Travel
Tuesday, 01 September 2009 08:09
Written by Ned Kelly

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Casting one’s eyes across the tarmac toward the antiquated airport terminal - the letters PYONGYANG written in large above you, a portrait of Kim Il Sung benignly grinning down upon you - is one of life’s genuine 'how-on-Earth-did-I-find-myself-here?' moments. The realization you have arrived in another world, one hidden behind a rust-tarnished iron curtain, is quickly brought home with the confiscating of all mobile phones. There will be no access to the Internet either. In this instant-information age the sensation is comparable with an astronaut orbiting the dark side of the moon - all lines of communication with the world you know broken until you re-emerge on the other side.

Once through customs we are immediately shepherded onto a bus by our guides and taken to our first monument, the Arch of Triumph, a self-consciously over-sized replication of its French counterpart that celebrates resistance to 40 years of Japanese colonial rule. Grandiose architectural statements are something one quickly becomes acquainted with. More bombs were dropped on the DPRK during the Korean War than on Japan and Germany combined during World War II; it is estimated 428,000 were dropped on capital Pyongyang alone – more than one per member of the population - reducing the city to rubble. After the armistice was signed, the city was redesigned and rebuilt in the Soviet Classicism-style; wide avenues, imposing monuments and monolithic buildings the order of day.

Evening drawing in, we push on to our hotel. The only place we are allowed to be unaccompanied by our Korean hosts, it is strategically positioned on an island in the middle of the Taedong River. That, coupled with the fact it contains bars, a bowling alley and a casino has led to wags having dubbed it ‘the Alcatraz of fun.’ We are warned not to stray from its confines under the spurious pretext of “our own safety.”

A trip to the DPRK is no idle one. There for only five full days, you are up early and whisked from one attraction to the next, many sites being those of veneration to The Great Leader, Kim Il Sung, father of current leader Kim Jong Il and founder of the nation. He is everywhere. Lying in state formaldehyde-preserved; towering over you in 60-foot high bronze statue form; sternly staring down on you from portraits on every public building; smiling at you from the pin badges that everybody in the country wears. It is impossible to overstate the reverence in which he is held. Leader of the war of resistance against the Japanese, vanquisher of the mighty US army, his status is that of messiah. And don’t kid yourself: these people aren’t faking it for fear of his wrath; he’s been dead for over 15 years (but, as Eternal President, is still officially head of state). Fascinating insight into the mind of a nation – and the human psyche itself – as it is, the overdose of obsession quickly starts to grate. Only 24 hours in I’d come to the conclusion that personality cults really aren’t my thing; admittedly, a feeling diplomacy dictated would be best kept to myself.

So, as strange as it sounds, it was with a sense of relief that we set off for what Bill Clinton described as “the scariest place on Earth.” The Demilitarized Zone that divides the two Koreas is the most fortified border on the planet, with two million troops posted along this 4km wide strip, ready to go to war at the drop of a grenade pin. The only place along its 248km length where North and South Korean forces stand face-to-face is the Joint Security Area. Watching the compatriots-turned-combatants eye-balling each other all day is engrossing, the body-language fascinating: the North Koreans rigid in their outmoded uniforms; the South Koreans, with an Americanized swagger about them, hide their eyes behind aviator shades. There is a Swiftian absurdity about it, and yet it is very real, and very chilling in that. Here the border is marked by a thin, ankle-high strip of concrete. Cross it and you will be shot.

Back in Pyongyang the circus must rank as one of the best in the world, if freakishly surreal at times. Yet it has nothing in the freaky stakes compared to the show we were to witness at the Children’s Palace, where doll-like kids with synchronized stage smiles perform an all-singing, all-dancing tribute to their nation. A catchy number, in which a six year-old boy celebrates the glory of setting off missiles is followed by an equally cutesy-creepy 5 year-old girl singing a song praising the City Power Station for running at 160 percent output. Cynics might suggest these children had not written the lyrics themselves.

Yet it would be all too easy to write the entirety of the trip off as a stage-managed propaganda piece orchestrated by the DPRK tourist board. Sure, led around we undoubtedly were. But take this moment: watching a state-organized mass dance – 2,000 young people in traditional dress doing an orchestrated dance by the river in honor of the Great Leader - a keen Korean lady in the crowd grabs one of our group, dragging him onto the steps above the rest of the performers to test out his moves. As we all feared, the authorities soon swoop - our assumption being to remove them. Instead they are encouraged onto the dance floor proper and get right in the thick of it. It is a spontaneous moment and one that delights and amuses the gathered spectators, Koreans and tourists alike. And there was the friendly family we encountered picnicking in the park one sunny afternoon, who generously offered us beer and food - they were no stooges.

Along with the massive monuments, the variant views of history, the collective culture and the kitsch, one gets a glimpse at normal people getting on with the simple business of living their lives in tough circumstances, and in many ways it is these insights into the minutiae of life that are the most interesting and enlightening moments, ones that challenge the two-dimensional demonization of an entire nation.

Back in the hotel bar, over a whisky, DPRK veteran Simon Cockerell of Koryo tours reflects on visitors’ expectations. “People come here with preconceived ideas as to what they will find, and they allow them to shade their perceptions,” he says. “Those that want to see an egalitarian workers’ paradise see an egalitarian workers’ paradise. Those that want to see fear in everybody’s eyes see fear in everybody’s eyes. The truth is that there have been people who have been coming here for 20 years and they still don’t really understand the country.”

For now at least, the DPRK remains a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. And therein lies the fascination.

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