Lighting struck the tail of the plane and Angela turned to me, eyes wide with fear. I consoled her, “it’s okay, it was just a bit of lighting”, while internally I was sweating. The plane shook violently, lurching from side to side as we continued our decent through heavy storm clouds. I held on tight while attempting to calm my wife down as she gripped the arm rests.
I sat there questioning myself on our choice in flying with the lowest rated airline in the world to reach the Hermit Kingdom, but as we broke through the clouds and the plane stopped vibrating violently, I could just about make out the bleak landscape of North Korea below us and I realised that we had made it. The strangeness was about to begin.
The rain outside was unrelenting but as we stepped down the stairs from the plane, at least thirty airline staff sheltered us, standing side by side and holding an unbroken chain of umbrellas down the steps and into the airport bus. The bus trundled to the arrival hall where all of our electronics including batteries were promptly taken and inspected by stern looking military men. All the time the ‘Dear Leaders’ looked over the hall in the form of paintings. Finally we got the nod of approval and they released us into the hands of our two guides.
Looking over Pyongyang from Juche Tower
A glimpse of the Hermit Kingdom
Under a constant watchful set of eyes, it was incredibly difficult to capture any of the realism of the country. I was largely constrained to filming happy, pre-set situations showing positive strong and highly skilled individuals. There was so much more to be told behind each picture. It’s for this reason I’ve included many short stories of the journey there, describing the other invisible-to-camera side of the trip. Unfortunately I didn’t capture as much as I might have liked, both in photos and in video, but hopefully between my writing and the photos you can build your own understanding of what it was like in this bizzare trip.
One of the strangest feelings my wife and I kept encountering, was that everything felt so normal. Our guides made us feel at home, happy and well looked after, and the situations we encountered built up to make us feel “normal”. Each night my wife and I would debrief and bring ourselves back to the reality of what we’d just experienced during the day, and where we currently were.
Perhaps I had simply been brainwashed by my own media outlets, but I was caught completely off guard at the knowledge and language ability of our guides. Kim spoke in a blended Korean American accent and would joyfully joke, poke fun at everyone and speak with complex sarcasm and puns. Pak had less control of English and couldn’t interact at the same level of wit as Kim, speaking through a thick Korean accent. However she could still interact on almost all conversations at a high level and would always start the day through a broad smile at us.
The peak of strangeness came as we went to the bowling ally with our guides, opting to play pool instead of bowling. We played in teams, Kim and Angela (my wife) and Pak and myself. We joked, teased each other and generally had a genuinely fun time. This was all broken as we stepped out of the door and the reality of where we were sunk in again.
The “busy” road leading to the still unfinished Ryugyong Hotel, which began construction in 1987
Watchful eye
Upon our arrival, every step we took and every activity we wanted to do was carefully watched and monitored by our guides, our driver, or anyone near enough to see us. While this eased up from our guides as the journey progressed, it was clear that there were places we could and couldn’t go, just as there were questions we could and couldn’t ask… and those are always the ones which intrigue us most.
A small crowd of workers near the Pyongyang football field
Road leading away from Yanggakdo Hotel
Yanggakdo Hotel
Standing in the hotel lobby we waited for the lift to come down to greet us, but as we tried various buttons around the elevator hall we found that only two were “operational” and even turned on and that these had become stuck somehow. A staff member came over to see what the problem was, gave the button a few jabs before backing off, unsure what to do. After some time the elevator finally came to life and we ascended. There were a number of other individuals inside with us who would alight at different floors, many which were pitch black.
Finally we found ourselves alone on the right level, very alone. The sound of the elevator descending and the dim buzz and hum of a few lights which lit our way down the musty hallway. We slowly made our way to the room, looking down empty hallways and dark corners. Of a floor built for thirty plus people we were the only ones there, it was unnerving.
We spoke in hushed voices whenever in the room, scared that we were being monitored. While our tour organiser in Beijing told us we were simply not important enough to monitor, the hype in the media had left a residue of paranoia on our brains. Every night we would sit in bed, analysing our encounters of the day in whispers and coded language, just in case.
Looking down a long and (mostly) car-free road
A small row boat bobs down the river
Ornamental arch symbolizing the hopeful reunification of the North and South
Motionless
We were en-route to the embroidery centre which had been closed only a few hours previously, but which was now very much open after our guides made a few long calls. We trundled along empty streets looking out at the scenery; men and woman carrying spades and other tools, police and military personnel patrolling, and many people on bikes travelling somewhere else. It had all become quite normal for us four days into the tour, but as we turned a corner, I felt my heartbeat quicken, my muscles tighten and my stomach clench. I looked to Angela to see if she had seen it also; she had. Her eyes were wide with shock.
A man lay face down in the grass on the side of the street, people walking past as though nothing was wrong, we couldn’t tell if he was alive or not and by the time we both came to grips with what we had seen, the van was far down the road and the scene a scar on our memories.
This was not the last time I would see such a sight, the second time very similar to the first, but further away and one my wife didn’t witness. A motionless man who appeared to have collapsed from his bike on the side of the road, while others walked past with no regard. I must stop and question the mindset of a society which ignores those who are suffering.
The embroidary institute overshadowed by Ryugyong Hotel
Portraits of Kim Jong-Il and Kim Il-Sung looking over Kim Il-Sung square
A lady in traditional Korean dress welcomes us to Juche Tower
A row of men take a break beside the river
Kaesong
Looking over traditional rooftops in Kaesong
A farmer plows the barren land hoping for some growth
The dead fields stretch on with little sign of life
Thirty minutes into the trip I was already intrigued by the outside scenery, dirt. As far as the eye could see, dirt. We weren’t in the desert, but the land has been overly farmed until the result was dirt fields as far as the eye could see, with workers occasionally spotted picking around in the fields looking for a harvest. Luck would be theirs should they find anything more than a stray weed.
Other than dirt, we saw plenty of people scattered across the landscape. Walking, riding, digging or building. Despite the number of people working on various community projects, there seemed to be nothing actually finished. Then we spotted what we believed to be a prison or work camp and took to our guides to ask them “innocently’, “what’s that?” They did their best to ignore us, twice, focusing instead on other tasks, messaging or talking to the driver. Whatever it was, it was something they wished to avoid talking about.
I didn’t sleep the whole journey, and while our guides slept I spent my time absorbing the landscape and the people. Wherever there was manual labor happening, there was the military. No-one appeared to enter into community projects of their own free will. The remainder of the journey saw us pass five checkpoints which were largely uneventful, before we entered Kaesong.
In Kaesong we stayed in a beautiful traditional Hanok village which was conveniently a compound with large wrought iron gates closing at sunset. Very considerate of them to keep us safe… The hut we slept in had a traditional underground fireplace to heat the floor, which was handy as we would have been shivering without it. This was a luxury most of the country would never feel. A unsettling feeling set upon me as the reality of what they were giving us, strangers, compared to just about everyone in the country, excluding of course the all important leaders.
Some farmers are luckier than others and have motorised transport
A small village on the road to Kaesong
The sun sets over the Hanok compound
Looking out at the courtyard
Dusk in Kaesong
DMZ
Arriving at Panmunjom, the village at the sight of the DMZ we were greeted by a military officer who decided he’d also climb into our car and take a ride with us. He chatted in friendly tones with our guides and we felt strangely at ease. This sense of peace continued throughout our trip to the DMZ which was a strange contrast to when we had visited the DMZ from South Korea where we were on a very strict behaviour watch and a general air of stiffness and fear. Perhaps it’s that the North feel that they have so much power as that’s what the government tell them. They seem to know the psychological power they have over the South.
The signing hall for the armistice agreement
As we were taken around the various sites at the DMZ our guides would constantly question us what we had heard from the outside, what the South are saying, what do we think about it? They seem obsessed to know what everyone else is saying. It’s perhaps the rigid control of information in the country which fuels such fanatic interest in what everyone else is saying about them.
Looking at South Korea from the North
Traditional Korean architecture
Pyongyang subway system
Toy shop in one of the Pyongyang subway stations
The grand subway station in Pyongyang, complete with chandeliers
Dimly lit and surprisingly busy escalator leading to the station
Decending into the darkness of the Pyongyang subway system we were taken aback by the beautiful architecture and stunning chandeliers hanging from the roof. Commuters moved in numbers down into the station to the main platform preparing to depart.
There are about three platforms in the system like this, stunning with lovely architecture and mosaics spread across the walls. The rest of the platforms were less epic and resembled under lit concrete bomb shelters. It was these stops we weren’t allowed to get out at.
Each dark carriage lit overseen by portraits of the Great and Dear leaders
Get used to the dark
A lone bus speeding through the night
Korean mini-bus waiting for passengers
Disappearing beansprouts
Sitting at dinner, about to reach for some more beansprouts when they disappear. In fact, the whole room has gone. As my eyes adjust to the darkness I can see a little in bit more than black and I see that all the locals appear to be going about their business as though nothing special had happened. To be fair, it wasn’t special, it would happen multiple times every night; a result of limited power of the country battling to maintain the lavish living of those in the cities. If you were unlucky enough to be in an elevator during a power cut it would be a fun wait, considering they were unreliable at the best of times.
Delicious set of traditional Korean food dishes
Arts
A thirty minute multi act performance put on just for my wife and I at a local secondary school
A woman skillfully embroiders
A famous local painter, a very cheerful and welcoming man
Ceramics workshop run by a father and daughter
Painting palette in the arts centre
Lesson learned
One question which sticks in my head is, how much of our journey and experience was real?
We were never sure if the guide’s interest in our phones was out of government duty to ensure we weren’t spies and that we hadn’t taken any bad photos of their country, or if it was out if personal curiosity and a desire to understand the outside world; personally I now think it’s both. They are told to monitor what we are doing and what we say or take photos of, but they are also genuinely interested and fascinated by the outside world. The people of North Korea are not bad people, intent in the destruction of the world. They are just like you or I, trying to understand the world they live in and the situation they find themselves in. They want the best for the friends they make, and wish their enemies to leave them alone.
They are told certain truths and more untruths and they try to decipher which is which with the information they have access to. The evil comes from the government, the people in power, not those who are stuck in an inescapable situation of peril, just like dictatorships in any location across the globe. There’s so much more I’d love to say, but my biggest fear in anything I say about the North is not that I might upset Big Barry up the top with his missiles, it’s that it could endanger the genuinely good people we built a friendship with.
Don’t judge the people of a country on the actions of it’s dictator… or leader. North Korea is a fascinating place, go and visit and see for yourself.
