You remember the old internet, don’t you? The clunky backgrounds, the endless Geocities pages, the blogs that felt like handwritten letters. You probably miss it. I know I did — until I found a forgotten blog from 2008: “Vienna to Pyongyang by Train.”
It’s a simple travelogue. A man boards a train in Vienna, crosses Europe, and eventually arrives in North Korea. The photos are grainy. The text is earnest. And it’s one of the most unsettling things I’ve ever read.
The old internet didn’t connect us — it made us tourists in other people’s lives.
Here’s the thing: this blog isn’t about trains. It’s about the thrill of accessing the forbidden. The blogger didn’t visit North Korea to understand it. He visited to experience the “last frontier” of travel. And we, the readers, consumed it like a curiosity.
We tell ourselves that the old internet was a place of genuine community. That before algorithms and engagement metrics, people shared for the love of sharing. But look at this blog. What did it share? A journey through a brutal totalitarian state, framed as a personal adventure. No critique. No context. Just the exoticism of a place few can go.
We didn’t connect; we consumed. The only difference was that the consumption felt more intimate.
This is the dark truth of internet nostalgia. We miss the permission to stare. The old web gave us a front-row seat to other people’s realities — their poverty, their oppression, their strangeness — without the burden of responsibility. We could gawk and move on.
The blog’s comments section reads like a time capsule. “A true gem of the old internet,” someone wrote. “The kind of thing you can’t find anymore.” They’re right. You can’t find it anymore — not because the internet changed, but because we started to question the ethics of our gaze.
Today, we’d call this “dark tourism.” We’d ask: Did the blogger get permission? Did he respect the people he photographed? Did he consider the regime’s propaganda? In 2008, those questions were optional.
Nostalgia for the old internet is nostalgia for a time when we didn’t have to ask.
I’m not saying every old blog was unethical. But this one — this specific train ride to Pyongyang — forces us to confront what we really miss. It’s not the creativity or the community. It’s the unmediated access to the forbidden. The feeling that we were explorers, not voyeurs.
So the next time you scroll through a “remember when the internet was fun” post, stop. Ask yourself: what were you really looking at? And why did it feel so good?
The old internet wasn’t better. It was just more dangerous — and we were too naive to notice.
That’s the real gem. Not the blog. The lesson.
FAQ
Q: Isn't this just a personal blog from a traveler? What's the big deal?
A: The big deal is how we interpret it. The blog is a perfect example of the old internet's voyeuristic culture. It's not the content itself but the way we consumed it — as entertainment, not education.
Q: So are you saying we shouldn't read old travel blogs?
A: Read them, but don't romanticize them. Understand the context. The blog's value is as a historical artifact of how Westerners viewed North Korea, not as a neutral travelogue.
Q: What's the practical takeaway for today's internet users?
A: Be aware of the power dynamics in any content that shows 'forbidden' places or people. Ask who benefits from the story. And question your own nostalgia — it might be a cover for a less flattering impulse.