A Weekend Getaway to North Korea

It's a country that has always intrigued me. A hermit nation that doesn't abide by democratic ideologies nor UN sanctions. A lot has been documented and speculated about this secretive country, but little has been confirmed due to the inaccessibility.

A nation set up alongside the Soviets and supported by China is now one of only five remaining communist countries. Many books and documentaries consumed and having lived on the south side of the border for a few years, I just had to see it for myself.

Was it the best-timed trip? Well, not really with what happened with Otto Warmbier and the threats from the Rocket Men. But is there ever a good time to visit North Korea?

In the weeks leading up to our departure I was slightly concerned, every morning I'd flick through the headlines on BBC News with most of them focused on a back-and-forth between Trump and Kim. Those headlines didn't bother me so much, they've been going on for weeks and little has materialised other than an international competition of "my penis is bigger than yours". And, let's be frank, it's a competition neither of them would win comfortably.

The stories ranged from threats on Guam, missile tests over Japan and Trump weighing in with some inane fighting talk. The US military was "locked and loaded" and that the US would "totally destroy North Korea" if necessary. Kim Jong Un went on to describe Trump as "mentally deranged". Imagine that, Kim Jong Un calling you mentally deranged. You seriously need to have a look at yourself in the mirror if that's happening. We're lucky to have two rational, level-headed leaders in charge of those big red buttons.

A moral question I was repeatedly asked was: aren't you concerned about funding the regime? Of course, it's a concern, but one may argue that everyone's tourist spending in America contributes to them funding the bombing of thousands of innocent people in Syria. Consider that next time you're in soaking up the sun in LA.

I was joined on this suicidal journey by Karl. Karl still lives in Seoul, a mere 195km from Pyongyang, but had to access the capital by flying to Beijing, then flying on to Dandong before getting an extremely slow train that was pulled by peasants (well, it certainly felt that slow) from the border to the capital, Pyongyang. It took Karl numerous hours of travelling to get there, I'm pretty sure Eddie Izzard could have run the 195km from capital to capital in a shorter time.

Karl and I arrived in Dandong on the Chinese-North Korean border and we were about 80% excited and 20% terrified for what lay ahead of us in the following 3 days.

Our last picture in the free world #Mao

Day 1 in North Korea:

Up early as we were meeting the tour group outside Dandong train station at 8am sharp. We hovered around the entrance without much sign of the tour leader. A group of people started to form and we speculated that they might be our travel companions. It was a good bet considering they were the only whities in a mass of Chinese people. A giant Australian, named Rowan, later arrived and introduced himself as our tour guide. His height made me uneasy. I nestled in among the Chinese lads to boost my self-confidence.

Everyone was accounted for, we were all issued our visas and we made our way through international departure. At the first security check-point, Rowan was acting like a tit. He was very handsy with the police officer who was checking our visas. He was hitting his hat, nudging him, pinching his arse. I thought “this is the guy overseeing our safety in North Korea? This guy isn’t going to make it out of the train station!” Luckily he made it through and made it onto the train headed for Pyongyang. First stop Sinuiju.

Sinuiju is the first town on the other side of the Chinese-North Korean border, 940m across the Sino-Friendship Bridge. This is where the very stringent security check would take place. It was quite honestly, one of the most daunting experiences of my life. The North Koreans bordered the train and immediately took our passports. We were at their disposal. They conducted a baggage search. Censorship is quite the pastime in North Korea, with religious documents, certain publications, and pornography all banned. Luckily they didn’t find the Playboy in my hand luggage and the butt-plug up my arse.

Reliable Rowan was on hand to get us out of this sticky situation. He slyly handed (in plain sight to everyone) the security officers a packet of American cigarettes to each of them and they were happy to let us through. We had time to kill while the rest of the train was searched so we were ordered off the train to stock up on supplies for the 6-hour journey to the capital.

Karl and I had reminders of “funding the regime” ringing in our heads but made an enquiry to alcohol.

“How much alcohol do you have left?” We politely asked the refreshment ladies.

“There are only 8 large bottles of beer and 2 bottles of soju left.”

“OK, we’ll take the lot.”

We had been off the train for a mere 30 seconds and were less than a kilometre into North Korea before we had lost our morals. Don’t judge us, 6 hours is a long time to spend on a train.

Tensions had eased and we were enjoying ourselves. What was all the fuss about?!

We drank all the way to Pyongyang, marvelling at the sights of rural North Korea. It was fascinating. The towns were tiny and there were no cars. People got around on foot or bicycle if they were lucky to have one. The people were dirty and had clothes that looked like they were donated by the USSR in the 60s. Propaganda messages were placed high in the hills as people hand-worked the fields below, with cattle mainly used for pulling carts between towns. It felt like we had gone back in time or at least to the opening scenes of Borat.

We arrived in Pyongyang a little tipsier than anticipated and Karl and I rushed to take pictures.

When we went to re-join the group on the platform they had gone. We had been in Pyongyang for all of 3 minutes and had managed to lose the group.

Some North Korean ladies started speaking to us in English and we had to introduce ourselves as the mongs that got lost instantaneously.

Our first evening there was spent by strolling through the streets of the city. It was all very normal. People were heading home from a long day at work, others were drinking in pubs. We stopped at Kim Il-Sung Square (the square you see on the news with the military parades) where it was all kicking off. There were thousands of people there who were rehearsing a big song and dance for the anniversary of the founding of Kim Il-Sung’s Worker’s Party of North Korea on the 10^th of October.

We finished the evening in the hotel bar discussing what we’d seen today with the rest of the tour group. It was all smiles until Mr. Kim arrived. He was the muscle and was seemingly there to keep tabs on what our tour guides said to us. His presence at the bar was met with silence. He joined our conversation and was, in fact, very welcoming. A few beers in and we were chatting away and he gave us the freedom to ask any questions we liked. It seemed like a trap, but after a few more beers, we were listening to his theories on America, Trump, South Korea, China, and, of course, North Korea’s majesticness.

I sat and listened to him pensively as it’s not every day that you get a chance to speak openly with a North Korean. I wish I could have recorded all of it, but just had to rely on my drunken memory which is unreliable at the best of times.

Here is a little wisdom he shared with us...

It’s rude to refer to North Korea as North Korea and it’s actually referred to as the DPRK. There is a correct way to fold a newspaper and that’s to make sure you don’t fold the pictures of the great leaders. He thought China are selfish neighbours. He held little resentment towards the American people, but a lot towards their government. The Great Wall of China was in fact erected to protect China from the Koreans, not the Mongolians. As well as so much more that was just impossible to remember.

We retired to our very nice hotel room which just so happened to be bugged with hidden microphones.

Day 2 in the DPRK:

I woke up with the shits. We headed down for breakfast only to realise that we were late. Did you know the DPRK has its own time zone? Nor did Karl and I. They are +7:30hours ahead of GMT. It was not an ideal start to the day.

On the bus and we were off sightseeing with an air of confidence, much like the time Kim Jong-Il bowled a perfect 300-game or when he sank 11 holes-in-one the first time he played golf. I actually would have been happy enough not to have shat myself that day.

Before long we were off to lay some flowers at the bronze monuments of the Great Leaders Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jong-Il. We approached the statues with strict orders to pay our utmost respect to them. I walked up to the base, placed the flowers, walked 20 metres back and bowed the best bow I could. It was at that moment I thought “how has my life come to this?” Most people my age are holidaying in Malaga or taking their girlfriends off to Paris. I’m in the heart of Pyongyang bowing to 25-metre tall statues of dead communist leaders.

Next stop on our tour took us to the Juche Tower. Juche was a theory of self-reliance which cut the country off from the rest of the world. I thought it was best to keep the reminders to myself about financial and oil-aid from China and food-aid from America and South Korea. I guess that’s why Juche is just a theory.

Our next sightseeing destination was at the Monument to Party Founding. This monument is a classic communist sight, a hammer, a sickle but with an added calligraphy brush which represent the workers, farmers, and intellectuals. The DPRK pride themselves on having a depiction of education, but not too much education, because that never really works out for communism.

We took a ride on the subway (seriously, who does that for fun?) It was quite interesting to see the locals up close. They didn’t seem too fazed with 15 foreigners in the carriage with them. Maybe they’ve seen it all before, or maybe they’re taught not to acknowledge us? Who knows? 

At one point the carriage got very tight and one unsavoury person pushed everyone very hard resulting in me squashing an old lady. I apologised to her in Korean, and she turned away immediately. Every now and then she’d give me a look over her shoulder. When it came to my stop I said goodbye to her in Korean and I got a smile that time. It was quite nice to have a pleasant moment with a local.

Those two lads are quite literally everywhere. I expected the locals to stare at us a lot more than they did. I actually think I stared at them more. 

We disembarked the subway and took a stroll through a local park watched as families played. It was here that I felt I could have been anywhere else in the world (other than Beijing due to the blue skies).

We headed back to the hotel and resumed the beer drinking from the night before. I made it through the day without shitting myself.

The propaganda is plastered around the city.

Some waitresses from one of the restaurants. They wanted a picture with us as much as we did with them. The North Koreans seemed emotionless, they never smiled for pictures.

Day 3 in DPRK:

Our last day in the glorious nation and we only had one place to visit, The Victorious Fatherland Liberation War Museum. We had a smoking hot tour guide give us the express tour of the museum. We were sat down and made to watch a documentary about who started the Korean War. You’re not going to believe the outcome, but it was the bloody Americans that started it all! Who’d have thought?

We had the long slog of a journey back to China ahead, but it was much more relaxed than on the way there. I was so at ease by the end of the trip. At the final security check, I was slightly tipsy, swigging on soju, flicking through a porno and quoting the Quran.

The whole trip was a jolly. We went, we had a laugh, mucked around, took pictures with the local girls, bought some propaganda material and went home.

There were times when I thought I could have been in South Korea or quite literally anywhere in the world. We visited a microbrewery, we sat drinking locally brewed beer talking rubbish. We played pool at the hotel bar and I was seeing 12 pockets instead of 6. We took a stroll in the park and saw families enjoying picnics and playing badminton. All very mundane pastimes that don't reflect the image that is portrayed on TV or the internet. The troubles you see in the media don't stem from the every day Joes, it's the egomaniacs in office.

The people we encountered were very accommodating and friendly and I can't speak highly enough of the staff at Young Pioneer Tours. We got answers to questions most aren't able to ask and it would appear that the people there truly believe what they are preaching. One person asked a tour guide if the images we saw of when Kim Jong-Il died were accurate, she went on to explain her love for the Great Military Leader and the party shedding a tear as she did so. It made me awfully sad to see someone react so emotionally about something that is based on lies. I suppose us outsiders will never know and experience the real DPRK, but getting this close is as good as it gets.

A big shout-out goes to my dear Eunju as she translated a lot of things for me. I went away on holiday and took loads of pictures and she got homework.

Life In England, Coming Back to Korea, and the Worst Night Out of My Life

OK, so there’s been a change of plan…

I’m now back in Korea. I genuinely didn’t want this to happen, I had decided that I needed to go somewhere new, but there was always a difficult barrier to overcome. Either it was a contract condition that I wasn’t happy with, or I had to be in the country for a face-to-face interview, or the salary to cost of living ratio was too far out of balance. The easy option was to go back to Korea.

I had originally decided to stay in the UK for 6 months, but life in Bedford isn’t all that interesting, the novelty of home had worn off, and although my parents were happy to have me back, my feet were itchier that a bad case of crabs. So, I’m back in hot, humid Seoul. Back at my old school, living in my old apartment – it was like I was never away.

Don’t get me wrong, the time I spent home in England was great. I got to spend time with all of my family, and either they’re all excellent liars or they genuinely missed me while I was away. I got to reconcile with family members that I haven’t seen in 15 years? And of course I got to catch up with a great bunch of friends. It would appear that no matter how long I might have been away there would have been a great reception upon my return. I couldn’t have asked for more.

Despite all the great things of home; the people, the food, (some of) the nights out, and a reasonably priced Guinness, there were aspects of being home that bothered me.

Something that I never realised before was how racist people are towards Asian people. Some people knew that I’d been away, and others I had mentioned it to them, but as soon as I did it opened a flood gate of seemingly accepted racism. The worst I heard were “How is your Thai bride?”, “Good morning, Vietnam!” and “ching chong ching”. The ignorance is strong with these people. "Thai bride", "Vietnam", these aren’t even relatable to Korea. They’re completely different countries. And “ching chong ching”? Even Jim Davidson and Mel Gibson would conclude that this Chinese gibberish is too racist for their tastes.

For some reason people still think it’s acceptable to say racist things about Asian people. I don’t think these same people would say bigoted things about other races or nationalities. It was another contributing factor that made me want to leave earlier than planned.

And here’s another thing, I was in South Korea, not North Korea. No, I didn’t meet Kim Jong-Un. No, it’s not “basically China”. No, there isn’t continuous warfare between the North and South. And the 2018 Winter Olympics will be held in Pyeongchang not Pyeongyang – they’re different places. I probably shouldn’t be annoyed with these misconceptions, after all there is very little Korean exposure in the UK. With the exception of Psy’s famous hit, Park Ji-sung, and, apparently, AFC Wimbledon’s love of Shin Ramen, people know next to nothing of Korea.

Did I have doubts about going back? Sure. Will it be the same? Will the second year have too much to live up to? I don’t know, but I’ve dallied on too many big decisions recently. I managed to convince myself that it wasn’t the right time to go and live in Japan, Hong Kong, China, or Vietnam (which is very hard to do!) and I couldn’t do the same with Korea, I didn’t want to wait any longer.

The reasons to go outweigh the few to stay. I was doing a meaningless job where the topic of conversation of each day was tits and fanny. Don’t get me wrong I love tits and fanny as much as the next man (unless the next man is Ched Evans) but I don’t want to talk about it every bloody day. There was the boredom of home creeping in, lacking a sense of adventure, learning nothing new. These are valid, obvious reasons to continue exploring a country I am so fond of living in.

When considering my last two weekends in England they are at the two ends of the spectrum of enjoyment and one was a definite factor in leaving England so rapidly. My penultimate weekend was an unplanned night out, usually these are the best ones, but this was not one of them. It all started well, a few lads and I played a couple of rounds of 9-hole foot-golf (football and golf for those without an imagination). 

Peggy doing what he does best

It was suggested that we go for a few beers after in the neighbouring town of Newport Pagnell, hardly glamorous, but I’ll rarely turn down a few beers with the boys. At this point I did express my concern as I was wearing a Galatasaray football shirt, but was told that it shouldn’t be a problem. A few pubs into a pub crawl and I was approached by UKIP’s poster boy, some product of the Hitler Youth’s sister programme – the Farage Adolescence. He felt that he needed to take time out of his night to inform me that, as I was wearing a Turkish football shirt that had the Islamic star and crescent emblazed on it, that by wearing the shirt I was “supporting and funding ISIS”. Really? The Galatasaray board of directors had a meeting and established their season objectives: to acquire the best available playing staff, to remain profitable and sustainable financially, and to send a couple of youth players on loan to al-Qaeda FC. (And if that mong is reading this (which he definitely is not, he’s probably got his head buried into the latest edition of The Daily Sport) the star and crescent was originally a symbol of the Ottoman Empire. The symbol became associated with Islamism in the mid-20^th century, so the crest on the shirt is more an association with Turkish history rather than any religious connection.) We bid the awful man adieu and made our way to Milton Keynes - this was a terrible idea. I was rejected from every establishment for my choice of shirt and was even spat on. I went home soon after. (Can you tell I’m still angry about that night?)

The following weekend was by contrast sensational. A day and night out in London. Beers on the train down, beers by the river, watched the Football Manager “derby” between AFC Wimbledon and Watford, beers at the game, cycled to Camden on the Borris bikes (this was funny at the time, but a rather dangerous idea), beers in Camden, met some Koreans and showed off my terrible Korean language skills, more beers, and then got the train back to Bedford. No drama, just a great day without religious hate, or airborne saliva. Why can’t every weekend be like that?

Anyway, I’ve been in Korea for a few days, it was all rushed in the end and I didn’t get to see people properly before leaving, which was a disappointment.

Sorry if this one seemed like a rant, it’s just I haven’t written for a while.

Thanks for reading.

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The DMZ: The Most Dangerous Place on Earth

The Korean Demilitarised Zone (DMZ) is known to be “the most dangerous place on earth”. OK, that seems an exaggeration; I can’t help but think central Africa, the Gaza Strip, or Middle Eastern war zones where people are beheaded are slightly more dangerous. The DMZ is a place where any idiot with a camera, such as I, can stroll around unharmed. Sure, some people have been shot here, but that doesn’t make it the most dangerous. A more accurate description would be ‘the most heavily guarded’. I’d rather take my chances here at the DMZ than on a night out in Luton.

The tour starts at the DMZ Observatory Post, here you can look into North Korea. The main thing you can see is Kijong-dong, a village in the North known as Peace Village, but outsiders know it as Propaganda Village. This is a fake village where propaganda about the country’s great leader, and music will play for 20 hours a day. It is all an act as no one lives in the village, as you can see doors and windows painted on to the buildings. In the 1980s the South Koreans erected a flagpole on their side of the border, only to be outdone by the North as they built a taller one soon after.

The view of North Korea from the DMZ Observatory Post. It's difficult to tell from the picture but the trees stop suddenly on the North side of the border. This is to make it easier to spot any potential escapees to the South.

Propaganda Village, a fake village visible from the South.

The next stop on our tour was to look at the third infiltration tunnel that was discovered by South Korean soldiers in 1978. The North used dynamite to hollow out a tunnel, although they claim they were looking for coal…sure. We entered the tunnel (not an innuendo), and it was, erm, a tunnel. Long, dark, and narrow. Like most tunnels.

Soon after we went to Dorasan Station, a station that once connected the two divided countries for all of… 1 year. As tensions grew once again they shut it down. The station was used to transport materials and goods to and from Kaesong Industrial Region (a joint business venture by both countries, the cheap labour of the North is utilised by major companies from the South).

Finally, we visited the Joint Security Area (JSA), an area on the DMZ that is used to host negotiations between the two countries and the United Nations. This room is on the border, quite literally half of the room in the Republic of Korea (South) and the other half in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (North). Prior to entering this room we were briefed on the risks and we signed our lives away in expected fashion. We were under the control of a 20-year-old American soldier, who openly said “I don’t care if I cause open fire, but y’all might not like it” and “I don’t read books, I only read magazines”, this was the guy in charge. 

We stepped out onto the steps of Freedom House; we looked across the JSA buildings, the North and South soldiers in stand-off, and Panmungak (the main North Korean building). There was a huge amount of tension, none of the tour group dared to speak; it was eerie, and dangerous. Apparently, when out in the open where we were North Korean snipers are aiming directly at us, anticipating any provocation.

We went into the JSA building where there were South Korean soldiers on duty. They stood motionless wearing sunglasses (a scare tactic to intimidate the Northern soldiers). They are all highly trained in Taekwondo, and this was as close as I was willing to get to him.

The seemingly insignificant picture of the slabs on the ground (above) do have significance. The concrete slabs represent the border line between the countries, and standing to the left of the slabs shows that I have crossed the border into North Korea. That’s something off the bucket list!

We were in the JSA room for 5-10 minutes before we were ushered away.

The last stop before heading back to Seoul was at the Bridge of No Return, a bridge used for prisoner exchanges after the cease-fire in 1953. Prisoners of war were allowed to choose whether to stay in the country of their capture or cross the bridge to the other country, once a decision was made they could never return, hence the really imaginative name.

The DMZ tour was very interesting; although very touristy there are plenty of interesting sites of the formed of the divide. Whether you know a lot about the Korean conflict or not I would still recommend it. If you don’t know much about the North Koreans, allow me to summarise. North Korea hate all Americans, with the exception of the eccentric, alcoholic, spouse beating, transvestite that is Dennis Rodman. He’s the one they accept. If that doesn’t show how fucked up their county is then nothing will.