Leading tours in North Korea

Frustration, censorship, ginseng vodka and some choice dance moves in the Democratic People's Republic

I woke at 6.30am to the sound of screeching brakes and the sight of my backpack catapulting across the cabin. We had reached Dandong, the last stop before entering the reclusive nation of North Korea, officially the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.

I had picked up my tour group the previous afternoon in Beijing and boarded the overnight to train to Pyongyang, capital of the DPRK. Now, facing up to five hours of border checks, I questioned my ice-breaker routine of getting the group drunk on the first night. Finally though, our tourist carriage was disconnected from the Chinese train and attached to a locomotive that would take us across the border.    

Heavy rain battered the windows as we crossed the Yalu River into the DPRK, but just audible over the din as we reached the other side was the sound of trumpets and we watched agape as a drenched children’s brass band welcomed us to their country.

Fifteen minutes later we pulled into the checkpoint of Sinuiju. The platform was immaculate, a stark contrast to the stalls and hawkers of China. The national anthem blared from loudspeakers across an otherwise silent station, the only colour a huge image of the Great Leader smiling down from the station roof.

Five officers boarded our carriage, the first taking our passports and group visa away, the rest entering our cabins. I had warned my group that any mobile phones, laptops or pro-American reading material found in our bags would be confiscated and returned on our way out. The guards, however, were more interested in looking through the group's magazines than rummaging through our clothes. Preconceived notions of fearsome officials evaporated as we watched them drooling and chuckling at the bikini-clad beauties of Marie Claire.

Finally we were attached to a local train, adjoining doors firmly locked, and we continued to Pyongyang. There was little to see for the rest of the journey except cornfields - my group theorised that this was designed to shield evidence of poverty from prying eyes.

North Korea has struggled since its inception. It was formed after WWII when American forces occupied the south and Soviets took the north. A hereditary dictatorship evolved headed by the late ‘Great Leader’ Kim Il Sung who founded the Juche ideology of self-reliance, to which all North Koreans must adhere. On his death in 1994 he was succeeded by his eccentric and reclusive son Kim Jong Il, the Dear Leader, who remains head of the poverty-stricken nation and a headache for neighbouring countries due to his controversial nuclear weapons programme and continuing refusal to sign a peace treaty with the south.

We were met in Pyongyang station by two government-appointed guides, ‘John’ and ‘Steve’, our chaperones for the duration of our stay. This is standard procedure for all tourists in North Korea and it made me frustratingly redundant as a tour leader.  John later confided that they were assigned in pairs in order to monitor each other so they didn’t “give unnecessary information”. He acted as our guide while Steve arranged the itinerary and gave instructions: when not to talk or laugh, when to bow and when photos were allowed.

Our base, The Yanggakdo hotel, is one of only a couple where foreigners can stay in Pyongyang. Its isolation on an island in the Taedong River means you can walk outside un-chaperoned, although the continuing heavy rain meant our spare evenings were spent in the bar sampling Korean ginseng vodka – not for the faint hearted. Due to the DPRK’s restricted media coverage and the orchestration of our tour we had no idea of the nationwide devastation the rains and floods were causing until we got back to China.

The first few days were a blur of Pyongyang’s massive educational buildings, museums and memorials, the theme of most being the struggle against oppression and Western imperialists and the might of the Great and Dear Leaders; repetitive, often factually skewed, but equally fascinating.

All tourists must visit the Mansudae monument: a vast, bronze statue of Kim Il Sung erected in 1972 to commemorate his 60th birthday. Visitors must bring offerings and we were no exception. Following instructions we lined up next to each other and after placing flowers at Kim’s feet I rejoined the group and we solemnly bowed in unison. We had been told there would be ‘site monitors’ watching us and as I took photos of a nearby memorial being renovated I heard a commotion behind me. I turned to see an official marching towards me with Steve who said I should show them my pictures (what did they do before digital?). Tapping the screen the official told me to delete three shots which, not wanting Steve to face any repercussions, I did unquestioningly.

On another occasion one of the group photographed a metro station entrance but had to delete it when Steve saw that sandbags protecting the station from flooding were visible in the photo. It was John who later explained that both images showed signs of “weakness”.

Photography monitoring became stricter outside Pyongyang. We were allowed to take some generic shots of surprisingly green farmland, but when flooding forced us onto an “unapproved” country road Steve became extremely tense telling us to put our cameras away. At one point we got caught up in a huge crowd of farm workers, recognisable by their government-issue uniforms, wading about in water at road-side stalls with little on offer. The strangest thing was that we could not see where anyone had come from as there were barely any buildings visible from any of the roads we used outside the city.

There was an air of unease in the van as they peered in at us, all comfortable and dry. We waved and smiled and some smiled back, but most just stared. That was probably the closest we got to seeing real local life during the trip; in Pyongyang, where only the privileged few are invited to live, we were kept away from local people at all times. John, who opened up in the moments he was alone with us, told us that they are taught capitalist countries exist in a state of chaos, violence and rebellion; that people fight and kill each other for possessions - no wonder they had just stared.

Guiding westerners was new for John and he could not contain his inquisitiveness. He asked about our countries, hobbies, sports, films, food and music. He was mesmerised by our iPods and we spent journeys watching his head bobbing to some unknown beat. He loved hip-hop and wanted to learn a dance. Luckily we had a dancer in the group who invented a routine which John practised with gusto until Steve caught him pelvic thrusting to the music - a comedy moment for us but I dare say he was disciplined for it later.

Further outside the city, an overnight stay high in the lush alpine forest of the Myohyangsan Mountains provided a refreshing break from the grey uniformity of Pyongyang. We even visited a Buddhist temple, functional in earlier times, now just “an ancient structure of religious propaganda,” Steve said.

Our final foray away from the capital was to Panmunjom, an area in the demilitarized zone between north and south where the armistice halting the three-year Korean War was signed in 1953. Tension between the two sides of heavily armed guards, standing just metres apart, was almost palpable and despite tourists smiling and waving on the other side, we were warned not to reciprocate in case the guards thought we were “mocking them.”

The highlight of the tour was the Arirang mass games, held in August and September to celebrate the Great Leader’s birthday. It is a breathtaking, if propagandised, display of gymnastics, martial arts, dance and military strength performed by nearly 100,000 children and adults. Most impressive was a backdrop of around 30,000 children flipping cards with frightening synchronism, forming huge mosaics that depicted scenes of tractors ploughing the land and slogans such as ‘Science and Technology are the way!’ or ‘Prosperous Fatherland!’ No matter then that the country has relied on international aid to feed over a third of its 23 million inhabitants for more than a decade; the land is worked by hand as fuel and tractors are so scarce; internet is limited to senior government officials and a mobile phone network used by a privileged few was only launched in 2008. To me it was a powerful display of the state’s control over its people but also a testament to its people’s obedience and unity. 

So the tour drew to a close and despite it being a stage-managed affair we left with our own personal perceptions and experiences. We did ,however, share one final sight as our train pulled out of Pyongyang: when Steve turned to walk away, John gave a sneaky look over his shoulder and, beaming from ear to ear, gave us 10 glorious seconds of his finest hip-hop moves.

Hannah Jordan leads tours in the Middle East and North Korea.