Travelling Around Britain and the World

Thursday 12 September 2013

The Nampho Barrage and back to Pyongyang: North Korea Part 6

A Big Dam, The Pyongyang Railway Musuem and the Temple of Youth

The Nampho Barrage

DPRK
(North Korea)

Waking to a cool and misty morning we marched to breakfast in sprightly style urged on by the martial music from the nearby collective farm.

Breakfast was not exciting, but it was the first time we had eaten in the same room as the Korean guides. Only as we left did we see their breakfast and it looked much more interesting than ours. Not for the first time (and not only in Korea), we were disappointed by being given what people thought we wanted.

Back on the bus we set off for the Nampho barrage. The huge dam, 15km outside the city of Nampho, was built in the 1980s at the cost of some 4 billion US dollars to close off the Taedong River from the Yellow Sea.

Kim Jong Il welcomes us to the Nampho Barrage

We drove along six kilometres of barrage to the visitor centre on Pi Do Island, beside the sluice gates and ship locks. The viewpoint on top of the building was dominated by a large concrete anchor.

Huge concrete anchor (and lighthouse?)
Pi Do Island, Nampho Barrage

Despite the poor weather we could see ships waiting out at sea while one was making its way through the locks, of which there are three, the largest capable of taking vessels up to 50,000t. According to Wikipedia it is a capital offence to photograph the dam. Below is my picture of the lock. Not everything you read on Wikipedia is the absolute truth (well who knew that?).

A ship goes through the lock, Nampho Barrage

We shared our visit with another group. On the roof we overheard two of their number giving their guide a hard time. In reply she said that she could not understand why some westerners had such a good time in Korea and then went home and told terrible lies about her country. North Korea is, of course, a paradise where, as our guides had told us, there are no taxes, health care is free, housing is free and everybody is equal. I have no wish to tell lies and I accept that (almost) all of the above is true. There are no taxes because the government is the only employer, they pay all the salaries and it would be perverse to give it out with one hand and collect it back with the other. In Britain we also have ‘free’ health care, though nothing is really free; we pay through our taxes, they pay by having lower salaries than they otherwise would. Free housing sounds wonderful until you realise it means the government decides where everybody lives; loyalty is rewarded and the gleaming tower blocks of central Pyongyang are much more attractive than the stained concrete of Sariwon. Everybody is, of course, equal, but as a man who was often in our thoughts in the DPRK once wrote, ‘some …are more equal than others.’

Inside the visitor centre we should have watched a film about the dam, but they could not make the machine work so instead we had a lecture from a nice young lady in traditional costume. The dam was designed to improve navigation to the port of Nampho and control flooding, so allowing more land to be used for agriculture. There is a third benefit: people living on the south side of the estuary who could see the city of Nampho over the water, but had to make an 80km journey to get there, could now make the 8km trip across the dam instead. This (I would have thought) minor benefit, was talked up as though it was the dam’s main raison d’etre. This seemed odd - we had seen no one else on the roadway as we had driven across, and the rail lines were coated with rust.

If you have to listen to a lecture, have a comfy seat
Nampho Barrage

Lunch on the Way Back to Pyongyang

Leaving the barrage, we drove back to Pyongyang, soon picking up the Youth Hero Highway again and bumping uncomfortably along for many miles. On the final section the westbound carriageway has smooth tarmac. In the absence of other traffic there seemed no reason for us not to use it, but the policemen on guard waved their flags emphatically to ensure we stayed on the bumpy side. As we rattled along two or three private cars with tinted windows sped past us on the other side. These were clearly people who were more equal than us. Indeed I got the impression they were very equal indeed.

We turned off the highway before reaching the city and after a short trip through the countryside and then round the urban periphery we reached the restaurant set aside for our use. Not for the first time we wondered what damage we could do by eating alongside ordinary people.

We started with the usual regrettable cold fried fish. Small and bony with a tough batter, it was almost impossible to find anything to eat on it. The cold chips were no more appetizing. It improved after that, chicken drumsticks, salad with mayonnaise, kimchi (I was beginning to develop a taste for this spicy fermented cabbage), a plate of warm vegetables and a helping of what can best be described as ‘granny's beef stew’. When we felt we could eat no more, along came the expected bowl of rice, this time accompanied by noodles, beansprouts, mountain herbs and bellflower root. It was the best dish of the meal, but few were capable of doing it justice.

The Yanggakdo, again

Pyongyang Railway Museum

After driving into central Pyongyang and checking back into the Yanggakdo (the same room, the same sheets on the bed), we set out on a short trip to the city’s railway museum. Not part of the normal tourist itinerary, this was the result of a special request made some days before by one of our number who had once worked in a railway museum.

We parked in the courtyard of another of Pyongyang’s huge monumental buildings. The railway museum occupied three rooms inside and an engine shed outside. We had the museum to ourselves and I suspect the few days that had passed since the request were to schedule a temporary closure – of course they could not risk our meeting any ordinary citizen-railway enthusiasts.

The two downstairs rooms, to nobody’s surprise, concentrated on when, where and how often the Kims caught a train.

Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il welcome us to the Railway Museum

We saw the trolley that Kim Il Sung’s wife used to escape the Japanese during the war – or was it a trolley like the one she escaped on? I may have lost concentration – or perhaps they blurred that point.

The trolley on which Mrs Kim escaped from the Japanese (or not)
Railway Museum, Pyongyang

The museum guide was very proud of the ticket printing machine, designed in North Korea, that Kim Il Sung alone had realised would be necessary for the proper running of a railway. What a guy. They only had a picture, but it looked antiquated enough to be in a museum.

Upstairs we entered an end room where a huge diorama of the building of a railway bridge filled two storeys of wall. The curved, trompe l’oeil painting was extraordinary. The trucks, rails and some of the equipment nearest us were real, but at what point reality became painting was the subject of much discussion.

What is real? What is painted?

Outside in the engine shed were three real engines. Two were remarkable only because of their Kim connections but the third, a narrow gauge, Glasgow built steam engine was the only artefact we had seen that merited a place on a museum in its own right. Sadly, there was no information about it.

A genuine museum piece
Railway Museum, Pyongyang

When we left the shed we found the previously empty courtyard crammed with teenagers all chattering excitedly about the prospect of finding out exactly how often Kim Il Sung caught a train. We were ushered away before they could be tarnished by our cynicism.

The Temple of Youth

We moved on to the Temple of Youth, another huge building shining brightly in the sunshine. Here the most talented of Pyongyang’s - indeed the country’s – youth gather for extra-curricular activities. Having a child selected to attend the Temple of Youth can win a family that most prized of assets, an apartment in the capital.

The Temple of Youth, Pyongyang

With a lot of other foreigners we wandered the wide corridors, here and there being ushered into spacious, carpeted rooms. We saw embroidery and calligraphy.....

Calligraphy class, Temple of Youth, Pyongyang

...a room full of computers where fourteen-year-olds were being taught to touch-type and several music and dance lessons where the boring stuff halted as we arrived so they could give a brief, and always very polished performance.

The central atrium display involved a rocket heading for the moon. North Korea did put a satellite in orbit in 2012 (at the fifth attempt) and has ambitions towards manned space flight (they are a very ambitious nation) but this display looked very much like an American space shuttle (but don’t tell the students).


The space shuttle of the hated Americans
Atrium, Temple of Youth, Pyongyang

All visitors were then directed to the vast auditorium, where a packed audience sat through an hour long show. There was some acrobatics, some magic and much singing and dancing in small groups and in large ensembles. You do not have to be a parent to enjoy such things, but it does help, even when they are as professional as this.

And they were remarkably professional given that some were only seven or eight while the oldest were thirteen or fourteen, though the high-pitched voices of some of the younger children did tend to grate. The music involved the usual pastiche of western tunes and further along the row a guide was translating some of the words. ‘Ardent Desire’ sounded an inappropriate title for a song by a pre-pubescent girl, but the song turned out to be about the ardent desire of the Korean people that Kim Jong Un should be healthy, happy and wealthy. Come to think of it, that is inappropriate, but not in the way I had first thought.

Dinner that evening was a choice between eating in the Yanggakdo or going out for a pizza. I like Italian pizza, but it is virtually impossible to find (outside Italy, of course). What most of the rest of the world knows as pizza is American pizza which, in my humble opinion (and I am only pretending to be humble) is an abomination. We went with the minority view that dinner at the Yanggakdo was the lesser of two evils. In the event maybe it was, but not by much.
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Location: Nampho, South Pyongan, North Korea

Wednesday 11 September 2013

Sariwon to Nampho: North Korea Part 5

A Collective Farm, a Buddhist Monastery, a Picnic and a 'Luxury' Spa

Morning at the March the 6th Hotel, Sariwon

DPRK
(North Korea)

After a regrettable breakfast (whose idea was it to cook the omelettes the previous evening and leave them in the fridge overnight? Why was there no tea or coffee?) we prepared for departure.

Milling about in front of the hotel waiting to leave, some of us walked out onto the street to observe the rush hour. Then B crossed the road for a better view. Like schoolchildren we were testing the boundaries, and the far side of the road, we soon discovered, was a step too far. Once established we had to accept the limits. Short of doing something spectacularly stupid, the worst that could happen to us was swift deportation back to China, but for the guides the consequences could be unimaginably awful. They were decent people in their way and none of us wanted that on our conscience.

Morning rush hour, Sariwon

Last night’s barmaid left the hotel on her bicycle. We waved and said ‘Good morning’ and she waved back. As she peddled away we could see that strapped to her back was a Kalashnikov. The rifle, I am sure, was wooden and she was presumably off to her home guard drill - invasion is expected imminently and all citizens are ready to defend their country. It is fortunate that the threat exists primarily in the fantasy world created by the country’s leaders; defending the DPRK with wooden rifles would be a poor idea.

Leaving Sariwon we passed the Mt Kyongyam Folk Village, a street of traditional houses constructed so that school children can learn about their heritage – and no doubt see how bad life was before the current golden age. In theory it is open to foreigners, but either theory does not match practice, or it was considered too dull.

The Mi Gok Collective Farm

A few minutes drive from town brought us to Mi Gok Collective Farm. The buildings clustered at the foot of a low hill with fields of vegetables and rice stretching across the flatlands into the misty distance.

Mi Gok Collective Farm, Sariwon

We were met by a woman in traditional costume who introduced herself as the guide to the farm museum.

I have been to agricultural museums before, but this was the first I had seen without a single agricultural implement, ancient or modern. The museum was entirely dedicated to cataloguing the 12 visits of Kim Il Sung and the 8 visits of Kim Jong Il (Kim Jong Un has yet to put in an appearance).

The exhibits at Mi Gok museum were almost entirely pictures of the visits of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il

Thanks to the guidance of the Dear Leader, we were told, Mi Gok has become North Korea’s model farm producing a staggering 10t of rice per hectare [I cannot comment on the veracity of this claim, but I read that the Philippines are pleased to have increased their national production to over 3.5t/ha]. A crucial part of his advice was to ‘use better seed and tend it more carefully,’ which is great wisdom indeed. Presumably he is also in favour of motherhood and kimchi (apple pie being un-Korean).

After the museum, we were to visit the residential area which had been much praised by the Dear Leader, but they were not quite ready. While waiting we started to drift down the drive to the public road, partly to look at the fields, partly to see how far we would get. We reached the road before a minder came racing after us. Several people were working in the field opposite and I was among those who took photographs. ‘No photos.’ we were told very firmly. ‘Why not?’ That was one of those irritating questions that westerners will ask. ‘You should not photograph people without their permission, it is rude,’ was the glib response. In general I agree but not when they have their backs to you or are 200m away with their heads down in the crops. Perhaps it was the slogans they did not want photographed; nobody was ever prepared to offer a translation of any of them.

The picture I should not have taken, Mi Gok Collective Farm

Mi Gok Collective Farm Residential Area

We were shepherded towards the nearest cottage, its front garden neatly planted with rows of lettuce, beans and chilli.

Cottage Garden, Mi Gok Collective Farm, Sariwon

A man appeared and removed the fearsome dog guarding the door. Stepping over the pungent reminders of its presence, we were greeted by the lady of the house who told us it accommodated 6 people from 3 generations.

The living room was empty except for two televisions (one more than there are channels), some crackers drying on the floor and a grim faced family photograph, featuring Kim Jong Il.

Our host in her living room, Mi Gok Collective Farm, Sariwon

In the kitchen, our host squatted down and lit the gas burner to prove that it worked. N asked whether she cooked all the meals – did she see the kitchen as ‘hers’ or did she let her daughter-in-law cook? It was an artful question which might have been expected to produce a wry smile and a spirited response. A brief but earnest conversation between host and interpreter was followed by an answer of studied vagueness. I cannot know for certain, but I strongly suspect that no meals had ever been cooked in that kitchen. There was no dirt, no grease, no lingering cooking smells, no sign of it ever having been used.

Spotless kitchen, Mi Gok Collective Farm, Sariwon

There was no sign of a child in the house either. We were only shown the living room and kitchen, but as we left L stole a glance through a window into another room. It was completely empty. We were, I am certain, in a show-house and there was absolutely no chance of us being allowed to wander through the lanes among peoples' real homes.

Mi Gok Collective Farm, the View from Above

We drove to a viewpoint overlooking the farm, the flat fields stretching away into the misty distance. Sariwon is reputed to have a large tractor factory and in most pictures of the Dear Leader’s visits there were tractors behind him, but we saw none, nor any evidence of their existence.

Flat fields stretching away into the misty distance,
Mi Gok Collective Farm, Sariwon

Songbul Monastery

Songbul Monastery is also just outside Sariwon. It is located within the castle (of which little more than this gate remains) on Mt Jongbang (more a knoll than a mountain)

Castle gate, Mt Jongbang, Sariwon

Founded in 898 the monastery has five halls, two of which date from the 14th century as does the little stone pagoda in front of the Kukrik Hall.

Kukrik Hall and small pagoda, Songbul Monastery, Sariwon

The abbot assured us there is complete freedom of religion and Songbul remains a functioning monastery. The monks, we were told, do not live here, but are ‘nearby’.

L and the Abbot, Songbul Monastery, Sariwon

The North Korean Film Industry

There were actually plenty of monks – and brigands – but they were actors as the monastery was being used as a film location. I am not sure how convincing the wooden rifles and swords would look on screen, but at least here it was honest pretence.

'Brigands' resting on their wooden weapons, Songbul Monastery,  Sariwon

I became engrossed in watching rehearsal after rehearsal of a scene where a young woman in period costume unwrapped a knife, looked at it in horror and dashed out. I failed to notice that everyone else was ready to leave and a minder had to be sent to fetch me. I did finally see the scene filmed and discovered that even in North Korea directors actually say ‘action’ and ‘cut’.

A scene is filmed, Songbul Monastery, Sariwon

Back to Pyongyang for a Picnic

The bus took us the 70km back to Pyongyang passing under the Reunification Monument as we entered the city. Reunification is the official aim of the governments in both north and south, and there are occasional talks when the north is in one of its less intransigent moods. Negotiations in 2000 produced a joint communiqué and the monument was built to commemorate this accord, though there has been no progress since. In reality, reunification is unlikely until something cataclysmic happens in the north, but even then South Korean heads may be wary, whatever their hearts might say. West Germany found the economic absorption of the DDR problematic. West Germans were four times more numerous, but East Germans were only one third as wealthy. By comparison South Korea would be taking on a country which is relatively larger (half the population of the south) but considerably poorer (per capita GDP in the DPRK is one fiftieth of that in South Korea).

The Reunification Monument, Pyongyang

Driving through Pyongyang takes less time than driving through any city of (allegedly) comparable size I have ever visited. On the western edge we stopped at a park where picnic areas had been laid out amid the trees. A huge concrete dragon writhed between them.

Each table was equipped with a small barbecue and a Korean girl stood by to fetch beer (at a reasonable €1 for a large bottle) and ensure our skewers of lamb and pieces of duck and squid were properly cooked. The food was good and as we finished along came the by now expected bowl of rice. This time it was covered in a thick yellow sauce that promised turmeric and perhaps other spices, but turned out to be uncompromisingly bland.

Barbecue in the park, Pyongyang

A girl band arrived to provide music, a song and a dance for those who wished to.

A song and a dance in the park, Pyongyang

To the Port City of Nampho and Beyond

Lunch over, we travelled west along the ‘Youth Hero Highway’, so called as it was built in a very short time by several thousand young volunteers. Four lanes of smooth black tarmac led west while the equally wide eastbound carriageway had a rough surface and no road markings. After a few miles the smooth surface ran out and we bumped slowly and carefully towards the coast. Why so much of the country’s youth had been directed into building this road is a mystery. An eight-lane highway is all very well, but a single track road with passing places would have been ample for the traffic and with a proper surface would have taken us to Nampho quicker and in greater comfort

We just saw enough of Nampho to realise it was a port before heading north across more countryside, largely rice growing. Occasionally we were told that we must not take photographs, and then a few miles later photography was permitted again. We could see no reason for this restriction coming and going. ‘The local people do not want you to take photographs here,’ was the less than convincing explanation. We saw only a handful of people between Nampho and our hotel and I doubt any of them had been asked.

Luxury (almost) Spa Accommodation

We reached our destination, a spa formerly for the exclusive use of those more equal than others, at 4.30. The reception area was spacious and well equipped but there were no other guests. The accommodation was in two-storey blocks in the wooded grounds. Our room was on the first floor and again I carried our case up the stairs. Though only four years old, the hotel was no longer deemed suitable for VIPs but was fine for itinerant foreigners. I suppose a real VIP would have a minion to carry his case, but I am my own minion.

Our room was large with two vast beds – as hard as stone – an empty fridge, a flat-screen TV which said ‘no signal’ on whatever mode you set it, an air-conditioning unit and remote control which would not speak to each other, a water boiler (it would have been quicker to rub two sticks together) and a spa.

Spa with a blue mosaic, like a downmarket Roman bath, Nampho

The spa was of blue mosaic like a downmarket Roman bath, the cracked tile surround ingeniously fashioned to deposit all surplus water on the floor. The water from the thermal spring gushed out hot, with a slightly metallic tang and a distinct saltiness. I enjoyed my wallow and felt duly relaxed as I dried myself with the paper-thin oversized handkerchief that passed for a towel before donning the bathrobe, which was within four sizes of being a perfect fit.

Clam Bake

Dressed again we headed outside for a promised clam bake.

Some of the tall trees in the garden were used as roosts by white cranes who were arriving in their hundreds, they would set off again around dawn. The big white birds flapping slowly towards the trees were an impressive sight. The grounds were also frequented by small jet-black squirrels who scampered back and forth across our path.

Firing up the clams

While we had been splashing in the spa our guides had been busy acquiring clams and setting them out on a large metal griddle. Sake bottles were handed round and I was interested to see they had found some at 45% rather than the 22% I had been buying, making the otherwise rather bland drink slightly more interesting. As we sipped, the driver poured fuel over the clams, set it alight and kept pouring. Several bottles of fuel were used and several glasses had to be downed before the clams were cooked to his satisfaction, but when they were they were very good indeed.

B and S get stuck into the clams

After that dinner was something of an anti-climax, but did involve our first brush with kimchi, a Korean staple much loved north and south of the great divide. Spiced fermented cabbage may sound resistible, but is strangely moreish.

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Location: Nampho, South Pyongan, North Korea

Tuesday 10 September 2013

On the Border Between the Two Koreas: North Korea Part 4

King Kongmin's Tomb, The Demilitarized Zone, Kaesong and Sariwon

Pyongyang to Kaesong

Getting out of the Yanggakdo Hotel

People's Democratic Republic of Korea

I was excited at the prospect of seeing some of the country beyond Pyongyang, but first we had to leave the hotel.

Returning to our room after breakfast we picked up our cases and headed for the lifts. The hotel had a bank of eight lifts but at any one time three would be out of order and at peak times the rest would be overloaded. A man with an armband stopped overcrowding on the way up, but there was no such person on the higher floors and Chinese tour groups have a cavalier one in, all in approach to elevators. The lifts bounced alarmingly when they halted and sometimes inserted worrying little extra stops between floors.

The Yanggakdo Hotel, Pyongyang, 47 storeys of scary lifts

Being on the 8th floor we found all the descending lifts packed. Eventually we stopped an ascending lift, rose all the way to the 47th floor and came down again. It was crammed and groaning audibly by the time we reached the ground and we were very glad to disembark. Getting downstairs had taken twenty minutes. L hates being late and it was, of course, my fault because I had dismissed the idea of allowing half an hour for what should have been a 30sec journey. I was happy to point out, when eventually we joined the group, that we were not the last to arrive.

The Unification Highway


North Korea with Pyongyang, Sariwon and Kaesong with Panmunjon ringed

By contrast leaving Pyongyang was quick and easy. Swiftly crossing the traffic free city, we were bowling down the four-lane Unification Highway shortly after 8 o’clock. It was slightly less busy than the M6. In two hours we saw several busloads of tourists, but counting cars required the fingers of only one hand.

Heavy traffic on the Unification Highway south of Pyongyang

We glimpsed towns and villages across fields full of rice, maize and, occasionally, grazing cattle. The few people we saw were either cycling or walking at a steady pace. North Koreans do this a lot, but we rarely spotted anyone actually working.

A town hides behind the trees and maize, Unification Highway South of Pyongyan

We paused at a service station for a break. Tea, coffee and souvenirs stalls – obviously there for our benefit as they accepted only euros - were set up in the car park rather than the buildings.

Beside the highway, near Kaesong

The Tomb of King Kongmin

Reaching the Kaesong area, we left the highway and for twenty minutes followed an un-tarmacked but well made road winding gently through low hills. Our bus struggled painfully with the relatively mild gradients.

The road to King Kongmin's tomb

Our destination was the tomb of King Kongmin (1330-1374) the 31st ruler of the Koryo dynasty. A rising path led to two grassy domes under which lie the remains of the king and his Mongolian queen.

The path up to King Kongmin's tomb

Guarded by two Confucian sages and two warriors on each side ......

Confucian sages and warriors, King Kongmin's tomb, Kaesong

...the graves lie behind large stone altars.....

Large stone altar, King Kongmin's tomb, Kaesong

flanked by statues of tigers for strength and sheep for generosity (not the first sheepy attribute that comes to mind).

Tigers for strength? Was someone having a laugh?
King Kongmin's tomb, Kaesong

The best preserved of the Koryo tombs, it was intact until (the North Koreans say) the Japanese dynamited the entrance in 1905 and looted the contents, which they took to Japan and subsequently lost. Only Kongmin’s coffin remains; we saw it later in Kaesong’s Koryo museum.

The mountain opposite is known as ‘Oh My’ mountain. The story goes that King Kongmin was having difficulty finding a location for his tomb that combined good feng shui with the sort of view he was prepared to spend eternity studying. Fed up with the failure of his geomancers (in one version he had them all killed) he struck a death or riches deal with a young hopeful who recommended the very spot where the king now lies. Kongmin climbed the mountain opposite to get a good view, telling his soldiers that if he was dissatisfied he would wave a white cloth and they should lop off the young man’s head. He reached the top and liked what he saw, but it had been a stiff climb and he took out a cloth to wipe the sweat from his brow. Misinterpreting the signal, the soldiers carried out their orders. When the king returned ready to bestow riches on the young man he found him a headless corpse. ‘Oh My!’ he said and the name stuck.

'Oh My' Mountain from King Kongmin's tomb, Kaesong

Whether the force of his reaction loses something in translation or whether life was cheap in medieval Korea (as it often still is in the modern DPRK) I can only speculate.

The Demilitarized Zone and the Border

We drove down the mountain and followed a tarmac road to the Demilitarised Zone on a route that afforded some glimpses of ordinary Korean life.

Ordinary life in the DPRK? Kaesong

After a more normal tourist activity arriving at the DMZ jolted us back into the alternative reality of the DPRK. The poster apparently says ‘One Korea’ not ‘Up Yours’.

One Korea (apparently)

Leaving the bus, which was taken away to be searched (I have no idea what they expected to find) we joined several other busloads in the gift shop which sold exactly the same items as everywhere else. We bought a Panmunjom tee-shirt for our grandson - Koreans are small people and none came near fitting me. [update: it looked fine but the seams unravelled the first time it was washed.]

Eventually we were called through into the next room where a North Korean officer briefed us on the geography of the site before sending us outside to walk in single file back to our buses. The roadway was in a trench of sorts and as we passed a gap in the wall it seemed natural to suggest we dash across at irregular intervals in case of snipers. We didn’t, and there weren’t any, but the DPRK plants strange ideas in your head.

Briefing from a DPRK officer, Kaesong

It was a very short ride to the room where the armistice was negotiated and an assortment of people from several tour groups arranged themselves around the very table used during the talks.

The table used for the armistice negotiations, Panmunjom

We then moved across to the room where the armistice was signed – it was only an armistice, there has not yet been a peace treaty and the war is still active (very much so in the North Korean mind). We saw the table where the Koreans signed, with their flag and their copy…

Where the North Korean signed the armistice, Panmunjom

…and the table where the Americans signed. The cowardly Americans, having been soundly defeated for the first time in their history, did not even have the courage to bring their own flag but hid behind the banner of the United Nations. That is what they told us, but it was, technically a UN not an American operation - and who (if anybody) won is another matter. Around the room a display of pictures expounded North Korea’s somewhat idiosyncratic narrative of the war (see the war museum for details).

Where the Americans signed the armistice, Panmunjom

The Border Between the Two Koreas

They would have liked to have lined us up in fours and marched us to the border, but the randomly assembled group of tourists was having none of it. As we walked a Korean guide a little behind me said, ‘Of course we should be changing the peace talks into victory talks very soon,’ to which a quiet English voice replied ‘To which side?’ The reply was a slightly baffled but very firm ‘To us.’ North Koreans don’t do irony

We paused to examine a monumental signature of Kim Il Sung and listen to a lengthy lecture about the stone’s dimensions, all of which have some sort of significance (it is 7.7 metres long Kim as visited on the 7th of July etc). ‘Who cares?’ was my response; mathematicians love numerology like astronomers revel in the complexities of astrology.

Monumental signature of Kim Il Sung, Panmunjom

We looked down on the border from the balcony of a building specially constructed for the purpose. Five huts, the blue belonging to the north, the grey to the south (or perhaps the other way round?) straddle the concrete threshold that marks the great divide. Beyond is South Korea but, disappointingly, there was no one there to wave to. The North Korean soldiers on guard are unarmed (this is a demilitarised zone) and Wikipedia tells me the South Korean guards (and we saw none) wear sunglasses so as not to provoke their DPRK counterparts by making eye contact. I found it a strangely exciting and deeply weird place to be.

The border runs through the middle of the huts (the grey ones are just out of shot), Panmunjom

Nothing remains of the old village of Panmunjom, but the building where the currently suspended peace talks take place is now referred to as Panmunjom.

Lunch in the DMZ

Returning to our bus, we drove a short distance to a restaurant inside the DMZ where we were to have lunch. The food in North Korea had not so far been memorable, but this was by far the best meal we were to have.


Restaurant in the DMZ

Chicken soup with noodles was a modest start but then we turned out attention to the brass bowls laid out before us. They contained mushrooms, a vegetable referred to as ‘mountain herbs’, bellflower root (a new one to us and very good) with chilli, cucumbers, beansprouts, fish and rice balls in a sweet sauce, beef and a fried egg. There were also extras we had ordered the day before, €30 for a ginseng chicken for as many as chose to chip in or €5 for a portion of ‘sweet meat’. Suspecting (correctly as it turned out) that ‘ginseng chicken’ would be an expensive way of eating ordinary chicken, we were among the minority opting for the rich spicy stew containing strips of what the Koreans coyly call ‘sweet meat’ which is actually dog. I must confess this was not the first time we had eaten dog – that was in a Korean restaurant in China in 2004. After that we said ‘never again’ but it was the local speciality and Kaesong cuisine is said to be the finest in Korea. There is, once you move beyond the psychological hang-up, nothing very special about the meat, nor was there a lot of it, but it was in an excellent sauce. The meal was accompanied by rice wine drunk from a small brass receptacle that was regularly refilled.

'Sweet meat' and other goodies, Panmunjom

Kaesong

The Koryo Museum

Well fed, we took a short trip back into Kaesong to Seonggyungwan, founded in 992 as a Confucian educational institution and now the Koryo Museum. It was burned down by the Japanese in the 1590s so the oldest buildings we saw are sixteenth century. It is considered Kaesong’s first university and outside we were able to watch students from the current Kaesong University cycling past.


Kaesong University students

Some old buildings have interesting painted beams….

Painted beams, Koryo Museum, Kaesong

…and there is a mock-up of the tomb of King Kongmin - though I am not sure if we saw the promised coffin - but overall it is rather short on artefacts from the Koryo period (918 – 1392).

Mock-up of King Kongmin's tomb, Koryo Museum, Kaesong

Kaesong is also the home of the Kaesong Industrial Region – recently reopened after a Kim Jung Un inspired spat – where North Koreans work in South Korean owned factories. There was no chance they would let us near that and instead we went to Sun Hill.

Sun Hill, Kaesong

Sun Hill (‘Sun,’ as ever refers to Kim Il Sung) overlooks Kaesong’s main street. I am not sure why we went there, did we really need to see another statue of Kim Il Sung or were the guides just killing time? (Sometimes I am ashamed at my own cynicism, what could be more uplifting than another heroic statue of the Eternal Leader?). None of us opted to walk up the steps to the statue and bow, but a truckload of soldiers arrived carrying floral tributes and did it for us.

Kim Il Sung on Sun Hill, Kaesong

The hill opposite is said to resemble a pregnant woman lying on her back and has inspired several folk tales. The outline is moderately convincing, but I wonder who thought it a good idea to plant a communications tower in her navel.

The main street of Kaesong from Sun Hill
with the pregnant woman and her communication mast in the mist beyond

Killing Time at Kaesong Folk Custom Hotel

Our next visit was to Kaesong Folk Custom Hotel, a hotel built like a traditional Korean village. It was newish, but empty and showing signs of becoming run down. We were not entirely sure what it was for or what we were doing there, but we were entirely at the mercy of the guides and by now it was becoming obvious that filling time was important to them. We started to edge out of the gate, take pictures of the streets outside and observe the ordinary citizens of Kaesong. The imminent danger of mingling soon persuaded them that it was time to move on.

Kaesong from the 'Folk Custom Hotel'

North to Sariwon

We drove back towards Pyongyang, re-joining the still empty Unification Highway and again pausing at the service station. Since the morning the stalls hade been dragged across the road to the car park on the other side. This time cold beer was an offer – though not to me, I arrived as the last was sold. Still, we were thirsty and €0.50 seemed a reasonable price for a warmish beer, which we shared.

Is this woman setting a good example?

Emboldened by drink I persuaded Lynne to pose in the middle of the road beneath the service station bridge, just like you don’t at Newport Pagnell.

Under the service station bridge, Unification Highway

Sariwon and the 6th of May Hotel

A little further north we turned off and entered the city of Sariwon. The tower blocks were more rundown than in Pyongyang, yet it still had the same wide, empty streets. The few people we saw walked at a steady pace, or rode or pushed bicycles. I was surprised by how many people we had seen pushing their bikes, not just here but in Pyongyang, too. Soembody suggested that Perhaps Kim Il Sung had recommended the ten thousand paces a day regine and it was the only way for bike owners to make up the number. It was a joke, but in the DPRK you sometimes wonder. If there were any private cars on the streets would we see their owners pushing them?

Sariwon

We arrived at the March the 6th Hotel in Sariwan.

The foyer boasted a magnificent painting of Kim Il Sung receiving visitors of all nationalities and ethnicities. In another time and another place we might have seen Queen Victoria greeting representatives from the nations of the empire.

Kim Il Sung meetis thanked by the people of the world, May 6th Hotel Lobby, Sariwon, North Korea

Our room was on the 3rd floor. There was no lift so I lugged our suitcase up the stairs – which was better than waiting 20 minutes for one of the dangerously overcrowded lifts at the Yanggakdok.

The room was a good size, clean enough and with the softest beds we had met on the trip (including China). There was a thermos of hot water so we hauled a couple of seats onto the balcony and had a cup of tea. Other members of our group ventured onto their balcony to find it filled with empty beer bottles.

The bathroom was cunningly designed with a solid plastic shower screen placed so that the toilet could only be sat on sideways. There was no hot water, but after a group request was met with a surprised response (‘What do you want that for?’) we were promised it would be available for an hour in the morning. [They delivered on the promise, which was when I noticed that the drain had been placed on the opposite side of the room from the shower head, so the whole bathroom flooded. At the end of the hour the hot water went off – and so did the cold.]

We had better draw a veil over dinner, but the beer was excellent and only €0.60 for a 75ml bottle, so the quality of the food could betolerated.
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