revolution in Prague that had liberated the country and the subsequent fall of the Soviet Union in 1991 meant that my father could take the family back to Prague to see where he’d spent his youth. Our first visit was in 1995, and we’d go back subsequently every other year for a week each summer.
When I’d graduated school, my father decided to take me on a Russian adventure to Moscow and St Petersburg in the summer of 1998. He’d never been before and wanted to experience the nation that had held a grip on him for good and for bad. Just him and me – my first real adventure abroad outside of Europe.
It had only been a few years since the end of Communism and I remember being shocked by the bleak poverty we encountered. This was not a normal family camping holiday to Spain. Stern, drab passport control greeted us in Moscow, a KGB-like official shining a light into our face as we stepped up to the bleak booth. A rusty Lada taxi took us from the airport to our hotel; the driver tying down the boot of the car with rope.
We were staying in the infamous (now demolished) “Hotel Rossiya” yards from the Kremlin and Red Square. A Titanic Soviet relic, it had been the largest hotel in the world which the Kremlin had used to “host and monitor” foreigners during Soviet times, with rooms and phones previously bugged.
It was a fitting introduction to Russia and the FSU. The promised “cinema / swimming pool & night club” were non existent, just propaganda pictures in the description. A stern plump lady served as a “spy” for each floor, sitting next to the elevator and making notes of comings and goings. Breakfast in the vast but drab dining room consisted of a boiled egg and a sausage. On the way back to our room one day we found a young couple sitting in a stairwell, distraught and in tears at not being able to find their room in the labyrinth of corridors.
During the night the telephone in our room would keep ringing. My dad ignored it the first few times, but when he eventually answered he realised it was reception asking if we wanted prostitutes sent up to us. He declined.
Moscow in 1998 was poor – the country still crawling on its knees into the light after Gorbachev’s “Perestroika” transformation. Children begged in the underground tunnels around Red Square, holding out single shoes or pencils for sale.
Everywhere we had to be escorted on official “tours” so they could avert our eyes from the brutal truths of the real country. Much like for an unsuspecting rich American on a “Russian Brides” dating site, it was all a front, a sham, to cover up the reality of the FSU.
We toured the Kremlin, visited the Music Conservatoire and also took a night sleeper train to St Petersburg for a few days. Still poor, the city felt more European than Moscow with its grand architecture, Hermitage paintings and wide Parisian-like boulevards.
I was only 18 at the time – still a shy, introverted, spotty virgin who’d only ever kissed one girl (it would be another 10 years before I learnt pickup). I vaguely remember the Russian girls being hot, but a stronger memory is of my father taking pictures of the beautiful girls looking at the paintings in the galleries, rather than the paintings themselves. Only now I know why.
Even back then I realised that there seemed to be two faces to one country. Broken, depressed and poor, but a sleeping nation of golden domes, grand palaces and an infinitely rich culture. I both loved the trip and hated the trip, without being able to explain why.
My next exposure to Russia would be when I was finishing university at Oxford, four years later. I’d found my first girlfriend, fallen in love and we’d rashly decided to get married. We were naive and idealistic. Because she was my “first love” I thought it would last forever like a Disney movie and that I had to “do the right thing” and marry her.
Her father was a priest in the Orthodox Church, an early denomination of the Christian faith practiced widely in Greece, Russia and other Slavic countries. He was English, but had converted to Orthodoxy some years back and had even built a small Russian chapel in his gardens full of icons, candles and incense.
I’d started going with my wife-to-be to the local Orthodox church in Oxford, which was half Greek, half Russian, as I had to be “chrismated” (similar to being “confirmed”) into the church in order to marry her.
I’d fled from all things religious in my teens and when I’d studied Evolutionary Biology at university under Richard Dawkins, but because of my infatuation with the girl and my desire to marry her at any cost to “keep her,” I kept going to the church with her.
Despite my atheism I was still mesmerised by the “mysticism” wrapped up in the services. Semi-darkness, flickering candles, polyphonic chanting in ancient Slavonic, bells, icons appearing through clouds of incense. This wasn’t the stern Sunday School religion of my upbringing. This was something again dark and almost dangerous.
At the same time (again inspired by my wife-to-be) I began reading her collection of the Russian greats: Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Pushkin; I ate them up. My fiancée (a music student at Oxford) also introduced me to the strange, melancholic, mystical composers like John Tavener and Arvo Part which had that same underlying emotion to them. I’d watch Yuri Norstein’s famous stop-motion animation “Tale Of Tales” over and over to try to understand it.
Back then I didn’t know how to label this emotion. Only later during my FSU daygame adventures I’d come across the Russian word “dushá” meaning “Russian Soul” which writers like Dostoevsky tried to define and capture. He translates it by saying “the most basic, most rudimentary spiritual need of the Russian people is the need for suffering, ever-present and unquenchable, everywhere and in everything.”
To understand Mother Russia and FSU daygame, you have to understand this word. It’s nothing to do with religion, but everything to do with the contradiction at the heart of these countries. The beauty and the beast. The light in the darkness. As the Russian saying goes, “beauty demands victims.”
Once married, my wife and I moved to the island of Crete in the Mediterranean to teach English. As I write about in my first book, the brief marriage was as cold and stormy as the winter we found ourselves in. Within a year she’d moved back to the UK to be with her parents and I was at a loss with what to do. My Disney idealism had been shattered and I was back to square one, lonely and clueless with girls.
Around the same time, a fellow teacher from Crete was going to the male-only Orthodox monastic peninsula of Mount Athos in northern Greece for a backpacking trip, and he suggested I join him as a tonic for a broken heart. I had nothing else to do and was keen to escape Crete, so I jumped at the chance.
We took a coach from Athens to Thessaloniki, and from there a smaller rickety bus to the town of Ouranoupolis. With our Orthodox status checked and documents issued, we hopped on a small “pilgrim-only” boat to the Greek monastery Xenophontos. From there we hiked along the rugged peninsula, soaking in the spectacular sites of the ancient cliff-hanging monasteries over the Aegean sea.
While my companion went off to a hermitage for a few days to see his “spiritual father” in the hills I carried on hiking under the shadow of Mount Athos to the Russian monastery of St Panteleimon. It was late January and rare heavy snow had blanketed the peninsula stopping all boats, cutting it off even more from the outside world. I took shelter in the monastery for three days, burning wood in an ancient stove in the dormitory to keep warm. Silence. Bells. Candles in the darkness. Cold and warmth. Once again I’d felt the Russian soul.
But what about the girls? Where are the daygame adventures and sexual escapades, I hear you cry. Unbeknown to me, that was all to come, once I’d ditched the idea of becoming a monk and hiding from the world after the need for emergency dental work took me back to Thessaloniki and reality.
10 years would go past, until I was 31, when I’d rediscover Russia and the FSU; not with my father or through the church this time, but because of daygame.
I’d started daygaming properly in 2010 in London (you can read about my early days of game in my first book “Daygame“), and quickly realised that the hottest girls I was stopping and trying to get out on dates were from Russia, Ukraine and Eastern Block countries. Some of these FSU countries were now in the European Union meaning their girls could travel freely and live and work in the UK.
My first foreign daygame trip was to Vilnius in Lithuania for a few days in 2011, thanks to the longer holidays of being a school teacher and the joys of budget airlines. This was followed by Riga in Lativa, Prague in the Czech Republic, and then finally my original wing Rami and I bit the bullet and decided to go to Moscow for a reconnaissance mission in 2012.
Arriving back in the city fourteen years later, a lot had changed since the trip with my father. At first glance, a tourist in the centre of Moscow today would assume they were in a Western capital – Starbucks, glitzy malls, clean streets, cafe culture, western facilities. Yet a mile or two out beyond the centre where Rami and I stayed in an apartment (which tourists rarely see) lay the bleak tower blocks and Soviet mentality of days gone past.
Behind the shiny facade the harshness of the FSU remains, as any daygamer will experience if they avoid hotels and book local apartments, spending time getting to know the real side of the FSU cities.
After the collapse of the FSU, Perestroika had unleashed capitalism and made the rich super wealthy, super fast, leaving ordinary Russians in their wake. Ben Mezrich’s excellent account of this race for money and power, “Once Upon A Time In Russia,” is an ideal read to learn more.
From 2011-2016 I’ve now travelled / lived / daygamed and dated in Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Moldova plus the Iron Curtain countries of Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Poland and East Germany. I’ve spent months exploring their cities and seducing their girls, unlocking the puzzle that is the FSU contradiction. Peeling back the layers, like opening Russian dolls, I’ve experienced more and more of FSU life: the shabby apartments, the “rude” service, broken elevators , brutal emotions….but also the stunning girls.
Catwalk legs, long hair, heels, skirts, dresses, fur, their high cheekbones and deep eyes. Where do I begin?
To date I’ve slept with over 50 Russian / FSU girls from daygame, and made two of them (one Russian and one Ukrainian) longer term girlfriends. To get access to the hottest girls on the planet, I’ve learnt to survive in these rusting hulks of countries. There’s a sweet irony that the most beautiful girls in the world live in some of the bleakest places.
I’ve striven to unite the contradictions of these countries, to melt these stunning ice queens and find warmth inside. I can safely say I now understand how these countries tick when it comes to their women. That’s what motivated me to write this book; to pass on this knowledge from thousands of approaches, hundreds of dates and dozens of successful seductions inside the FSU.
Want to watch me pickup Russian and Former Soviet Union girls infield? Check out my daygame infield product “Stealth Seduction” which features daygame and dating with girls from Russia, Ukraine, Moldova and Poland (as well as 11 other nationalities around the world).