Greg in ROK: North Korea: Beijing and Arrival

September 17, 6:30PM.

I write this entry on the beginnings of our travels. Somewhere in the air above the Yellow Sea between Seoul and Beijing, simply to end up 40 miles north of our city of departure. I sit intently between a Chinese couple that, for some reason, refused to sit next to each other, which would allow one gangly American a window or aisle seat. Oh well. We're next to the wing. I'm always next to the wing.

My long-time travel companion, Richard, who has accompanied me on many cross-sea ventures, sits behind me on this flight, kicking my seat like an impatient 10-year old awaiting his oversized lollipop. Just to complete the stereotypes, let's throw a screaming baby in front of me. We fly to Beijing for the purposes of obtaining our North Korean visas as well as attending a meeting with our tour group, run by Koryo Tours. You see, to travel to the DPRK, you must do it in a group. No loners in the most isolated country in the world. That would be too ironic.

We will sleep tonight in Beijing's Capital Airport, pop into the city for a few hours, then return to the same airport faster than our bodies can absorb the pollution. Here's to hoping my small notebook is not confiscated on the trip. I don't think writing about North Korea is encouraged.

Richard enjoys many ice creams.

September 18, 12:35PM

Now sitting at the airport gate amongst 50-odd other foreigners, all equally skeptical about boarding the 60's era Koryo airplane sporting the DPRK on the tail wing, I meet some new and interesting people. No one here wants to be on a group tour so the self-mockeries have begun over already-opened duty-free alcohol.

Richard and I arrived at the company's HQ in downtown Beijing this morning met by one flustered Englishman whose demeanor only became scarier when he learned that I had no travel insurance. No one said I needed travel insurance. What could possibly happen? I break my leg and the doctors chop it off in North Korea since they don't have any proper medical equipment anyway? I assumed in advance that any injury is an instant death sentence. A few hastily-made phone calls later and I was hooked up with a week's worth of travel insurance for 25 Euros.

Matthew, a friendly American from Dallas, has just sat next to me with his duty-free scotch, which has already been poured into a small paper cup for me. It seems that buying a big bottle of alcohol is an unspoken obligation, so I'll go get a bottle of vodka. ***Matthew was the US government fellow I mentioned in the previous post. Never would have guessed it!

10:58PM

Richard and I have just settled into our 33rd-floor hotel room on an island hotel in Pyongyang, but I'm already ahead of myself. I sit with a warm drink of vodka watching the BBC as if I'm in a hotel where I would see something...anything...if I looked out the window. Instead I see darkness. Well, darkness and a bridge. But it's also quite foggy.

Let's take it back to the plane. This Soviet-era craft was loaded with westerners, Chinese, and North Koreans. I could tell they were North Koreans because they are all wearing badges on their shirts of Kim Il-Sung. Like how American politicians always wear flags on their suits, this is just a bit more communist. Like when Obama does it. (zing!) I believe they were on the flight to show that, yes, DPRKers do leave the country.

My first North Korean sighting! Also, the fattest!

And let's not forget the in-flight reading material. Ooooh how great it was.

Oh hey there. I'll see you a lot this week.

Flash forward about two hours and I'm staring up at my first Kim Il-Sung picture. He smiles down over us from high atop the two-story, lone, old airport terminal. It appears as if the building was ready to crumble under the next rainfall. Little Korean girls wave at us from the top floor as we take the unnecessary airport shuttle 50 meters to the door of the building.

Customs was not as difficult or strange as I thought it would be. It was easier than going through the USA. In fact, I didn't even open my bag for them. I was in and out in less than 10 minutes. Unfortunately, for some reason, people that checked their bags had to wait for a really long time for the bags to move a few feet into a building right next to the plane where it landed, so I had lots of time to stand outside. I was able to watch the "happy" families meet their relatives coming in on the plane and they all laughed, hugged, talked on their cellphones, and drove away in their Mercedes, Fords, Volkswagens, Chryslers, and Audis. I looked over to a guy that appeared to be confused by the cellphone he was holding. He was sort of inspecting it, as if another North Korean undercover soldier said, "Take this! And talk into it when the foreigners get here dammit!"

We then met our guides, all of whom are wonderful. Funny, handsome and beautiful, fluent English speakers. We take one last look at the airport as the North Koreans text and chat away, apparently waiting for us to go so they could get rid of this damn device, and we drive off in our buses.

We drive through the "suburbs of Pyongyang," which is nothing more than old, old buildings dropped on dirt lots with an occasional Korean poking their head out a window. We drive for about 25 minutes and, seemingly out of nowhere, we are right in Pyongyang. Like, we went over a hill and the city was RIGHT THERE. People are now upgraded to wandering aimlessly on bikes as well as on foot, although the buildings show no sign of improvement. There are trams that are nearly rusting apart as showers of sparks rain down on them from the cables they are connected to overhead.

Ride baby ride.

We make a quick stop at the Arc of Triumph, which yes, is exactly like the Arc de Triumph in Paris. Except this one is bigger. Six meters bigger to be exact. We are made sure to know that. And it's also loaded with Communist stuff. We get five minutes to stand in the middle of the road, since no one drives on them, to get our perfect shots and we're off to the Arirang Mass Games.

OK, two cars. But I was still a baby and wouldn't stand in the middle of the street.

We arrive at May Day Stadium, which is apparently one of (if not the) biggest stadiums in the world, able to seat 150,000. We got some nice shots on the outside, watched the thousands of Pyongyangers stare curiously at us as they went in, got our tickets, and went in ourselves. Now, the performance itself. I really can't explain it. At the risk of sounding like an emo kid explaining his favorite album of all time, you have to experience it yourself. Over 100,000 performers executing perfect gymnastics and synchronized dancing and other physical feats all while thousands of school children flip pages in books in the seats opposite us creating a huge mural.