If I asked you to name the largest gambling mecca on Earth, what would you say? Las Vegas? You aren’t alone, and you may be surprised to learn that this title is in fact held by a tiny special administration region of China, named Macau.

Featured in the James Bond film, Skyfall, you otherwise may not have heard of Macau. But, regularly termed as the ‘Las Vegas of the East’ you may be able to build a mental image. Tourism agencies firmly grasp this identification, it’s great for business – who doesn’t enjoy a weekend escape letting your hair down in ‘Sin City’?

The problem is, like cats and tigers are both felines, similarities between Macau and Las Vegas stop at their roots – a glitzy, glamorous casino façade built upon gambling.

The casino culture is markedly different in Asia. Western casinos breed a certain type of culture, with Las Vegas towering at the peak as a culmination of all things degenerate. To most, Las Vegas is a social avenue – the casinos double as an entertainment complex, a place to dress up and head out with friends and forget daily monotony through alcohol abuse and a casual flutter at blackjack. You may check out a show or an exhibit, casino hop on foot creating a timeline of cheesy selfies and invariably you’ll end up in a club until 4am with no money; yet a great story to tell the porcelain toilet later that morning. Your friends of course remember everything, including your regrets; many times not limited just to gambling last week’s paycheck, and it’s all over Facebook that afternoon.

But it’s damn fun. Las Vegas is an institution, it’s one of a kind. Until of course, you heard about Macau. At face value, it seems perfect – an equivalent to your dustbowl adult entertainment debauchery wrapped in the culture of Asia. You’re looking forward to it.

But, you won’t have this fun in Macau.

In reality, unfortunately your Vegas expectations will fall flat. Put simply, unless you have an abnormal admiration for drinking green tea and chain smoking harsh Chinese cigarettes, whilst enduring sixteen hour Baccarat benders without supplementing your time with well…anything else, you probably won’t enjoy Macau. It just isn’t designed for anything else – especially not the American tourist. Or any non-Chinese tourist, really.

But why not? You ask. Casinos, lights, gambling – how can it be any different? In a nutshell, it’s the gambling culture and the atmosphere – contrasts are clear even at the surface. In Macau; almost every casino is dry. Meaning, there is no alcohol for sale outside restaurants. This is a deal killer for many Vegas aficionados in itself. If not, maybe a lack of shows will be – there is only one show reminiscent of Vegas in the entirety of Macau; that is ‘The House of Dancing Water’ in the City of Dreams on the Cotai strip. Admittedly, it’s very entertaining. The Cotai strip is Macau’s unimaginative version of the Vegas strip, housing just 10 casinos out of the 33, if you want to see the others, it’s a 15 minute taxi to the peninsula. A stumble between Casino is purely a transit, gone are the street magicians, dancers or musicians – impersonators are thankfully omitted too, as are the ‘classy’ limousines and fun buses. Enjoy them or not, they give Vegas personality, and Macau lacks it’s own recipe.

To be honest, everyone’s inside too busy gambling.

Most Macau casinos cater primarily to the privileged upper class Hong Kong nationals, or high rollers. Social gambling stakes are harder to come by. The Chinese gamble big, and 48 hour sessions are common place. They just don’t leave until Baccarat has taken it all or their ferry back to Hong Kong leaves come Monday morning for work. If you find a table game to your liking, be prepared to share it with second hand smoke, superstition above laughter and some manners that you might find slightly unsavoury, or at least unhygienic. Regularly hawking up a giant spit and proceeding to show it off on the casino carpet isn’t rare.

The tacky nature of Las Vegas, that which harbours irresponsibility – turning men into boys for the weekend, not limited to Elvis weddings, firing ranges, exotic car experiences or indoor skydiving are left worlds away back in Nevada. This can be perceived as a good thing by many, but it’s hard to argue that these junk novelties haven’t added to the Vegas allure, bringing tourist masses for years gone by for stays beyond a weekend. Macau doesn’t have anything of the sort, which is totally fine – but it has no replacement either, leaving those with Vegas expectations wondering what to do after losing at the tables.

In context to Vegas, Macau feels sterile and lacks it’s own charm, instead opting to duplicate comforts from Hong Kong and mainland China, targeting pre-existing Chinese gambling habits rather than trying to induce them or increase tourism. Entertainment was never a priority in Macau, it’s always been about making money. The grand luxury of Chinese inspired casinos are a testament to this, presenting a mature, classy and calculated approach appealing to all important Chinese social status and success. It’s a totally different market, and one which you won’t find passed out in the Casino lobby.

It’s strictly business in Macau.

Clubs front lining the biggest names in dance music, rooftop pools, regrettable bachelor parties, celebrity spotting and a myriad of strip clubs say a lot about the weekend Vegas wants to give you, and the patrons that demand it. It’s never just been about the gambling. Conversely, Macau’s serious atmosphere, lack of alcohol, entertainment options and hundreds of jeweller store fronts used primarily to launder money into the peninsula say a lot about the weekend Macau wants to give you too.

This may be your cup of tea (pun intended) – but really, to most Western tourists with their eyes on Macau being the Asian Las Vegas, you’ll be seeing apples and oranges.

But look, don’t get me wrong. Absolutely don’t write Macau off as a destination – you may really love Macau visually, it’s a beautiful place; especially at night. You may love Macau’s exclusive, rich Portuguese-Chinese heritage overlap, you may love Macau if you have a gambling problem and you may love walking away having done the largest bungee in the world – but you’ll unlikely love Macau with arrival expectations mimicking that of a packaged weekend of Vegas entertainment.

Macau may well be on it’s way, watch this space; but ‘what happens in Macau stays in Macau’ just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

And, for those expecting to chase their vices in the ‘Sin City’ of the east, it doesn’t live up to it either.

Lets face it, Orangutans are incredible. They are one of four species of Great Apes and share a mindblowing 97% of our own human genetic code. Consider that! To see these intelligent beings gracefully carve through the heights of the rainforest is not something you’ll forget. Although a tempting alternative, a visit in captivity just doesn’t do this majestic animal justice – not when they yearn for jungle freedom.

But at first glance, seeing Orangutans in the wild isn’t exactly easy.

These stunning creatures only live natively in Indonesia and Malaysia, selfishly amidst the rainforest jungles of the islands of Borneo and Sumatra – making it reasonably inaccessible to the average tourist. Both locations closely verge upon being adventure tourism.

But luckily, there is a saviour – one hidden gem not yet overun by tourists, where its cultural integrity remains and the rainforest jungle village lifestyle has prevailed through eco-tourism and a fundamental mutual respect between man and great ape, benefiting both.

The village is Bukit Lawang in North Sumatra, Indonesia and is your most feasible opportunity to see Orangutans in their natural habitat.

Why Bukit Lawang?

Bukit Lawang is the perfect platform. It provides a comfortable gateway to the jungle at Gunung Leuser National Park – the locals are fantastic, they live and breathe Orangutan and their expertise is invaluable to sightings, with a focus on their survival. Nobody wants to leave disappointed, and its clear the people here have a great understanding of tourist expectations.

Almost guaranteed sightings

Look, I’ll be honest – nowhere can offer a 100% guarantee to see wild Orangutans. Many factors come into play and a bit of luck doesn’t go astray either; but I can guarantee you that Bukit Lawang will really maximise your chances.

During my three day stay, including an overnight trek into Gunung Leuser National Park, we spotted 14 Orangutan, including a large dominant male and two mothers carrying babies. All images taken in this post were from the jungle trek, including the feature image!

The outskirts of Gunung Leuser act as a rehabilitation launch pad and as such; semi-wild Orangutan are never far away and will respond to human calls deep into the jungle, the guides have perfected it. Give it 10 minutes, and descending from the thick depths, amidst rustling and audible cracks  will appear an Orangutan, leaving snapped branches in it’s wake. Just fantastic! The gist I got from the guides was that this is a fall-back option in the case truly wild Orangutan haven’t been spotted.

Rest assured, you’ll leave with your expectations fulfilled. This alone makes Bukit Lawang such an important recommendation to those wanting the same experience.

Accessibility to many

Although a village that hasn’t strayed far from it’s roots, tourism certainly has shaped Bukit Lawang. Some lodging offers facilities that make it more accessible to the less adventurous at a great price. English speakers, running water, western style toilets, regular power, Wifi, great 3G access and western food varieties can be found in Bukit Lawang if required. This is by no means the norm here, however it’s available if you need it.

Isolated, yet reachable

No bush-bashing through barely traversable jungle, time bogged in mud pits or frustration felt from irregular river crossings based upon ‘Indonesian time’ – you can get to Bukit Lawang the same day leaving Medan, airport or city. A day in an air conditioned vehicle, too. Thankfully, because Medan is basically a living, breathing sauna.

Depending on traffic (Medan traffic is hell) and weather, it’s about a 4 hour bumpy and dusty trek down dirt roads. Eventually, it expands into rich green dense jungle and fields laden of palm plantations. You’ll dissect local villages, wave at a lot of people and witness rural Sumatran life. Great stuff.

Orangutan preservation

Unfortunately, deforestation has taken it’s toll and wild Orangutan numbers continue to dwindle, both in Sumatra, and Borneo. Ironically, imposing upon their natural habitat as an eco tourist is now positively stagnating this decline – it’s building tourism value that’s providing asset protection to many of the Orangutan remaining, allowing safe zones for those that have been rehabilitated. Indonesia isn’t exactly known for it’s environmentally friendly progression, so this is a great consolation.

What to expect?

Orangutans. Seriously, this may sound stupid – but for every person to visit neighbouring Borneo with the specific intention of catching a glimpse of an Orangutan, there is one that leaves without a sighting. Time, energy and money spent on trekking can be quickly drained, as will your initial hopes when you consistently come up empty.

Most lodging in Bukit Lawang employs local educated guides to organise treks into Gunung Leuser National Park. They are passionate, knowledgeable and have usually grown ingrained to the law of the land. They will organise and front rainforest trips that are tailored to your requirements.

Only have one day to see Orangutans? Check.
Overnight, camping with monkeys and tubing the river? Check.
Want to spend seven days living off the grid in the jungle? Check.

One thing is certain, they want you to see Orangutan! This assurance helps to justify your travel here.

Other things to expect in Bukit Lawang are:

• Orangutan rehabilitation feeding platform – About 10 minutes stroll, you can make your way up to see semi-wild Orangutans descend twice daily for a feed.
• The bat cave – Dark, claustrophobic and bats…so many bats.
• Monkeys – Including beautiful Thomas Leaf Monkeys.
• Relaxation – The village has a laid back atmosphere, locals are lovely and the trickling sound of the river prefaced by the sounds of the jungle seem designed for afternoons spent reading.
• Swimming – Right outside your lodging, popular with the locals too.
• Tubing – The river has low grade rapids, and it’s heaps of fun.
• Waterfalls – They can be reached during hikes, perfect for a ‘traditional massage’ as the locals would say.
• Mosquitos – As certain as day goes into night. Bring repellant.

How do I get there?

• If you fly into Medan, you’ll now fly into the new Kuala Namu airport. It’s the same distance (30km) from Medan as it is from Bukit Lawang direct.
• There is no accommodation at Kuala Namu airport (2015), so either stay in Medan overnight or head straight to Bukit Lawang if you have time (private car takes 4 hours).
• Private, air conditioned vehicle from Medan or Kuala Namu to Bukit Lawang is about $40 USD one-way, split between a couple, or fellow tourist, it’s not bad.
• Tourist Buses (Mini-van) run from Medan, Berastagi or Lake Toba very regularly. From Medan they cost about $10 USD each but only run if filled.
• Local Bus is possible and very cheap ($1 USD) from Medan. It will be crowded, slow and questionably safe with no air conditioning.
• Booking online isn’t possible for most lodges. I recommend just turning up. The locals will pounce on the opportunity to lodge you, as you will likely jungle trek with them too. Don’t be afraid to say no initially and take a look around, Bukit Lawang is only a 20 minute stroll one side to the other and has a range of accommodation.

What time of year?

• You can expect to see Orangutans all year round, this is a huge advantage by visiting Bukit Lawang.
• The weather in Sumatra is tropical, so expect it to be hot with a possibility of rain all year round – even during ‘dry’ season.
• Orangutans can be seen closer to the ground between April and November, as the trees are fruiting.
• Torrential rains occur primarily in the ‘wet’ season between October and Febuary.
• The ‘dry’ season is accepted as being between March and September.
• Tourism peak is between June and August.
• I went in March. It was quiet and as you can see, there was no shortage of Orangutan!
• If possible, try to avoid Indonesian public holidays as it will be far busier. Weekends generally see higher occupancy too.

How much will it cost me?

• Cost varies, as you’d expect. However, I found that price was strongly correlated with quality. Remember this.
• Offered through my lodging, my trek cost $75 USD. This is on the high side.
• This was a two-day, overnight trek into Gunung Leuser including knowledgeable English speaking guides, meals and camping facilities. Tubing down the river back to Bukit Lawang is catered with appropriate water proofing – you’ll have your camera remember. It’s essential.
• For many lodges, price fluctuates with the time of year and you can usually haggle. June-August (high tourist season) is usually busiest and most expensive.
• You may be offered similar overnight treks on paper for less; through other lodging or guides that approach you in the village. This is fine, but ensure they are an official guide. Regardless, some shortcuts on quality may be taken, this could be as simple as gear, less catering or a less hospitable camping location. Just be aware.
• Bukit Lawang is small. Reputations are built in Bukit Lawang. The friendly and communal atmosphere allows you to get to know many guides prior to commitment, use this opportunity if you are unsure!

Before visiting; remember these:

• There will be mosquitoes, lots of them. Bring mosquito repellent.
• There are no ATMs. There is also no means of electronic payment. At all. Get as much money as you think you’ll need in Medan, then take some more just in case. You’ll need to pay for accommodation, guides, food and possibly a tip, maybe a souvenir.
• It’s illegal to trek alone, or without a guide. Not only that, it’s incredibly dangerous, stupid and irresponsible. Entering the rainforest without a guide or proper equipment will almost certainly result in disorientation, heatstroke or potential injury. Don’t come to Bukit Lawang with this in mind.
• On that note, ensure you have travel insurance.
• If you do hurt yourself, medical care is limited. Nurse, doctor and pharmacist will be the same person.
• Bring good walking shoes. Seriously. The trek is hilly, awkward and slippery – you’ll need grip, even on a single day trek.
• Bukit Lawang does have power. But it also has regular power outages. Bring a USB recharging block or a spare battery for your camera.
• Bring a torch.
• There’s a tiny internet cafe in Bukit Lawang and some of the lodges have Wifi. However, the 3G coverage is fantastic. Data is cheap in Indonesia, consider getting a local Simpati simcard in Medan. It served me well.
• Bring swimming gear, take it on your trek. You’ll have ample opportunity to swim – even right outside your lodging.
• Do not hike in cotton. Trust me.
• Keep you’re belongings safe. Not from humans, but from monkeys. Bukit Lawang is in the jungle – if you leave your lodging door open, you’ll have a monkey infestation and likely no underwear for tomorrow.

North Korea Propaganda Postcards

Not exactly subtle, these postcards and others similar were available for purchase at many tourist sites within Pyongyang. ‘Songun’ (military-first politics) is centre stage within North Korea and presented in all forms of media – postcards are no exception. In sending one, you may make a postmans day.

Left: “If the US imperialists aim their gun at us, we will do the same, but with our cannon!”

Right: “We will fight the tough by being even tougher!”

Top Left: “Give us any command!”

Bottom Left: “With the united strength of the whole nation, let’s detonate the nuclear war manoeuvre provocation of the US!”

Right: “Raising the sound of the marching group’s trumpet, let’s march forward towards a powerful nation!”

Kaesong Koryo Insam Liquor

This fine beverage is a ‘Special Class Commodity’ only available to the elite and wealthy in North Korea (it’s very expensive) and has earned both ‘Gold Medals’ and ‘Diplomas’ to international acclaim, if the box is to be believed.

It’s a 700ml, 86 proof bottle of 20 year old rice alcohol distilled and bottled in Kaesong, North Korea. Inside it contains Kaesong’s speciality ‘insam’ (ginseng), an extensive root plant that’s been grown for 6 years – the perfect timing to highly concentrated nutrients. Why is it bottled? Well, ginseng is said to wield a myriad of medicinal benefits, ranging from beating physical and mental fatigue to diabetes. It’s found globally, however the Korean ginseng has a solid reputation – North Korea recently released a wonder drug named Kumdang-2 containing ginseng (and not a lot else) that apparently cures Ebola, AIDS, MERS, tuberculosis and well…cancer. Interesting.

It was purchased from a supermarket in Pyongyang; I was told I was the second foreigner to be allowed inside. A plaque on the entrance denoted the dates both Kim Jong-Il and Kim Jong-Un had overseen the store. It’s illegal for foreigners to handle local currency. To pay, I had to line up; receive a receipt, then pay at a currency exchange booth offering unofficial, artificially inflated North Korean Won rates – head back to collect my goods and finally back to the booth to collect my change in 3 different currencies. Almost certainly wrong, as usual.

The alcohol was also a smash hit with the Korean People’s Army General who searched my luggage on exit from North Korea in Sinuiju. Smiles weren’t derived easily, but his discovery of this magical box resulted in one of absolute approval.

North Korean Stamps

Artworks and stamp collections were commonly available for purchase in North Korea. Collections were extensive, however quite pricey (25 euro+) but were a fascinating political scrapbook to past and present North Korea. Hard to believe, but not all stamps were critical of the United States – many are simply historic throwbacks or political milestone celebrations.

These stamps are a sample into the variation.

Top Left: Mechanization. Automation. Remote control. (Juche, self-reliance ideology and technological advancement)

Top Middle: 10 Century to 14 century (historic dynasty of North Korea)

Top Right: UNDP (United Nations Development Programme) technical cooperation for 40 years, 1990.

Bottom Left: Mansudae Grand Monument, the anti-Japanese revolutionary struggle for 10 years, 1974.

Bottom Right: Workers Party of Korea Sixth Congress decision, let’s unite for piercing penetration! The Federal Democratic Republic IO administrative policy. Frequency, equal peace, national unity.

Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea flag

Not simply a Democratic People’s Republic of North Korea flag – this almost got me detained during my visit.

It was National Day, an important calendar event in celebration of the founding of the DPRK. I purchased the flag from the Yanggakdo Hotel in Pyongyang with the intention of some light-hearted pseudo-nationalism, which went down fantastic – the locals loved it. But, as the day came to an end, after tucking into dinner I was taken aside during follow up beers by my guide, huffing from finding me; and briefed on the situation. Basically, upon arrival back to the hotel I had left all but my necessities on the bus; we used the same bus every day of our tour and it was common for us to leave waters, sweets or non-valuables at our seats.

Tonight, I had left the flag sitting in the back pocket of the seat in front. My guide asked me if I had done this, I responded that I had. She proceeded to tell me that the bus driver had found it and was left incredibly offended by my actions as he perceived it as a way in disposing of the North Korean flag – that I didn’t want it anymore and that I hadn’t given it the respect that it required. He had reported this offence to the guides. Quite alarmed at this point and with vision as to where this was heading, I gave my utmost apology to the guide and it was filtered back. The apology was accepted and I was advised that under no circumstance was I to leave the flag within North Korea, I was to take it out with me. This was always my intention, but it didn’t matter.

This situation could have easily escalated; the guide’s report all happenings back to the government – I had technically broken DPRK law, and it was as simple and as innocent as that. Apologies and acceptance of responsibility in North Korea go a long way. It’s quite easy to get blasé in North Korea, that may sound strange; but you are sheltered well – they do a great job at lulling you into a false sense of security. This quickly evaporates in the event of any wrongdoing.

From that point on, my flag was almost kept as a spiritual being living within my luggage that I checked up on regularly – and here it is for your viewing today. What a memento.

Pyongyang T-shirt

This is the only government approved t-shirt for sale in the entire country of North Korea, about as sterile and unimaginative as souvenir t-shirts get. An untapped market, most of us purchased one of these…we did yearn for some variety however there is no market freedom for locals to produce their own goods for foreigners or otherwise. I only saw it available within Pyongyang, but at least you had a choice of three colours! On the back below the neck is a small land mass map of North Korea, with the text ‘Pyongyang DPRKorea’. This t-shirt got me a lot of attention in China on the day I left North Korea, they found it a novelty.

Postcard home to Australia from Pyongyang

It took a number of months, but this postcard I sent from Pyongyang to my parents on the 13/09/2014 actually arrived to Australia. I apologise for my handwriting. My words were chosen wisely, all postcards sent from North Korea are translated and screened by officials. Anything untoward or critical ensures it’ll never cross the border, and could possibly end in your detainment by the government. So, I did my best to sugar coat the experience.

My tongue-in-cheek ode to the supreme commander Kim Jong-Un at the end was walking a fine line, but I simply couldn’t help myself.

DVD: A Traffic Controller on Crossroads

I purchased this DVD in the Grand People’s Study House in Pyongyang, it’s directed, produced and distributed in North Korea and stars the iconic Pyongyang traffic ladies that I am convinced form almost a nationalistic fetish to those that live here.

Traffic ladies are synonymous with Pyongyang city life – it’s a well respected position; certainly not a novelty. These beautiful ladies are dressed immaculately; rain, hail or shine and operate near robotically with movements of militaristic intention.

Monotonous and soulless, nobody dare cross the intimidating law enforcement of the traffic lady on the streets of Pyongyang. I personally witnessed cars come to a screeching halt at the change of signal, as they offer no equivalent to our ‘yellow’ traffic light.

North Korea Flag Pin and Stamp

All North Korean citizens must wear, by law; a ‘lapel’ pin of the late leaders above their heart. Ordinary citizens usually wear that of either Kim Il-Sung or Kim Jong-Il themselves, while ‘elites’ are permitted to wear a more expensive, double portrait version, denoting the social hierarchy in North Korea.

As a foreigner, you aren’t allowed to purchase these, and are instead urged to buy the (less interesting) souvenir North Korean flag version pictured here instead. So I did. The stamp was given to me as part of my ‘change’. The pin was 1 euro. Everything was 1 euro, seemingly. Or 1 USD. Or well…whatever you have on you in foreign currency. Anyway, I wasn’t going to argue – it’s not a stamp you’d see in every collection.

North Korean Cigarettes

“Cigarettes are harmful for your health.” Surprising, right? The juxtaposition between health warnings adopted by most of the modern world and the otherwise concerning lifestyle conditions forced upon citizens of North Korea may leave you scratching your head. Me too. Has North Korea really adopted such a reasonable stance on a known health hazard? Probably. Alternatively, it’s been hypothesised as a way to reduce the value of cigarettes as a currency between it’s citizens, primarily bribery. Plausible. Commodity scarcity is rife, making them highly valuable currencies in North Korea. But, I don’t know – it’s just food for thought.

These particular cigarettes; ‘Lake Samilpo’ are named after a south-eastern lake of the same name I visited in North Korea. A non-smoker myself, and one that’s likely spent too long in Asia; I purchased them as a currency. Unbeknownst to me, they’re a highly regarded brand associated with male status in North Korea, so I ended up handing out packets like the Santa Claus of cigarettes. These couple I kept as product mementos though!

Book: Supreme Leader Kim Jong Un in the Year 2012

I purchased this book at the Foreign Language Bookstore in Pyongyang. A small trusted group of foreigners are employed to translate Korean publications into other languages to distribute the re-education beyond North Korean borders and into international acclaim.

This particular book was widely distributed, I saw it at most souvenir desks during my visit to North Korea. An educated guess, I’d say it’s because the transition between Kim Jong-Il and Kim Jong-Un’s new leadership is still a sensitive political topic – confidence from the people in Kim Jong-Un as the new commander is paramount to North Korea continuing forward unchanged.

The entire book is a celebration into Kim Jong-Un – in particular his accomplishments and the unconditional, endearing love he has (already) ‘earned’ from his people.

Air Koryo Items

Air Koryo is North Korea’s only airline, it’s state-owned; the flag carrier and the first point of contact for you as a foreigner to the hermit kingdom. The Pyongyang Times is complimentary upon boarding, and the stewardesses don their leaders pins above their hearts. It’s the only one-star rated airline on earth, and until 2010 was banned from entering the European Union due to safety and maintenance concerns. Was it that bad to fly on? I didn’t think so, but the food quality is in a league of it’s own – even by airline standards.

Either way, I wanted to take a memento of likely my one and only flight on Air Koryo. My boarding pass was printed by Air China in Beijing, so it didn’t tick the souvenir boxes – next best thing? An Air Koryo branded air sickness bag and hand towel. I hold no shame!

Masik Pass Slippers

Ordered by Kim Jong-Un himself, Masik Pass Ski Resort was built by the Korean People’s Army in just 10 months to boost tourism numbers. After my visit, I can confidently claim that Masik Pass is far and away the most luxurious building available to the ‘public’ in North Korea. Easily.

So, I took their slippers. I think that was allowed, but I’m unsure. If not, I apologise and they’re still in their shrink wrapping. Sadly, there was no matching gown.

Masik Pass was simply stunning inside – it’s nothing like anywhere else we stayed. It’s on par with international luxury standards, and reminded me of The Venetian in Las Vegas; especially the bathrooms. It sits in the middle of nowhere with a bright allure. Not bad for a country with a power shortage. Especially considering we were the only guests, and the staff outnumbered us. Man, that was a weird visit.

Another fun fact: Masik Pass came to international notoriety in 2013 after having it’s outsourced ski lift order blocked by the United Nations, classifying it a ‘prestigious propaganda project’. North Korea responded by labelling the decision a serious abuse of human rights.

CD: The Song of the Sun Will Be Immortal

With modern classics such as “Long Live Generalissimo Kim Il Sung”, “Our Leader Beloved of People” and “The General Lives Forever as the Sun”, I just had to have it. Apparently the eighth CD in the collection, a quick ponder of the track list may leave you wondering how many further amalgamations of Kim Il-Sung and authoritarian words are left mathematically possible.

In all seriousness, I wanted to leave North Korea with something like this. North Korean music is unique – every song is politically influenced, pop music as we know it simply does not exist. Musical freedom is undefined, it’s usually militaristic, upbeat and supported orchestrally with female vocals. References to the leaders and self-reliance ideology is certain – I watched a number of performances on Korean State Television in Pyongyang, and it focussed more on religious celebration (of the leaders) than the music. Amazing stuff, and a great souvenir.

The Pyongyang Times

The Pyongyang Times is the foreign language edition of the local Korean newspaper distributed across the country. This newspaper is North Korean citizens’ only exposure to the outside world – it’s state controlled and offers a restricted view to reality. It’s a very interesting read.

I was told that by law, Kim Jong-Un is featured on the front page of each edition and that it’s illegal to fold in the middle, as it could crease the great leaders head. The paper cannot be used in a disrespectful manner (firestarter, cleaning a mess etc.) as it retains near holy status; outlining progression of the Korean people and the Juche ideology. I read three editions, and found that each one followed the same structure – beginning with political accomplishments and celebrations, followed by technological and social breakthroughs before offering a double spread in targeted, aggressive propaganda claims towards South Korea, United States and Japan. Facts were optional. Sport, and smaller success stories were on the back page.

The Pyongyang Times has in the past been scrutinised due to it’s creative license, including claims of South Korea’s ‘poor human rights record’, maintaining a 50% unemployment rate and spread of incurable disease.

This was one of my favourite souvenirs. I’ve included three articles below, they’re an interesting read.

If you are visiting Vietnam, you can’t miss this motorbike day trip. It easily gets my seal of approval as the best trip in Vietnam and frankly, I’ll confidently claim it’s the greatest motorcycle trip in South-East Asia!

Nowhere else in the country will offer you such a well-rounded window into the diverse local lifestyles, scenic variety and juxtaposition between modern and traditional Vietnam in a distance so short. It’s that simple. It’s perfect for those on a tight schedule, most importantly getting you out of the cities and into genuine local life. Straight into the deep end, albiet relatively safely and comfortably.

On top of that, you’re travelling by motorbike. Riding a motorbike in Vietnam is par for the course, a bucket list item and an experience you’ll never forget. Over 95% of traffic here is two wheels – the country is designed for it. Burst your tourist bubble, view Vietnamese life by joining the locals directly, exposing yourself to the dry heat acclimatized only by the wind in your hair. You’ll soak up the culture like a sponge, it’s fascinating and absolutely liberating. A feeling of ultimate freedom!

Or, you can instead hop onto a crammed bus with no air conditioning and head down the dusty, uninspiring inland highway to reach Hoi-An…

…but let me ask you this, are you transiting or travelling?

I’ll make the decision for you, you’re travelling. Alright, let’s get into it!

What do you see?

The route begins in Hue city on the central coast of Vietnam, and your destination is Hoi-An; about 140km to the south. You’ll head off the beaten track, down the coastal roads intersecting the tourist hubs of Lang Co and Da Nang, both conveniently linked by the stunning Hai Van Pass popularized in that Vietnam Top Gear Episode you remember.

But…it’s between these anchor points that provide the icing on the cake!

The fishing villages, the lush green rice fields, the water buffalo, the cone hats, religious influence, lush flooded green rice fields, mountainous views, secluded sandy beaches; Pho as it’s meant to be made…and small town life as it’s always been. Delve into it.

Oh and did I mention it can be traversed in as little as 6 hours? Yep. At a relaxing pace too.

But hell, why 6 hours? Make a two day trip out of it, don’t rush at all and stay a night in Lang Co to break it up. Take the detours, embrace every photo opportunity, enjoy swimming an undiscovered beach whilst watching fisherman catch fresh seafood. Explore the village mazes to the novelty of the locals. Buy their products, get to know them as you eat their mouth-watering cuisine and don’t forget to drink their rice wine (responsibly!).

It’s very rare you’ll pay local prices in Vietnam. But, with any luck you will at village stops – tourism is an untamed beast and you’ll feel quite out of place. And it’s fantastic. You’ll also feel like Brad Pitt. You’ve never quite waved at so many people.

How do you do it?

You have two options, you can either rent a motorbike to tackle it yourself (recommended!) or if that isn’t suitable, you can hire a driver. He will supply the bike but the cost is considerably higher as you’d expect. Experiencing it is far better than missing out though! There are many reputable groups offering drivers on customised trips out of Hue, I recommend Vietnam Motor Trail.

For those undergoing it themselves: Petrol is obtained easily from locals in the villages on the way, and there are stations in all the main hubs. The road conditions on this route are surprisingly great. It’s mainly paved, with some unsealed sections – the potholes are easy to navigate and it’s not tough on the bike.

For this reason, you can even get away with doing this trip on an automatic scooter. Rent one in Hue for just $10 a day including a full tank of fuel, you can drop it off in Hoi-An for a small one way fee. Just please, not a Vespa. It’ll be rough going. Get yourself something like a Honda Airblade (very popular) and your golden. I didn’t have a problem!

Why is this route so great?

Unprecedented variety! Alright, so those large tourist hubs I mentioned – what do they offer? A lot. Let me give you a run down!

You’ll begin in Hue:

Hue is my favourite city in Vietnam. Much of its population lives within the historic walled bounds of the Hue Citadel. This fortress is even surrounded by a moat sourced from the Perfume River that snakes through the city – 10 gates allow entry. Hue is a comparatively small, quiet coastal city that was once the capital – and due to its central positioning was unfortunately hit hard during the Vietnam War.

Lifestyles are conservative, right down to the bars and restaurants, a welcome change in South-East Asia. It’s a relaxing, friendly atmosphere. Royal Tombs of past Kings sit atop the marsh riverbanks, pagoda’s tower overhead. It’s just 8km out from the beach (unforgettable fresh seafood), the jungle of detours take you onto scenic journeys into local life and the inland highlands are ingrained into a tour of Vietnam’s war history.

How’s that for variety. Hue is an awesome launch pad.

The street food can’t be missed either, you’ll become addicted to Bun Bo Hue (beef noodle soup – Hue style) and I ate more Banh Cuon Thit Heo (Rice-paper rolled pork with peanut sauce) than I’m willing to admit. I’m not a foodie, but the cuisines impressed me here. Adventurous? Ech Xao Xa Ot. Fried Frog with Lemongrass.

Also, I have to add this: Most tourists only spend a night in Hue. Almost all itineraries follow that recipe, but trust me – they don’t know what they are missing! For those that are willing to take some responsibility over their travel (that’s you), Hue is a gold mine to exploration.

You’ll move through coastal villages and scenic mountain ranges into Lang Co:

A small picturesque fishing town, Lang Co is a weirdly shaped piece of land shielded by a lagoon on one side; and over 10km of white sandy beach on the other. It’s flanked by stunning mountainous Vietnam, contrasted by modern day engineering feats and traditional fishing methods. From my experience, it’s a must stop for seafood so fresh you’ve seen them catch your meal just 10 metres away from the comfort of the restaurant, many of which are located physically out in the lagoon; reachable only by their own jetties.

Lang Co is still quite underdeveloped, popular with local tourists more so than foreigners. However, it’s great for either a lunch or dinner stop-off, a swim to beat the Vietnamese heat or a stay overnight if you’re travelling north to Hue. If you’re heading south, remember it’s only another hour onto Da Nang for more abundant accommodation and city life!

 Continuing on you’ll traverse the spectacular Hai Van Pass!

The jewel of the region – one of the greatest ocean drives in the world. It’s a big claim and if you don’t trust me, Jeremy Clarkson from Top Gear was quoted as saying those exact words. Hai Van Pass or in English “Ocean Cloud Pass” is a stunningly scenic route, etching hairpin turns and long straights high into the mountain range. To say the least, it lends itself to being best enjoyed by motorbike. Late afternoon, an eerie mist joins you, adding to the aura. It’s a fun road to navigate, I’m guilty in taking joy rides across it every chance I get. Luckily for you, the pass actually links both Lang Co and Da Nang; you don’t even need to go out of your way. There is very little traffic, usually just a handful of motorbikes, as trucks, buses and other heavy vehicles are required at Lang Co to continue down AH1 through the tunnel instead.

Hai Van Pass is quiet and relaxing, so embrace it at your own pace – enjoy the postcard vistas and breathe the cool ocean air for 21 kilometres of some of the best time you’ll ever spend on a vehicle.

Descending leads into the modern city of Da Nang:

Da Nang is different – I personally love it. It’s the largest city of central Vietnam – a breath of fresh air to the region providing a modern; commercial hub to the country.

Best of all though, Da Nang avoids the tiresome commotion of Ho Chi Minh City; whilst providing a charm unlike Hanoi, in the form of a coastal beach paradise. You can relax here and just 5 minutes inland sits a stylish, clean and organized cityscape. The nightlife is bright and active. The cuisine is spectacular. Palm trees line the far stretched white sands banked by tall, block hotels reminiscent of an early Australian Gold Coast. The 72 metre ‘Lady Buddha’ stands dominant to the peninsula; visible as you take a dip in refreshing blue waters. Just 10 minutes south sit religious cave systems of the limestone Marble Mountains; to an otherwise flat landscape. Da Nang’s eastern backdrop of Ba Na Hills is a perfect day trip too, if not just for the 6km world record cable car.

It sounds like a no-brainer right? You’d be surprised – Da Nang is often overlooked or completely missed by tourists, outshined by it’s close proximity to the tourist haven of Hoi-An.

But you now know better, integrate Da Nang into your itinerary!

Final stretch adjacent beach front resorts into Hoi-An!

Hoi-An. The Vietnam tourist favourite, a mecca really. For good reason. I haven’t yet met anybody that disliked Hoi An. The ancient town, the focus of the tourist masses is a world heritage UNESCO site and seen as one of the best examples of 15-19th century Chinese and Japanese trading influences in Vietnam. If this means nothing to you, trust me – the old buildings, amidst lively, colourful walking streets that form a relatively mazey plan to get lost in give it a unique feel I haven’t otherwise experienced in South-East Asia. You’ll take a lot of photos here. You’ll also eat a lot of food.

The riverfront is lined with a myriad of culinary options – the daily struggle is making a decision. It’s tough. If you like fresh beer – it’s 3000 VND a glass ($0.14 USD). Cheapest I’ve seen in the country. Transportation is primarily push bikes, a relaxing back pedal (pun intended) from the noise pollution elsewhere – it allows a peaceful discovery of markets, locally made handicrafts and tailor-made silk clothing Hoi-An is so well known for. If you’ve been hustled for ‘tailored’ suits in Thailand, don’t let it shy you from getting one done in Hoi An – they are quality, it’s an institution here!

Accommodation options are generally cheap and comfortable ‘home stay’ accommodations. Also, don’t forget an opportunity to take cooking and handicraft lessons with the locals here! They’re popular and they do a great job.

‘Relative safety’?…elaborate…

Alright, something to consider. Riding a motorbike in South-East Asia is dangerous. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. Heed this advice: If you’ve never ridden a motorbike or scooter before; Vietnam is not the place to learn.

Country-wide, there are an estimated 40 road deaths a day. The majority occur on the highways, where high speed, neglected vehicle maintenance, poor road conditions and careless driving take their toll. I’ve witnessed countless accidents, some quite horrific – foreigners regularly wear their own story physically. It’s not a joke guys, and you aren’t invincible.

If anything terrible was to happen, you’re about 2 hours away from the nearest hospital in Hue or Da Nang – keep this in mind.

Anyway, enough disclaimer.

Traffic in Hanoi and Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) is insane, and you’re easily bottlenecked into it. Luckily, on this route you can avoid the dangerous highways – instead hugging the quiet, safe coastal roads dissecting villages and farmland, populated only by the locals residing within. They’re more single lane paved paths than sealed roads. Very little traffic. Glorious riding.

You aren’t totally safe though…there’s water buffalo to dodge, cows to weave between and from personal Vietnamese testimony – rogue pigs are prime lunging offenders. Apparently they are as solid as a rock and become more aggressive when hit. I don’t recommend investigating!

So, what do you think?

Chances are, if you’re visiting Vietnam you’ll cross through Hue city. After enjoying the itinerary favourites of The Imperial City, Thien Mu Pagoda and all of the Royal Tombs – you’ll likely be herded onto a tourist bus the following day off to Hoi-An. 

Don’t.

If you’re open to some self-directed adventure, game enough to embrace the Vietnamese roads and have an insatiable appetite for cultural enlightenment – you’ll be suitably rewarded on this motorcycle trip. An enriching journey, encapsulating both authentic Vietnamese lifestyle and stunning countryside scenery; with everything in between – in just one or two days. Perfect.

Yes, it’s extra effort. It’ll require a bit of organisation and maybe a step outside your comfort zone. But, you’ll get out what you put into it. It’s what travels about.

Whether you’re in Vietnam for 1 week, 2 weeks or 3 months – this motorbike journey is for you and one of the best in South-East Asia.

Put it on your list!

P.S If you have done this trip, or one similar within South-East Asia I’d love to hear your thoughts. So share it with me in the comments below!

Barbed wire line all fences, tank traps enclose us and the remainder is a laden, active minefield. One million soldiers stand guard; overseeing from outposts – gazing across the border into forbidden lands once unified and the eyes of South Korean military. The peace treaty was never signed, and the war between the North and South of Korea still rages over 60 years on. At least technically, anyway – and the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ); the border between two countries now worlds apart serves as the best reminder. Here, in the eye of the storm at Panmunjom…a one metre misstep would likely see you shot or an extensive visit to a ‘re-education’ camp.

It seems dramatic, but that is the reality. There may not be bullets flying overhead or active servicemen crossing the border but tensions are high. Since the Korean Armistice Agreement was penned in 1953 there has been over 1000 ‘fracases’ and a further approximate 50 serious incidents here, including one recently where a young North Korean soldier defected into South Korean hands across this very border to the east.

I was pretty excited to see what it was like for myself. Visiting from the exclusivity of the North Korean side was shrouded in a mystery that fascinated me. I’d read a lot about the DMZ history and it’s ongoing volatility to danger – quite the juxtaposition from the characterised Disneyland-like novelty from the South Korean side.

It’ll be interesting to see how this differs in the North. If at all. I just couldn’t imagine the DPRK approaching it in a similarly playful manner.

My initial expectations? Well — serious faces and strict rules under stringent government chaperone, where my actions will be monitored and judged at all times. Of course. Oh and military checkpoints. Lots of them. Apparently though, the DMZ is the only place in North Korea I won’t be shot for photographing a soldier. Which is cool. We’ll see how that goes.

Getting to the DMZ – Leaving Pyongyang

Overnight was in Pyongyang in the fabled Yanggakdo Hotel, towering alone on it’s segregated island in the Taedong River. Away from reality. This meant an 8:15am departure marked the beginning of our three hour bus trip south – to the most dangerous border on earth.

Pyongyang is dead quiet, only the sounds of factory industry and industrial boats break the silence. The Yanggakdo Hotel lobby is populated in time for tour departures, and the receptionists keenly await us to clear out – denoting one thing: time to switch off power to the 47 floor hotel until evening. Power shortage in Pyongyang is transparent.

Life goes on for Pyongyangladites as our bus traverses through. The working class pack bus shelters in 50 metre long snake lines and people sparsely roam the city by foot or cycle styled in monotone dark clothing. Pop culture traffic ladies – beautiful; spotless and dressed in all white direct what little traffic there is left. The smog of factories fill the air above lonely soviet apartment blocks and the pain of day-long hard manual labour can be made out in the distance if you listen hard enough – or maybe that was just me filling in the blanks.

On the outskirts of Pyongyang we cross underneath the oddly ironic, yet marvellous Arch of Reunification forming a humbling southern gateway to the city. The city ends here. Instantly. It’s akin to breaking through a bubble – a distinct cut off between privilege and poverty. What follows is seemingly a desolate rural no-mans land without end in sight. This is the Pyongyang-Kaesong Motorway.

It seems that way because well…there actually is nothing – and you have crossed into no-mans land. Unofficially known as the Reunification Highway; it’s a six lane controlled-access link between Pyongyang and Kaesong (through Sariwon), and hence to the DMZ. There is no traffic to speak of. However, there’s no shortage of military checkpoints. Creepily, signs on the highway specify distances to Seoul, South Korea rather than the DMZ. Interesting. A remnant of a time since passed, or reunification misdirection for the tourists shuttled down here? I am unsure.

A trip to the DMZ is mandatory to most Pyongyang tourism itineraries. The reunification highway appears regularly in photographs by foreign media, you may have seen it before. It’s the only ‘rural’ government sanctioned road traversed by foreign journalists given permission to film in North Korea, after a six-year long waiting list. They aren’t allowed to film out the window.

It’s interesting, because on further investigation…you realise this road is almost completely point to point; Pyongyang to the DMZ. It conveniently skips villages, towns and farmland that may paint a slightly different picture of the DPRK.

Although rough, pot-holed and unmaintained – true to all North Korean roads outside Pyongyang, this motorway was in far better condition than most.

However, it’s still cripplingly lonely.

North Korean Countryside

It’s about 45 minutes into the drive before I come across well…anything.

A middle-aged man dressed in a silver suit jacket and pants in the blistering heat, bent over heaving a cart up a hill containing a large, live pig. Where he came from? Don’t know. Where was he going? Who knows. The pig looked fairly proud of itself though.

Activity increased as we descended further down south-west past Sariwon (which we visited in days following). Off-shooting villages became visible from the highway finally breathing some life into the barren countryside, yet accessible only by walking track. People wander the roadside alone on either foot or bicycle – sometimes tens of kilometres from the nearest inhabited community. I can only assume as a means to reach crops or villages with supplies. I spotted sacks of corn, bundles of sticks and leaves, sand, livestock and fruit baskets. Supplies are limited and act as the primary currency between North Korea’s impoverished. Similarities between less fortunate South-East Asian countries such as Laos cannot be dismissed.

I witnessed many poor souls pushing broken down motorcycles for miles too. Tough life.

Halfway passes and we take a break at what the guides and most foreigners know as the Tea House (Sohung Rest House). For those readers familiar with the Vice documentary on North Korea, you may recognise it. It’s the location of the ‘Tea Lady’ segment, which I may add was vastly exaggerated on their part as a ghost town. In reality, Sohung Rest House sees regular visitors – it’s the only sanctioned stop between Pyongyang and the DMZ. Nonetheless, it’s a cool feeling to be in such a secluded yet recognisable place.

After enjoying some tea poured by enthusiastic ladies pleased to handle foreign currency, replenishing soft drink supplies and dry-reaching from the frankly disgusting toilets that lacked ventilation (I’ll save you the descriptive writing) we were back on our way down the deserted highway.

No photos were allowed from this point onwards until the DMZ.

This was strictly enforced. We were briefed that today wasn’t one for sneaky snaps out the window. Upon leaving Pyongyang I saw trains hidden by tall barriers – above which the upper half of military tanks were clearly visible. The guides spotted this too and as we passed; all guides turned to watch us like hawks to ensure stealth photos weren’t taken.

It’s no joke. It’s their heads on the chopping block if we don’t abide by the rules. The guides in North Korea are essentially an extension of your own responsibility. They take the fall for minor crimes on your behalf.

Military checkpoints began to appear in rapid succession. Four leading up to the city of Kaesong about 20 minutes apart. This was before we even arrived into the vicinity of the DMZ itself.

Good grief, what is it going to be like once we get there?

Each checkpoint gated off the road; splashing Korean signage widely enforcing a stop. They were a simple, yet unsettling process involving the driver passing across papers to an AK47 toting KPA (Korean People’s Army) soldier dressed in military olive green get-up, complete with peak cap and a whole lot of attitude. Our role was to sit in deathly silence, look ahead on our best behaviour and ensure anything with a lens quickly became invisible. Unless of course, a bus shakedown by the DPRK military was on your bucket list. I’d rather not. At least not now.

All things considered, these checkpoints are a slight inconvenience at most. Yet they are an intimidating process – but I think that is the point.

Broken down vehicles are common in North Korea. Really common. Beyond Pyongyang you can expect to see old trucks, cars and 1920’s antique farming equipment lining the roadsides. Each harbouring pairs of legs underneath as all occupants try and fix it at once. Today we pass such a victim – a Chinese KITC tourist minivan joining us for our timeslot at the DMZ. They waved us down and five minutes later our bus was back on it’s way joined by eight new occupants.

Not sure about the minivan driver. He stayed behind. Likely discussing terms of contract on a call to his insurance company…I bet.

Reaching Kaesong

Not long after, we reach Kaesong – just a stone throw away from our DMZ destination of Panmunjom. We stay here in Kaesong accommodation tonight, sleeping on floor mats in traditional historical Korean dwellings.

Due to it’s proximity to South Korea, Kaesong provides an interesting role in economics between the two nations including the morally questionable Kaesong Industrial Region (ROK companies employ DPRK labour for a pittance on DPRK soil). As we pass through, the guide points out Kaesong train station. The tracks lead directly through the DMZ to Dorasan train station, Seoul, South Korea. Forgotten and overgrown, it’s been since abandoned due to political conflicts in 2008.

These tracks represent a literal link between long lost relatives segregated across this tiny border. It’s hard to stomach it’s existence right in front of my eyes, contrasting the impossibility of reuniting those families just two hours apart. That thin border becomes figuratively wide when one million rifles stand between.

The DMZ Landing Area

We are again sternly reminded “no photos, no photos!” as we enter the preliminary area of the DMZ. With a keen eye, the towering flag poles of both North and South Korea can be seen in the distance less than four kilometres apart- the width of the DMZ splitting each nation.

We embrace yet another (and final, yay!) checkpoint, bringing it to a grand total of seven from Pyongyang to DMZ, not bad.

In a sudden and shocking realisation, I acknowledge that these checkpoints are not just here for foreigners.

We soon come to a halt at the suitably soviet communistic looking gate pictured centre below, greeted by a mural featuring a large pointed finger subset by the slogan “Korea is One!”. My Korean is limited, it could have represented a player being given out at Lords Cricket Ground for all I was aware. I can’t unsee it.

My first thought? I guess it’s a technicality and a minor detail I won’t get hung up on…but we were standing aside a 4km wide, 250km long minefield purely designed to keep the North and South away from each other. Maybe I’m cynical, but Korea seems everything but ‘One’ to me in this moment.

Oh well, keep your glasses half full.

Now that we are here, there are three sections of the DMZ which I want to make clear…mainly because they confused me initially. I might not be the only one!

There is the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) itself – this spans the entirety of the border; sea to sea, existing as a 4km wide buffer between both Koreas.

Centred to this DMZ buffer zone is the Military Demarcation Line (MDL). This is the actual political border. Overstepping this line is not a place to show your passive aggressive push for reunification – you’ll be shot. The MDL line is not accessible at many places a long the DMZ due to minefield on both sides. A North Korean citizen that would like to defect to South Korea would have to gain access to the MDL. It’s incredibly difficult and dangerous.

Today we are visiting the MDL through a special accessible section of the DMZ known as the Joint Security Area (JSA). It’s located to the west in the (now uninhabited) village of Panmunjom I’m currently standing nearby. What makes the JSA so special is that it’s the only area where the North and South come so face to face they could legally kiss.

Which they definitely don’t.

I’m progressive, I’m all for it! But that hurdle may not be a priority right now for some reason.

Anyway, in this staging area of our arrival we have to ditch the bus. It’s searched with a fine tooth comb and cleared for entry, in the meantime we are taken to get ‘registered’. Conveniently, the room we are to wait doubles as a souvenir hustle – ‘Panmun Souvenir Shop’ (soliciting tourists is a universal language, folks). Not usually a sucker for souvenirs, I’m in North-bloody-Korea and I helped myself to some ginseng jelly, some propaganda stamps and a replica Workers Party of Korea cap. Among other things…

Kim Jong Un may be eating extra lobster tail this week thanks to that 10 euros.

As I walked out, ‘Crazy O’ (one of my guides) spotted the Ginseng and let off a snicker, some subtle innuendo and an…’interesting’ mime. Why? Well, apparently Ginseng is used in Korea for impotence.

Erectile dysfunction. Yep.

Ahh, the International Friendship Exhibition incident, and now this. I just can’t win!

An empty connecting room displays a map of the DMZ and the Korean Peninsula. It’s overlooked by individual photos of Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jong-Il. Note below how the frame is thicker at the top so that the leaders are always looking down upon you.

This is a requirement by law.

As we wait, it suddenly dawns on me – could I get cell phone signal here? We are right on the border…surely South Korean tower coverage reaches. My iPhone has been on flight mode since boarding the plane in China to Pyongyang because well…as we know, North Korea is a communication black spot. Sure enough, disabling flight mode showed two-bar signal to a South Korean cell carrier and I instantly received an automated roaming SMS and one I was sent days earlier.

Awesome.

…And very illegal under DPRK law. After some fleeting feelings of ultimate badass-itry, I set it back to flight mode before I get carted away for either using ROK goods or a ‘GPS Device’.

Entering the DMZ

Alright, bus searched and cleared of nefarious goods; we are lined up and walked single file through the gate into the DMZ itself. The bus follows and we re-board with a Korean People’s Army (KPA) colonel and two KPA soldiers to accompany us towards the JSA.

We are getting into the real deal now!

The path we take is set below ground level, built up on both sides by brick. Atop sits huge bulk blocks of stone and the gaps between are filled in by barbed wire and electric fencing. Behind it on both sides? Lush long green grass where nature has reclaimed land, devoid of anything. Not even any crops.

That’s because it’s a minefield.

We sit sandwiched between two desolate fields that form just a small section of the approximate 3 million landmines present across the entire DMZ. Oh and those stone blocks? Those are tank traps, our guides acknowledge them to be rigged with explosives, existing to prevent military pressure bypassing the fields and streamlining through this paved gateway into North Korea.

Lovely.

Mighty Korea respects no minefield however. Solutions are easily devised under their unprecedented technological advancement. The result are four known tunnels underneath as invasion paths into the South Korea. As you’d expect, they have since been locked down. From the South on a DMZ tour they even take you into one. From the North? Their existence is not acknowledged.

There’s even a chance not all have been discovered. Which I find an amazing concept; that there could still be hidden tunnels facilitating people in and out of the country as I type. It’s unlikely though!

Reaching Panmunjom

Halfway into the DMZ, we make a stop. This is the actual location of the late Panmunjom village – there is now nothing left.

A single military outpost has been erected, pruned gardens line the entrance and two buildings sit within the vicinity. One being the Negotiation Hall where peace talks were held during the war (the original table exists here) – and the other, the (now) North Korean Peace Museum which is where the Korean Armistice Agreement was actually finally signed and history was made. We’re told it was built overnight by the great Workers Party of Korea for the sole reason of facilitating the signing.

Something interesting to note in the image above – see the giant North Korean flag towering in the centre? This is sitting in one of only two villages agreed to remain within the DMZ – Kijongdong in the DPRK and Daeseong-dong in the ROK. In the 80’s, South Korea built a 100 metre flagpole on their side, North Korea took it as intimidation and upped the ante themselves, countering it by building the one pictured – much larger at 160m and almost the biggest in the world at the time.

A flagpole war. Much more peaceful.

Eh, unfortunately North Korea also used that village right up until recently to blast propaganda at the South 20 hours a day, droning away to bored officers to jump the border and come enjoy heaven and luxury in the North. Not joking. Unsurprisingly it had little effect. It’s been proven that the lights in this village are on timers to give the illusion of activity. It’s now dubbed as ‘Propaganda Village’ from the South.

Below is the aforementioned ROK flag sitting in the DMZ bound town of Daeseong-dong across the border:

Negotiation Hall at Panmunjom

We first checked out the negotiation hall. On the outside, a sign denotes when Kim Jong-Il first visited this location. This is more of a prelude to the museum than anything – inside contains just the original table, 10 white veiled chairs for negotiators, and another two smaller offset tables for officials and that’s it, nothing riveting but historically relevant. It was built for this purpose only, and it remains.

I can’t look past the irony of the DPRK going this far in preserving the history and integrity surrounding the Armistice agreement. It’s been six times now they have announced they are no longer going to abide by it – even as recent as 2013. Ah, politics.

But anyway. It’s quite clear this little checkpoint is used as a propaganda machine, a celebration in the ‘victory’ of the North Korean people over the ‘imperialist’ Americans. This becomes clearer at the museum next.

North Korea Peace Museum at Panmunjom

The North Korea Peace Museum is one room containing three tables. The guides stress they are the originals, still exactly as left since 1953 – with the addition of the armistice agreements and ‘original’ flags within glass casings of course. A funny observation I couldn’t help but make is that the original encased UN flag looked to have seen better days – a little worse for wear after this long. Meanwhile, the North Korean flag on the other table was an absolute cracker. It looks brand spanking new. Not even a fade in colour. It must be the superior materials that go into the local product, I reckon!

Walls were lined with photography. Most were given context with Korean captions I unfortunately couldn’t read. But it was chronological. A celebration in the war victory of the Korean people leading up to the DMZ and beyond.

Objective isn’t a word I’d use to describe the museum, not that I expected otherwise. Americans are shown with their hands up in surrender, there is ‘evidence’ of American aggression and spy activities, Korean People’s Army training and in battle defiantly, civilian celebration and endearment to the cause and of course Kim Il-Sung spreading his political wings shaking hands, signing documents and leading the party to victory and the armistice finale. Kim Jong-Il is also shown visiting in bright colour photography. This moment is recorded by date and time and presented with pride.

Exhibits of physical items (or evidence as the guides describe it) below were filled with American and ROK war materials.

They even showcased the axe used in the infamous ‘axe murdering incident’ in the JSA where two Americans were hacked and slaughtered with it by KPA soldiers for cutting down a tree in line with a military outpost in 1976.

South Korean ‘puppets’ are slandered. China isn’t mentioned. The North Korean tunnels under the DMZ evade acknowledgement, yet the elusive unicorn of the ‘Concrete Wall’ allegedly built by the Americans is mapped perfectly.

If that wasn’t one-sided enough, a stone monument just outside the front door of the museum reads the following:

The American imperialists, who broke out (provoked) the war in Chosun (Korea) on the 25th June 1950, surrendered on their knees in front of all the heroic North Koreans and signed here the armistice on the 27th July 1953.

Interesting.

Entering the JSA

Another 500 metres or so and we were at the JSA. But not before the bus almost broke down on the slight incline preceding it. These North Korean drivers certainly don’t have much respect for manual transmission.

We are dropped off behind the Panmungak Hall.

This is the large white building that faces you if you were visiting the JSA from the South Korean side. Both ROK and American guides previously enjoyed toying with tourists by telling them this building was a farce – a fake front, like a movie prop; because from your vantage point in ROK you can’t see whether the building has any depth.

…If there was any doubt, I can confirm a brick and mortar establishment!

Upon disembarking we are instructed to again walk single file. It’s very organised and official.

First impression: It’s incredibly peaceful and relaxed here. Serene really. It’s silent, and their best landscapers have clearly left their mark as it’s now a beautified tourist landing pad. You wouldn’t even have an inkling of the surrounding danger unless you knew prior.

A scripted walk followed onwards to an adjacent stone monument.

From the guides mannerisms, this was clearly a very important monument. No kidding. We discover it’s a memorial to The Great Leader himself; Kim Il-Sung. Etched into the stone in bright gold is his last autograph taken from his final endorsed document on the 7th of July, 1994. Apparently it’s an analysed direct replica. Neat writer, it’s scaled well to this size. The document? It was a proposed one ‘country-two systems’ reunification proposal…of course.

He died the following day though unfortunately.

Other than this; discounting the stock photos inside rooms of the Panmungak Hall (par for the course), shockingly there was no other Kim family propaganda at the DMZ. This was really unexpected.

Led by the KPA Colonel, we shuffle through the Punmangak Hall and out into the main area of the JSA.

The border is where the light gravel turns dark, denoted by a concrete line – cross that line, you’ll be shot.

A soviet tourist during the Cold War tried it in 1984 ending in four casualties. So it’s not recommended.

North Korean soldiers are awaiting us. Two precede us in entering the bright United Nations blue conference room. They each take up position at the end of the room guarding a single door. Like statues. Akin to the Queen’s Guard in England. They are within arms reach of a pull alarm.

The door they are to guard? This is a door to South Korea, literally. Like the door to Narnia, except real.

Just one door knob and a hail of gunfire away from a new life.

The conference rooms are infamous – they’re synonymous with the DMZ in pop culture of not only South Korea but globally. They hold novelty value to tourists whilst providing such an important step in reunification. They straddle the Military Demarcation Line (MDL) – half in North Korea, half in South Korea.

The JSA is the only area in North Korea one may peacefully and theoretically “cross” the border into the South – cool right?

Well, sort of. There’s a slight caveat – crossing the MDL can only be done within the constraints of these blue conference rooms. The two sternly looking KPA blokes are technically standing in South Korea in that photo, shielded from the political storm by just four walls and a roof! Freedom is short lived…you can’t even tell whether the air is fresher over that side.

For those that visit the DMZ from the South Korean side, yes these are the same rooms where you can ‘walk into North Korea’. South Korean soldiers will guard the opposite door to North Korea so you aren’t tempted to illegally immigrate into Kim Il-Sung’s haven of freedom…

These rooms do have a proper purpose though, providing a relatively peaceful platform for face-to-face political negotiations between both Koreas. Prisoner exchanges have also been known to occur here.

Seated like an international delegate, the Colonel gave us a similar explanation of their purpose, and how they came to be. Still without mention of China’s role in saving North Korea’s bacon, establishing the DMZ and ensuring continued communist rule in the North.

It’s alright, I’m sure he just forgot. We all make mistakes sometimes.

The South Korean side of the JSA was empty. No ROK or American military nor any tour groups. In fact I saw no movement at all on that side of the border.

This was a shame, it would have been nice to see the face-off if not just for photos. I mean…a couple metres between opposing soldiers each day – do they want to strangle each other? Do they talk to each other? Are they friends? A game of football with a very strict offside? Doubt it. Today I’d get no confirmation though.

What I do know is that the imperialist Americans and puppet South Koreans weren’t in fact off enjoying capitalism in a screening of the new Transformers movie this weekend – South Korea actually ‘closes’ the DMZ on Sunday and Monday for tours. These are also coincidently the only days a visit from the North is possible. It seems to be a recent policy. Is it an odd timeshare arrangement or a way to prevent opposing tour group confrontation? Waving and pointing sounds pretty dangerous after all.

After being flushed from the room by an intimidating dual formation of KPA (to some Korean words which I’m sure were lovely!), we now had the opportunity to go camera crazy from the Punmangak Hall.

We could also interact with the soldiers whom were more than willing to oblige, even sporting smiles on their faces.

Smiling. In North Korea. Is that even a thing?

It’s a bit odd. The entire JSA experience from the North is much more relaxed than I envisioned. Call me ignorant, but I honestly expected serious faces and five quick controlled minutes watched by on-edge Koreans yelling and shaking their arms every time I made a reach for my camera.

Does it look like that to you?

Quite the contradiction to visiting from the South. North Korea is the scary, mysterious and volatile boogeyman played up for the tourists on the ROK side of the DMZ.

On a trip from the South:

Dress code applies! Don’t point here, don’t wave there. No laughing. Serious faces only. Don’t provoke the North Koreans! Please sign this waver as you’re heading into a volatile area. We can only stay for 5 minutes, it’s too dangerous otherwise! You better have your cameras ready and for the love of god – please don’t take photos of that! Taking photos there breaches national security you know?

Hmm…

Meanwhile…on a trip from the North Korean side: No dress code, relative freedom to take all the photos, go selfie crazy if you like, hell, take some photos with military. Wave, point, make hand signals; the lot. Laugh, even. Anything goes as long as you don’t cross that damn line.

Great stuff – stereotype reinforcement from the South, and the North doing everything it can to troll you into a false sense of security and freedom. North Korea is so much better, right?

My take? This is almost certainly on purpose, possibly a passive aggressive attempt in making a mockery of the precautions on the South. This is the only interaction of this kind I had in the North.

If there’s one thing this country has mastered, it’s how to fool your perception.

As the JSA is central to the DMZ, it truly is an eerily peaceful smokescreen to the ongoing hostility. Each side provokes one another using their gardening skills on well kept lawns and plants. It’s like a little competition on who can manicure the biggest hedge. To quell some JSA misconceptions: There are no guard towers. There is no barbed wire or electric fencing. There is no active servicemen brandishing AK47’s, and there are no visible Soviet tanks, military choppers or anti-air installations, nor sharks with laser beams on their heads. It’s labelled the ‘Truce Village’ for a reason!

Those are set back in the DMZ spread 250km across the peninsula.

What there is though, are surveillance cameras. Lots of them.

Many face us from the ironically named ‘Freedom House’ in the South. Nothing speaks freedom more than a bunch of surveillance cameras. Thanks America! Just perfect.

So that’s the JSA, folks!

And well, that wraps up my time and your tour here of the Demilitarized Zone from the North Korean side. What a fantastic morning it was. We got the tap on the shoulder and it was time to say goodbye, waving to soldiers smiling as if departing a family thanksgiving lunch. Thanks for coming.

Speaking of which, it’s only 12:30pm – lunch was next in Kaesong and in true North Korean style we have a whole day to fill ahead of us. They run us knackered so we’ll be too tired to even consider defecting from our hotel!

I was hungry.

But, not dog-meat-soup-hungry. Sigh, North Korea.

I passed!

P.S – Thanks for reading! It’s long, I know. If you enjoyed it, make sure to share with the buttons below! I’ll be releasing more North Korea content in the near future. Follow on Facebook or Twitter to stay up to date! 

For a deeper look into my trip of North Korea, don’t miss my 100 photo montage here: http://www.earthnutshell.com/100-photos-from-north-korea-part1/

P.P.S – Have any of you travelled to the DMZ yourselves, from either the North or South? How did your experience differ? I’d love to hear about it in the comments. Cheers guys, Elliott.

“The wall is a result of the hostile policy pursued by the USA and South Korea against unification,” exclaims Kim Chang Yun, one of Korean People’s Armies most trusted colonels of forty years’ service; his words delivered with authority. Within earshot, I’m preoccupied — gazing intently down the twin barrels of 1990’s finest binoculars; panning for refracted light resembling that of the Concrete Wall, North Korea’s own fabled Loch Ness Monster.

I was on the front line at Korea’s Demilitarized Zone, inside a cold stone bunker preceded by a crumbling overgrown trench laced with moss. To my left, a sandbagged outpost on the high ground manned by three KPA soldiers, one resting against a mounted machine gun.

Together, we stare across into South Korea, the enemy, at least for the duration of my visit. Do as the romans do – it’s never felt quite so important. In fact, it was my legal obligation.

“Do you see it?” I asked a fellow tourist, seeking solace in a majority decision.

“Not yet” he responded, optimistically.

What’s the big deal anyway? It’s just a wall — I hear you thinking. Well, the Concrete Wall spans 240 kilometres across the entire Korean peninsula, cutting it in half. Built by South Korea; it physically segregates the North from the South, as we are told. Its 5-8 metres high, 10-19 metres thick and dotted with military establishments and lookouts. Think the Great Wall of China, except in Korea.

Interestingly the wall can be seen only from the North Korean side, if North Korea’s exclusive news source KCNA is to be believed.

Whatever that means.

Yet, it’s a claim backed equally by each of my five North Korean ‘guides’.

The wall’s discovery was in 1989, by North Korea’s posthumous Eternal President Kim Il-Sung just mere weeks after the fall of the Berlin Wall (coincidence?). Since, it’s become a mainstay in North Korean victimisation propaganda and the catalyst to political instability between the peninsula to this day. Each New Year the South is shamelessly reminded of its existence. Proposed policies are misdirected back to that darn Concrete Wall — the “barrier of national division” as Dear Leader put it, forcefully suppressing North Korean attempts at reunification and denying their people a right to freedom. Yes, you read that right.

In North Korea, the injustice of the Concrete Wall is common knowledge systematically indoctrinated from a young age. It’s their Pearl Harbour.

In South Korea, it’s a well guarded secret.

You’ve never heard of it. Neither had I. But today, I’ve been driven almost an hour from North Korea’s southern economic hub of Kaesong, parallel to the Demilitarized Zone for a chance to see it for myself.

The only problem to all of this is:

The Concrete Wall doesn’t appear to exist.

Prior to our viewing we were formally addressed by Colonel Kim Chang Yun. He spoke with an air of superiority and passion, an influential charisma hand-picked by Marshal Kim Jong-Un himself for this trusted role. A role encompassing foreigner interaction. This is an impossibility for regular citizens.

His voice echoed within the room like a lecture theatre as he aggressively mapped the wall with his stick.

“The wall’s main objective is to stage a military strike against the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, to strike us with ease,” he began – an aspect he ensured we understood.

This wasn’t his first rodeo. Scripted or otherwise, it’s clear this topic was his life’s work.

To his left, the exact dimensions of the wall were inscribed onto the map as if personally measured. As were the construction dates.

Vivid descriptions and artistic impression bring the wall to life for the North Korean people. It’s easily imagined – maliciously constructed by ‘puppet’ South Korean forces under imperialist American order, aligning directly with the pre-existing blanket hatred of the United States.

“The Americans are responsible for all the pain and suffering of our nation.” Colonel Kim Chang Yun remarks.

This is a view held by every North Korean citizen; it’s the cornerstone to their nationalistic pride. It’s difficult for us to comprehend. Groomed from birth, here exists a society deprived of all freedom — not just physically, nor freedom of expression, but freedom of knowledge. No internet. No public libraries. No international texts. Censored news broadcasts. Even music is state approved and endorsed. Critical thinking is an urban myth punishable by ‘re-education camp’ – you know and believe what you’re told, end of story.

Look, all I’m saying is – in North Korea…the Concrete Wall isn’t exactly a tough sell.

Internationally, the United States and South Korea officially deny the walls existence, acknowledging only anti-tank barriers at DMZ sections of high population or strategic importance. Diplomats, even journalists have in the past been given unprecedented military access to zones in question as an attempt to disprove North Korean claims. This offer was even cheekily extended to North Koreans themselves, government or citizen.

“If the walls existence was acknowledged internationally, there would be negative repercussions – that’s why they keep denying it” the Colonel argued, a brief and simple explanation.

This of course, is why we were here. Not to marvel at the walls beauty, history, nor it’s impeccable structural integrity – today’s privileged visit to the wall is a cleverly disguised international vehicle for the ‘truth.’ Run home and spread the word Americans, your government has lied to you.

There’s always an ulterior motive to sanctioned tourist visitations in North Korea. Visiting statues of Kim Il-Sung unveils the extent of national endearment and compliance, local parks are (coincidently) filled with successful, elite Pyongyangladites representing a high quality of life, The Grand People’s Study House shows us North Korea has computers, even network access — the Three Revolutions Exhibition is a display of nuclear capability, while evidence of American war crimes lies inside the Museum of American War Atrocities (yep, that’s the name). Even the carefully selected supermarkets we visit are fully stocked with Chinese goods — a nod to foreign trade and a far cry from the food shortage ‘rubbish’ you’ve heard on CNN.

And the Concrete Wall? Akin to the captured USS Pueblo docked with pride in Pyongyang’s Taedong River, it’s proof of American aggression — additionally demonstrating outward exile by South Korea. Perfect.

The Colonel proceeded to commend us on our bravery in visiting the wall today, and like an excited child eager to show off his toys, invited us outside to witness the Concrete Wall for ourselves.

It was a clear day, the naked eye saw far into enemy lines within which nothing of particular interest stood out. Small birds, sparrows zipped passed my vision unaware of their residential danger. The only birds I saw in North Korea.

I was handed the binoculars.

I must admit — I was cynical. It’s hard not to be. Just four days in and I felt the effect of the North Korean political bias and educational nurturing, the goal of which is to substitute your reality with their own. To be confronted by a poorly cut wall stencil taped across the lens isn’t too far-fetched an expectation for a country reminiscent of a living, breathing version of 1998’s The Truman Show.

As I pan the landscape, soft orchestral music emits from rusted old speakers once used to deliver unsavoury messages to those cowards ‘living in poverty and disease epidemic’ in the South. South Korean military installations in my sights splash painted signage; “Come and see for yourself!” A temptation for curious North Korean eyes.

A minefield spanning east to west, you’d never have an inkling – dense green bushland conceals the evidence. It’s dissected only by mud paths lined with razor wire. South Korean soldiers gaze back from tall outposts, partially hidden not unlike mushrooms emerging from the shrubs below.

Like ants marching the hilltops, moving cars were visible in the distance, as were industrial buildings — alien technology to North Korea representing an economy 60 years its senior. Only 2 kilometres away, their position was only accessible to me as a 5,000 kilometre detour through Beijing, China. A sobering thought.

Cameras, observation towers and bunkers all draped in camouflage dot the landscape, each with three perimeters of razor wire and electric fencing. Not an inviting neighbourhood to door knock for trick or treat, if I’m honest.

The South Korean and distinctly blue United Nations flags sail defiantly high above their walls.

And then…I took this photo. The money shot, as they say.

Deep inside enemy lines, utilising the full zoom of my pre-approved lens and invisible to a glance – I captured what appears to be a wall. One that very well could be made from concrete. Only a small section, it disappeared with the contour of the land into thick forestry on either side of the frame.

Could this be what the North Koreans were talking about? More than simply a propaganda folk tale? Lean in and see what you make of it.

Myth busted? Case closed? Possibly — to my surprise.

Alternatively, maybe it’s not that simple. This is North Korea, a country so well versed in the art of misdirection, even David Copperfield would be left without a career. I felt there was more to the wall than meets the eye.

Wikipedia mentions it, Trip Advisor reviewers swear they’ve seen it and two previously documented accounts of the wall have come to the same conclusion — it exists. Yet, facts are limited, official statements don’t exist and just like our prehistoric Scottish friend, photos are as scarce as hens teeth.

Why? How can an architectural feat of this scale be so well hidden since 1987?

Interestingly; both documented accounts viewed the Concrete Wall from the exact bunker in which I currently stand, both were guided by the same North Korean Colonel, and both took photographic ‘evidence’ remarkably similar to my own. In fact — their photos of the wall were exactly the same as mine above, even from the same angle.

I had already visited the DMZ (the Joint Security Area) earlier today, but to get a glimpse of the Concrete Wall I was driven one hour parallel into countryside North Korea. For a wall spanning the entire DMZ, you can’t help but wonder: Why only here?

This was seriously odd. Absconding the beaten path and on-rails sanctioned façade is breaking the first rule of the North Korean tourism playbook, especially here — far beyond the sanitised environment of Pyongyang. This detour displayed rural harsh realities of poverty, malnourishment and struggle. A questionable cost-benefit outcome that was previously meticulously controlled by authorities. Is the wall that important?

Photos I took on this detour were deleted at the border. Luckily for you, I took backups and risked indefinite detention so you don’t have to! Here are a couple from the bus window. A more accurate representation of the real North Korea:

Aside from this carefully selected viewing location, other intricacies of the wall just simply didn’t add up.

North Korean authorities have long claimed the wall was built both to prevent civilian crossing and to orchestrate an attack. However in reality; the wall’s already preceded by carpets of minefield, the South has long embraced North Korean defectors who’ve made it across unscathed and am I wrong in assuming that such a wall would impede the South’s own military advancement? The whole premise of the wall seems slightly counter intuitive. I can’t imagine a 5-8 metre wall is easily traversable by a tank.

And well, to hit the nail on the head: Exactly.

The realisation slapped me across the face.

I’m no history buff, but lets head back to June 25, 1950 – the date marking the start of the Korean War. Kim Il-Sung orders North Korean forces across the 38th parallel, orchestrating an invasion into the South and captured the capital in just three days met with little resistance. This became known as the ‘First Battle of Seoul’.

How does this relate?

Well, it was a tank invasion.

And guess where the tanks crossed.

Yep. Right here.

As the crow flies, Seoul is just 50 kilometres away — without barrier, this is a natural weak point and was suitably exploited to begin the war. As George W. Bush once (attempted) to articulate: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. And so, the gap was filled, tank barriers were erected — and they’ve been acknowledged by both American and South Korean forces ever since.

There is no wall. We were viewing tank barriers. In short, we were being had — in true North Korean style.

Much like the Loch Ness Monster, what began as hearsay and myth had manifested into a perceived, accepted reality with hard penned facts. State theatrics ensured no limits. The wall has a tail, flippers and a long visible neck that can be spotted only at the right time, from the right angle, and only if you’re quick enough. To quote the movie Swordfish; ‘what the eyes see and the ears hear, the mind believes.’ North Korean tourism in a nutshell.

For the locals? Information is suppressed. Citizens know as they’re told. The Great Leader is forged as superhuman, a demi-god supported by a nation till death. The Concrete Wall can be as long as he damn well pleases. This one is 240 kilometers.

And well, so be it. Who am I to tell them otherwise? I am a foreigner, an outsider, an intruder. Our words are taken with a grain of salt. They’ve learnt that way. And besides; what gives me the right to ruin Santa Claus at Christmas? To North Koreans, we are simply blinded to the truth.

Man, what a fascinating country.

Some minutes later, I got the tap on the shoulder. It was time to wrap things up. We had a busy schedule to stick to, priority one for my guides enforced by an iron fist.

Colonel Kim Chang Yun was stood to my left, his posture perfectly straight and not a blemish on his militarised olive suit and novelty-sized peak cap. A plethora of medals lay upon his heart. He oversees the reaction of our discovery; physical evidence of American aggression and restrictions imposed on free passage into the South.

“Do you see it?” he asked in Korean, translated by my guide.

I lower the binoculars to be greeted by a smirk of confidence upon his face, one that could say no other than ‘I told you so.’

I paused for a moment.

“Yes.” I responded.

“I do.”

P.S – So, what’s your opinion? Is the wall simply North Korean misdirection or does it span the peninsula? Wall or merely tank trap? Let me know in the comments below! Cheers, Elliott

Afront the hotel wall mirror I straighten my tie, tuck in my cotton shirt and give my dress shoes one final shine. It was early morning in Pyongyang, North Korean State Television had jump-started my day — militaristic musical odes to Kim Il-Sung and censored news broadcasts followed by Kim Jong-Il looking at things with approval. Moments later I was heading to the capitals outskirts with five state-sanctioned guides on one of the most ‘important’ visitations of my life. Oddly, to visit these two aforementioned gentlemen in the flesh. Whom may I add, also died 4 and 21 years ago respectively. Welcome to another day in North Korea.

It had all the hallmarks of a job interview, only it wasn’t — the strict formal attire, designated time slot and an expectation of pseudo-passion for a topic I knew relatively little about. Even my professionalism was to be critically judged. Quite the task to uphold after a late night prior sinking marinated Snake Soju in the Yangakkdo Hotel’s karaoke bar. There was a feeling of uneasiness, almost nervousness too, if I’m honest. The reality was, today’s importance wasn’t derived from potential employment, but from the prospective lifetime detention I’d face if I didn’t so much as bow when required. Something I paid good money for, by the way. Goodness, writing it out really puts it into perspective.

The destination, known simply as ‘The Mausoleum’ to outsiders is the most holy building in North Korea – an otherwise atheist nation. Inside, the embalmed bodies of Eternal President Kim Il-Sung and as of 2011, his son Supreme Leader Kim Jong-Il lie in state inside climate-controlled clear glass sarcophagi for your viewing pleasure. They’re surrounded by mazed marble hallways, each a trove of their life’s treasures and accomplishments. Eyes peer at you from every corner. Cameras. Guards. Access is from an underground tunnel hundreds of metres away. In many ways, a leaf has been taken from Egypt’s book of pyramid interior design. The unmistakeable stock portraits of each, representative of what feels like every street corner of Pyongyang, hang defiantly on the restricted walls outside, where each visitor must bow to their likeness.

Really, this building is no joke. One of biblical proportions surrounded by laws ironically denouncing religion as punishable by death. Juche; a political ideology of self-reliance with religious undertones is the flavour of North Korea’s belief system, practiced by all North Korean citizens. Not by choice. Kim Il-Sung coined the ideology, originally as ‘Kimilsung-ism’ (seriously) and hence, retains the throne as the demi-god to all ‘believers’. The Jerusalem, Mecca, Temple Mount – whatever, this building is the equivalent, romanticised to locals only as the Kumsusan Palace of the Sun.

Our guides lined us single file prior to entry, offering a rundown on proceedings ahead and etiquette required. Absolutely no speaking, stand straight with hands to your sides, remain in line and always bow when required. So, together we marched forwards into this misplaced extravagance like baby chicks closely behind mother hen in a way that took me back to childhood scouts camp.

First came the ‘cloak room’, all belongings aside from the shirts on our backs were handed to the ladies here in place of a numbered ticket for collection when we were to leave. Unfortunately, this is the part where I break the news to you that this absolutely included cameras, hence neither I, nor anybody else have photos from within these secretive walls. To ensure we weren’t crazy enough to pull a swift one in the most formal house of exemplary, ruthless communist rule, a metal detector was conveniently placed to our right to uncover any secrets. A tough place for a selfie. Sorry guys, it just wasn’t possible.

Curiously, local North Korean visitors had further security screening. This included what appeared to be their photo taken and iris scanning before being whisked out a different door. Who knows? We endured some fancy automated shoe cleaners before being released into a spotlessly polished white marble hall stretching as far as the eye could see.

Here, we begin our journey into the palace. Let me set the scene for you:

One kilometre of travelator, movement speed: Snail. No walking allowed. Glorious, orchestral music of Great Korea. Hundreds upon hundreds of large, gold framed photographs straight out of Bowser’s Castle on Super Mario 64 lined the walls. Each photograph depicts foreign relations and domestic press release snaps of either Kim Il-Sung or Kim Jong-Il. Hand shakes accompanied by ear-to-ear grins. Think Castro, Ghadaffi, Mao, Stalin, Putin, Ho Chi Minh…U.S president Jimmy Carter. They’re all there. One big happy family. The atmosphere was surreal, one that tied perfectly into my initial North Korean expectations.

The travelator took at least twenty minutes, if not more. Of course, this was no accident — a time to mourn, reflecting upon the lives of two men who made the North Korean Dream a reality for all. Meanwhile, a glance outside the adjacent window nearing the palace revealed at least 15 ‘privileged’ women from Pyongyang’s working class gardening a single grass patch simultaneously with makeshift brooms constructed from sticks.

Ushers direct our path into the palace, where ceremonious flowers are presented at the feet of two giant white marble statues of both leaders. The room was dim, tall, and spacious; like a church hall, where even the silence would echo. Dramatic red light presented each sculpture, a representation of North Korea’s national shade. Korean People’s Army officials stand to each side, separated by Korean Worker’s Party flags and brandishing silver AK47’s. We synchronously bow at the designated line.

Originally, this building was Kim Il-Sung’s official residence, in many ways The White House. Eventually, it was transformed into his final resting place by Kim Jong-Il after his father’s death in 1994. It was estimated at a staggering $500-$900 million USD renovation – quite the cost; coincidently during this year until 1998, North Korea endured its worst famine in history where up to 3.5 million died from starvation or hunger-related illnesses as state allocated rations dropped to 20% of what the Worlds Food Program describes as a ‘survival ration’. Read into that what you wish.

A lift akin to New York’s Hilton Hotel then ascended us to the waiting room preceding Kim Il-Sung’s Mausoleum.

Men dressed in black, equivalent to the United States Secret Service were on every corner and doorway to the room. Each had concealed pistols in holsters, marking the only time I saw officials like this in the country. It was quite loud on this floor and we quickly discovered why – enormous air blowers had been installed to take every speck of dust from our attire. For a moment there, I almost felt like a plastic bag…drifting through the wind…(mistimed The Interview reference, sorry). But by all measures, so much for my perfectly styled buzzcut.

We regrouped and on our guides’ direction were eventually allowed inside.

The room was dark, a curtained space of marble floor and wall, dimmed in red lighting with spotlight to the centre on the room.

And there he was. The man himself. Eternal President Kim Il-Sung.

Lying on a tabletop inside the crystal glass sarcophagus as promised lay his lifeless body of the last 21 years. That’s a long time, dead and preserved long enough to be of legal drinking age in Arizona. Perspective. His body was draped in the red flag of the Workers’ Party of Korea, upper torso visible in dark suit jacket and his shiny, almost waxxy head angled upwards by a pillow. Madame Tussauds would be proud. To be honest, he looked a little too well-preserved – although one of my guides did mention the Mausoleum undergoes closure some months of the year for, well, corpse maintenance. Surrounding his casing were downward sloping beds of flowers. Not just any flower mind you, but the fabled pink Kimilsungia. I’m not making this up.

Our line, now filled with local visitors donning their leader’s head pinned upon their heart advance forward, molding into groups of 4 at the front to show respects to Dear Leader.

Now, this is one of the times where if you declined the opportunity – you’d be arrested on the spot for political crimes. Korean People’s Army officials watch on from the room’s outskirts, as each group approaches Kim Il-Sung to bow. Not once, but three times. Once at the feet, once on the left and once on the right – but absolutely not at the head. As of course, that would allude to looking down upon the man representative of the peak of greatness.

I was quite relieved such a simple expectation was over with. As we exit, another tourist and I exchanged gazes as if to say ‘Well, yep, he’s certainly dead – I don’t know what else I was expecting’. It was a strange visit.

But, of course this is North Korea and it got stranger.

The following number of rooms were laid out as shrines, linear walk-throughs with hundreds, if not thousands of Kim Il-Sung’s “achievements” — medals, certificates, plaques and trophies. I use quotes here, because the legitimacy of many could be questioned at best and were straight up fraudulent at worst. Most were from within North Korea, however certain display cabinets were sectioned for each continent. Every democratic country was represented, as were private international enterprises (tsk tsk). To expand, there was a PhD certification from Kensington University in California — upon closer inspection, a for-profit unaccredited diploma mill since closed by authorities. ‘Keys to the city’ were given and displayed proudly to an obscure district within a small province of the Cusco region of Peru’s Southern Highlands. The ‘Peace Award’ of Africa was showcased — a large trophy, as was the ‘Honorary Citizenship of Ecuador’. There was even an award for ‘peace, justice and humanity’ exhibited with pride from an Indonesian foundation. Scholarly robes were hung, encased in glass aside all his educational accreditations.

It was absolutely bizarre. The focus on perceived international importance was certainly evident here – most ironic considering the enforced boycott of the outside world.

Countless medals sat inside open velvet casings laden in silk, illuminated by bright light — Hero of the Republic, Hero of Labour, Medal of Agriculture Merits, Military Service Honour and commemorative items of the Great Fatherland Liberation War. The list went on. The medal ‘For The Victory Over Japan’ lay next to the Japanese Peace Medal. Poetic. Alike the robes, military uniforms were also encased in glass beside these medals.

Kim Jong-Il’s achievement room was similar, he notably received the International Kim Il-Sung Prize Certificate, awarded for (and this is the exact wording): …the distinguished contribution to the sacred cause of independence and peace on the globe through application of the great Juche idea. Round of applause, Kim.

Kim Jong-Il’s mausoleum was likewise almost exactly as his fathers’, with the same formal entry process including another air blower – I’ll save you the detail. However I will mention that he wasn’t wearing his signature sunglasses (I was actually surprised), he was outfitted in that darn olive zip-up suit he wore literally everywhere and he looked as if he’d just had a fresh haircut. He didn’t look more or less dead than his father. Well, that was a weird sentence to type. Anyway, oh, and of course he wasn’t surrounded by Kimilsungilia’s. Don’t be silly. It was the red Kimjongilia instead. Once again, not making this up.

At this point we expected that to be a wrap. We’d paid our respects and been reminded of all the fascinating accomplishments. But wait, there’s more. Just like a 4am infomercial.

North Korea have an unhealthy obsession with preserving sentimental items. Items used or even touched by the leaders become in many ways holy. Chairs sat upon, stationary used and even areas Kim Jong-Il had walked are regularly engraved with a red ‘X’. So, what happens to Kim Jong-Il and his father’s major belongings after death?

How about, for example his…Yacht?

Yep, it’s here. In the building. They had to temporarily knock down a wall, but they got it inside. It’s surrounded by framed photographs of Kim Jong-Il enjoying life aboard, the room’s walls are engraved in gold Korean Hangul of the boats history. Each owned a Mercedes too which is on display, as is Kim Jong-Il’s golf cart used in his later years – all of which are propped up on marble blocks, roped off like a luxury car sales showroom.

But Kim Jong-Il’s private train takes the cake. The very carriage he died inside from a suspected heart attack sits within a custom built room, interactive boards on the walls show in intricate detail all the locations worldwide the train had visited. He was afraid of flying.

One of the guides explained – “Supreme Leader Kim Jong-Il died of overwork, he was under great mental and physical strain, it was sudden and the train here is exactly as he left it.”

Peering into his private life through the train window, there was a 17” Macbook Pro on his desk. I can’t say I expected that. Well, this settles it ladies and gents, Macs are better than PC. Paper is sprawled over his final workspace without overlap, his boots perfectly straightened and his seat faced us photogenically as if for a real-estate shoot. His living space was clean. Very clean — unlike any man I’ve known!

We began to exit the palace the same way we entered, passing hundreds of North Korean civilians arriving for their mandatory visitation. Every citizen must visit at least once by law — men, women and children. Those from rural areas were obvious, faces of malnourishment dressed in silk suit jackets on bare sun-blazoned skin. Many smiled at us as they shuffled past. Most were only as tall as my shoulder, and I’m not a large bloke.

Our last stop was one that appropriately summed up the visit, an impact statement to us on the effect of the Eternal Presidents death worldwide. This was the Hall of Lamentation. An empty room with a single red rug and beautiful low hanging chandeliers, the walls containing framed depictions of North Korean and international outpourings of grief during the 10 day state endorsed ‘mourning period’ following that unforgettable news. It’s almost as if they’ve something to prove.

We bow one last time and finally, we left the Kumsusan Palace of the Sun.

Wow.

That was my reaction. I don’t think any other word could sum it up. I wanted North Korea and well, I got North Korea in this visit.

In a country infamous to outsiders for decades of human rights violations, those responsible are truly held up as demi-gods here, serving instead as inspiration to a population oblivious to their own misfortune. This was clear. And, it was real. The endearment and heartache for these fallen leaders was authentic. The Kumsusan Palace of the Sun is by all accounts a perfectly choreographed propaganda art piece of indoctrinated North Korean faith — what to believe, how to believe and when to believe it. There is no freedom of knowledge, citizens know no other, Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jong-Il have long been their only providers. They’ve put the food on their table, built their homes, given them jobs and led the homeland to patriotic ‘victory’ against invaders.

Here, in this palace they give their thanks.

Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, it couldn’t be more literal and relevant — the fundamental issue of which is being unawares of how little the hand is feeding.

What a fascinating visit.

We strolled through the Mausoleum grounds afterwards, swans resting peacefully in the surrounding moat. There was a pervasive feeling of confusion among us with the atmosphere similar to that of a post-funeral reception. We were hesitant to bring cheer back into the situation so soon around our passionate guides.

As we leave, others arrive destined for the same exhausting induction — lines of school children march past us in formation, wide-eyed and entrusting in their school teacher, leading them similar to that of the pied piper. They were innocent, still learning the ropes to life; only yet a basic grasp of expectations and values, responsibilities and purpose, rights and wrongs — no different to young children anywhere else in the world.

Seconds later I look back to see them stopped, assembling together for a professional photograph to a backdrop unlike anywhere else in this world.

The next generation.

P.S – What are your thoughts on the Mausoleum and it’s purpose? Do you believe the North Korean people are truly indoctrinated, or governed by fear? Let me know in the comments below! Cheers, Elliott.

Bizarre, surreal and exclusive, Pyongyang Golf Course sits between a rock and a hard place, providing a morally conflicting spot of fun within an otherwise dark, oppressive nation of well publicised human rights violations. Situated across arguably the most secretive border on earth, the course is guarded by well over ten million active, reserve and paramilitary personnel and requires express permission to visit — Augusta eat your heart out. Technically a public course, you won’t find a soul here, it’s played only by a handful of the regime’s elite, and well…open to tourists both crazy enough to find themselves in North Korea and who want to play golf. Apparently that’s rare.

But most famously to foreigners, Pyongyang Golf Course holds an interesting place in North Korean legend. Seemingly off limits to mere mortals; as the myth goes, it was here Supreme Leader Kim Jong-Il redefined golf as we know it, shattering the PGA Tour record of 59 in his first ever round with a score of just 34 strokes. His feat was witnessed by a handful of state officials, and the news shared to the people of North Korea. It even included five hole-in-ones.

Golf etiquette would indicate this to be an expensive round for Dear Leader, each ace a round of beers for all in the clubhouse. Luckily for him, at last estimate, there were just 45 golfers in the entire nation.

Today I’d be one of them, assuming we could find the course. Information was scant, and the guides hadn’t visited before. But, I’d been promised Pyongyang Golf Course, that it was North Korea’s only place to have a hit, and as an avid golfer, I couldn’t pass up the unique experience — I just had to play it.

Organising it

So, how does one find himself playing golf in North Korea? Firstly, you must get to North Korea. Secondly, you must enjoy golf — many of you may find this part more challenging! Organising the actual round was simple, I asked the question. Not a typical request, it was met with a ‘maybe, we can check.’ Just four days later, the request had been approved by the North Korean government and my itinerary now included an 18th of September tee-off on the world’s darkest course. Too easy.

Today was also my last full day within North Korea. I hadn’t left the hotel unaccompanied in over half a month; my itineraries had been loaded from 8am-8pm. Sometimes more. I’m just saying — this countryside golf escape couldn’t have come soon enough. Perhaps I’d even get a sleep-in.

Fat chance, North Korean officials had other intentions, the concept of ‘free time’ is an oxymoron here. They’re paranoid; you aren’t to be left unoccupied thinking for yourself. Today was no exception and golf just wasn’t enough. However, I had to smirk when I glanced over the final permitted itinerary:

08:45 – Jonsong Revolutionary Site
10:30 – Walk from Arch of Triumph to Pyongyang Grand Theatre
11:30 – Supermarket
12:15 – Lunch
14:00 – Golf at Pyongyang Golf Course!
18:30 – Draft beer hall
19:30 – Yanggakdo Hotel for dinner

Yes. An approved city walk (in the best part of town) between two landmarks I’d previously visited, sanctioned evening beers and well…a supermarket. I can’t say I’ve come across many tours showcasing a nation’s toiletry and cereal selection, but there I was inspecting one of North Korea’s fully stocked ‘foodstuff’ marts, guides at my heel and stares from every direction. Nothing was plastic. There was no fat kid with ice cream. And, apparently I was only the second foreigner ever to head inside.

Lunch in Pyongyang

As per the itinerary, we were to eat lunch before playing golf. I was taken to an upmarket restaurant in Pyongyang I hadn’t yet eaten at. I have no idea of the name. I have no idea of the location. They like it that way. There was a large group of middle-aged Pyongyang residents celebrating a birthday as I walked in, most surprising as the restaurants were usually emptied prior to foreigner arrivals. Today’s meal was a treat, as an ‘important guest’ I could order anything I wanted from the menu, marking the first time I was afforded this luxury on my trip. Vegans need not apply.

So…bibimbap it was. You can’t go wrong with Korean food in Korea. Even in the North. Guides ate cold Naengmyeon Noodles, a delicacy here that I thought could be better enjoyed after a quick microwave.

Of course, a meal in North Korea isn’t complete without a lucky dip assortment of cold meats and fried matter. Usually stale. Eating here was one of my last spins at the wheel of food poisoning, thankfully. The food, as usual, was replenished as we ate it (for foreigners at least…) resulting in massive wastage that I suspect is either recycled for further meals or consumed by employees.

Getting to Pyongyang Golf Course

Hogging all six lanes of the unmaintained highway, we rattled out of central Pyongyang into rural North Korea, weaving between road craters. The guides and I had the van to ourselves, a locally built vehicle from Pyeonghwa Motors; curiously the only company granted advertising permission within North Korea. I had spotted their billboards earlier in my trip, oddly targeting a general populace forbidden from private car ownership. It seemed counterintuitive really until it’s motive became clear — convincing citizens of national self-reliance and the economic success of Great Korea.

During our drive, laptop bouncing from knee to knee, I shared photos with Ri and Kang, the guides, from my outside world adventures. Major landmarks such as the Eiffel Tower and Times Square were immediately recognised from their studies, glaciers from Iceland left them awestruck, albeit confused, and one particular guide discovered today that Australia, is in fact, an island. Success!

Out here in rural Pyongyang, the atmosphere is best described as desolate, isolated and lonely. There’s a distinct cut-off between the hazy Soviet-inspired metropolis and well, the outside. Much alike North Korean social hierarchy. Nationalistic slogans, heart-warming odes of motivation from ‘Dear Leader’ command the civilian workforce from hilltops as huge red and white banners. There are no other vehicles, just locals migrating between village and crop by foot or cycle. One elderly lady, in particular, stood out, spotted dragging half a dozen sandbags by her weathered, rusted bicycle. She was hunched over, exhausted, seemingly defeated and talking to herself, a scene I haven’t since forgotten.

Ten minutes passed, which soon became thirty. After a series of u-turns the déjà vu could indicate only one thing —

— Yep. We were lost. In North Korea. Lovely.

In their defence, the guides hadn’t visited Pyongyang Golf Course before.

“What should we be looking for?” I was asked as we pulled the van over to where, in most countries with an infrastructure budget, would usually be a curb.

I didn’t know what to say. I mean…we were searching for a golf course. You know, a giant landscaped piece of earth…mowed lawns, sectioned tee beds and pristine smooth putting surfaces with (hopefully) a flag. Possibly even a club house.

But, herein lies the problem. They didn’t know. The globalised ‘gentlemen’s sport’ of chasing an arrogant white ball with a stick, the best way to ruin an otherwise great walk, the perfect afternoon excuse to escape the wife, was entirely unknown to them. In hindsight, this should have been immediately apparent when I was collected this morning at the Yanggakdo Hotel — Ri had arrived prepared for an 18 hole day on the turf wearing high heels. Bless her heart. I would have been a tough catch had I made a runner on the 15th, just saying.

But in all seriousness, what a concept. National censorship at work.

Caving into defeat, we began asking locals for direction. This is the last resort for KITC for two reasons: To retain a level of professional integrity but more importantly, to limit foreigner exposure to average North Korean citizens.

And well, it did end up weird. Pulling up beside civilians, our simple requests were coldly ignored — we were offered in return not so much as eye contact. The locals we asked were subdued and dismissive, opting instead just to continue walking as if we weren’t there. Was it my presence? Was it the class disparity between themselves and the guides? Was it illegal? I don’t know, but in true North Korean style, the guides assured me that ‘they just didn’t hear us’.

We did eventually get on track, our driver executing an erratic manoeuvre into opposing lanes of the highway which you’d sooner expect from LA police chase footage, tumbling into a hidden farmyard entrance on the wrong side of the road. Luckily there was no traffic today. Or ever. Who was I kidding?

Photos weren’t permitted. Distinctive red flags divided the landscape indicating the restrictive bounds of farm labour zones. Government order designates this work, the worker’s remuneration is provided under the nation’s ration distribution system. The road itself was merely a trail designed for bicycles; sun-dried spices brightened the edges with colour. We were the ice cream truck to the playground, only here the young children could be spotted working the fields by hand instead, looking up only to see us pass. There are no modern cultivation techniques in North Korea; education is a privilege, not a right, and maybe concerns over age discrimination are taken a tad too literally.

Villages were cordoned off by military blockade. It’s worth remembering that not only are North Korean citizens unable to leave their country but for most, they’re unable to exit even the bounds of their province. These military blockades are not for foreigners.

Each checkpoint is manned by Korean People’s Army soldiers, staunch and hard-line in their enforcement of authority. They’re outfitted in olive-green military attire that’s, of course, one size too big — their peak caps so tall they’re better suited to a Broadway performance. Alike a zoo gorilla, I was sized up in the vans back seat, the muffled sound of Korean heard beyond the windows, an AK-47 tapped on the drivers side levering our documentation.

Why must the KPA look so serious, so worried? I mean, it’s not like North Korea have anything to hide here.

We handed across our papers, seemingly fulfilling all provincial entry and exit requirements and onwards we went to Pyongyang Golf Course.

Pyongyang Golf Course

There was no signage; however it was obvious — we’d arrived. First impressions were great. I must admit I expected the worst. Trees provided a canopy to the entrance path (paved!) and manicured hedges in part formed a grand procession towards the clubhouse reminiscent to any golfer. It suddenly got a whole lot less…well, poor — I think that’s the word.

Fairway views were luscious green, the roughs were distinct, bunkers raked and putting surfaces appeared inviting and devoid of plug holes. Upkeep was regular and consistent, golf courses require daily maintenance and water, lots of water, especially in this heat. It wasn’t a bad effort for a country currently enduring one of its worst droughts in history.

Marched into the clubhouse, two female employees stood clear of the door welcoming my arrival. As always in North Korea, they’d been expecting me. They spoke no English, ushering me to the front desk where a selection of battered, soulless golf shoes await that alike most of the country, hadn’t seen an upgrade since the Cold War. One pair was an ancient golf relic bearing the ‘kiltie’ – an attached frilled leather flap traditionally used to keep muck out of the laces. Today they serve more purpose attending a fancy dress party than on the course. I tried them on. They didn’t fit.

I was more disappointed than I should have been.

Overall, the clubhouse was nice inside and functional, yet basic. An open plan lobby with shined stone tiles. Paintings of a North Korean holy site, Mt. Kumgang, were hung on the walls. I’d visited just two days prior and let me tell you; it was far from a dead ringer. Dusty hand carved sunken armchairs filled awkward parts of the room while closed off spaces, inviting to the curious were shuttered away in the gloom behind regally decored pastel curtains. There was even a restaurant bar area upstairs and billiards room. But most shockingly, portraits of Kim Il-Sung or his son were nowhere to be found. I felt this to be ironically unsettling.

Golf balls were unbranded, so were the tees and collared shirts were on sale in just one colour, yellow — bright and happy in a country that’s anything but. Robotic smiles, the faces of excessive service led me into a course credit line, sending me bounding toward the first tee with a bucket of Heineken (imported from China), DPRK bottled water and lousy canned coffee. Legally, I had to be chaperoned around even the golf course today. There was just no respite!

To those golfers reading, here’s a table of the course statistics:

Now, for the golf clubs. What were to be today’s North Korean weapons of choice? According to cultural differences, this may well just be a bag of Kalashnikovs — golf here could be different than I envisioned. Either way, I was worried because I suffer the dreaded left-hander handicap, only golfers reading this will understand the struggle. I’d told them prior, but was still convinced of imminent forced ambidexterity.

To my relief, the caddy wheeled out this old, creaky, rusted hand buggy holding a beat up golf bag. Inside were some old, yet recognisable tools of the trade:

I kid you not; that’s a left-handed American Callaway 10° Great Big Bertha II. In North-bloody-Korea. You can also spot a Japanese PRGR Titanium 15° Fairway Wood, even a late 70’s 4-wood endorsed by American pro golfer Arnold Palmer. But, the icing on the cake was the bag itself, one of ‘Firestone Country Club’, an American private golf course located in Ohio; a regular stop on the PGA tour. How a bag of theirs ended up in Pyongyang is anyone’s guess.

Hey, capitalism isn’t so bad after all.

To any golf aficionados reading: The set of irons were branded ‘Marcus’, each club with their own, individual alphanumeric model number. I’ve never heard of this brand, and neither has Google — if anyone can shed any light on this, leave a comment, I’m most curious.

Facing me up the 1st fairway was a sharp dogleg to the right; to a left-hander with a tendency to duck-hook, it was my dream tee-off to begin the day. Perfect. The Callaway felt comfortable, the cool breeze carving off Lake Taicheng onto my face as I lined up my drive with a mouthful of ice-cold Heineken. So, with the world at my feet and an eager gallery of North Korean minders, I took this confidence and flogged the days opening shot, shanking it straight into the North Korean pine forest to the whipcrack of snapped branches — an all-expense paid safari.

“Oh no…” The caddy remarked timidly, reaching for another ball.

And that my friends, is the story of how I introduced our beloved game of golf to two more residents of Pyongyang.

Out of bounds in North Korea, a shot hit badly enough to be punishable by labour camp, somehow the guides never shied away, instead welcoming yet another ruleset into their lives. Demonstrating the role of each club, I crunched my 4-iron recovery shot straight towards the green to a round of traditional golf claps.

“How do you score?” “Why do you play?” “Do you play alone?” “Where are you hitting?” “Is it difficult?” “Is golf popular in Australia?”

Hey, I’d visited North Korea to ask the questions, now I found myself in the hot seat taken aback by the guides’ genuine curiosity. Without a fundamental understanding of golf, it isn’t much of a spectator sport, I’d anticipated dragging each guide by their collar, both bored with sore feet just as two children kicking and screaming to leave the supermarket.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

“You should give it a try!” I exclaimed with a grin. “Are either of you left-handed?”

With looks of inspired uncertainty, Kang jumped at the opportunity only to be shot down as a right-hander and well, Ri had as much clue of her preferred side as she did logging into a Gmail account.

Fortunately (unfortunately?) for them today, I had a little something I prepared earlier, a deviant plan that saw the right-handed 7-iron and fairway wood of another set weasel into my bag, just in case.

And well, with the power of peer pressure, the caddy and I were now operating a North Korean golf clinic.

Kang took a particular liking to golf, firing off balls in quick succession to hasten his mastering of the basics. Into the water, into the pine forest, ground grubbers — he didn’t discriminate, reloading until empty before hurtling down the fairway in a sprint, defying golf etiquette to collect the few that went straight. He was enthusiastic, golf clearly resonated with him and his improvement over the next few holes was staggering.

“What other sports do you play, Kang?” I asked, curious to his ability.

“Football, basketball and volleyball, but only when I’m not busy with tours.” he replied.

I understood what this meant. Not the weekend, not the national holidays nor his days off, but once in a blue moon. North Korean tour guide is an endeared, respected profession — cracking Foreign Language University in an exiled nation is an exclusive club, expectations were back-to-back tours, seven days a week, even if you’d just spent sixteen days on the road. Today was a special treat.

“On occasion, I’ve played basketball against tourists too. But, I haven’t met anyone that’s ever played golf before. I like the sports focusing on hand-eye coordination; the only problem is that I’m very competitive.” He added.

No kidding, I thought.

I’d witnessed sport all over North Korea, from Pyongyang’s privileged few dribbling imported orange basketballs across well maintained public courts, rural outsiders competing at volleyball in netless gravel yards, to those in extreme poverty making do with plastic bottles as makeshift soccer balls in the street. It’s always one of those wake-up calls that we weren’t so different; mutual enjoyment of sport knows no boundaries, and today for me, gone were the political and cultural contrasts and what was left was an Australian and a bunch of North Koreans on a sunny day indulging in some recreational golf.

Holes 1 to 5 of Pyongyang Golf Course were positioned on a peninsula extending into the landlocked Lake Taicheng, and each one had tree line water views. I found this intriguing; I’d been told prior to arrival that photography on these holes was prohibited and strictly enforced, that I’d have to wait until the 6th. An odd rule, I thought, until I discovered the (hard to believe) reasoning — Kim Jong-Un’s luxury yacht. This secluded area within arms-length of Pyongyang city is apparently a holiday getaway for not only Kim Jong-Un himself, but his late father in the past. Each enjoyed sailing their multi-million dollar boats on this relatively small, inland lake that has absolutely no access to the sea. Sounds ludicrous right? Too weird to be true? Just another North Korean myth? Check the screenshot below of Lake Taicheng from Google Maps and decide for yourself.

That’s unmistakeably a luxury yacht, closer resembling a luxury cruise liner if you ask me, just sitting there in the lake like a rubber duck enclosed in a small bath tub. Here it is relative to Pyongyang Golf Course, you can see the course on the peninsula at the bottom, the boat is just off centre at the top. To the far right, you can see what appears to be a small jetty that leads up to a building complex, take a look at Google Maps — could this be Kim Jong-Un’s rural home out of the capital?

Here’s an example of the view from eye-level heading up one of the fairways. You can see people down near the water working in a mud hole; I have no idea what they were up to.

Settling into my next drive on the 5th, the (initially shy!) caddy, at a volume unsuited to her physical frame, bellowed Korean down the fairway warning all greenkeepers into the pines. Wearing wide-brimmed sun hats and scarves, knelt with plastic bags by their patches of hand-maintained rough, each stood and stared like deer in headlights only to scurry off out of sight. I argued that they’d be safer straight down the middle.

Laughing, the caddy relaxed her strictly professional demeanour, opening up to the guides. “She said you are the first foreigner she’s come across that’s wanted to play the entire course, 18 holes. She thinks you will be very tired,” Ri translated.

“Let her know not to worry; I’d never get tired of touring her fascinating country!” I replied, grinning. I took this opportunity to ask further about her experience here, “Does she know how many players visit each day? Has she caddied for any foreigners?”

“The course is very popular, she says. There are over 40 players enjoying the course here each day.”

Looking around, if it were a movie, there’d be atmospheric crickets. The course sat vacant; we were the only occupants of the 6200-metre grassland complex.

“Foreigners don’t often visit; she says, other than some regular Chinese players. She’s never caddied an Australian before, she thinks you are a fantastic golfer, the best she’s seen so far!” Ri added, giggling.

Not one to dismiss a compliment, I felt she’d overused her creative license here. I’d be more inclined to believe Marshal Kim Jong-Un was sponsoring a portfolio of sick children in Africa than that claim.

“Have any professional golfers visited Pyongyang Golf Course?” I asked. I’d long wondered the answer. “Aside from me, of course!” I snuck in, jokingly.

Nodding, smiling, her eyes glowed before ringing off what sounded like a list of Korean names. Ri repeated many, confirming my suspicions and asked if I had heard of them.

I hadn’t.

“Are those North Korean golfers?” I asked, innocently.

“Yes,” she replied, nodding once more.

There’s been no recorded North Korean professional golf players in history.

Amazed, I had a more direct question I felt would best uncover the whole story — “Have you ever heard of Tiger Woods?”

Met with a confused look of indifference followed by bewilderment when the name didn’t ring any bells, we continued to the 7th hole.

The picturesque, par 3 water view of the 7th formed the romantic backdrop to where I mustered the confidence to go beyond the pleasantries, to pop the holy question on all of our lips —

— “Kim Jong-Il apparently hit an amazing round of golf here at Pyongyang Golf Course, only 34 shots, have you heard about this?” I asked the caddy.

As a golf caddy, knowing the impossibility of such a score, I expected her to laugh it off and dismiss the anecdote immediately. However without missing a beat, she replied formally and it was translated — “She wasn’t here that day, but she says she is aware of the story, and so are her colleagues.”

Well, for a tale dividing many between either North Korean ‘fact’ or Chinese whisper of pure Western fan-fiction, this was an intriguing response. Seemingly in agreement to its potential legitimacy, whether she was aware of this feat only as a result of prior tourists perpetuating the myth, or from it having a genuine origin within North Korean propaganda, I can’t confidently say.

Either way, it’s recognition here indeed breathed life into what I presumed prior to being a homeless dead horse.

But by any measure, the infamous fable had single-handedly propelled Pyongyang Golf Course onto the international stage. Honestly, it felt surreal to be playing at the source, like an illusion, as if I expected something supernatural despite how irrational that sounds, for my expectations to be met. But no, upon striking the ball it simply clinked off the club head, divot kicking into the air, the ball sailing wayward into the bushes just as it did in Australia, or anywhere else.

Thanks for nothing, Kim.

The back 9 was more mechanical than the front, most holes were less inspiring; long, straight and inset away from the lake in the heat. It was no Pebble Beach, it wasn’t going to win any design awards, but Pyongyang Golf Course was still quite a challenge. We spent these holes mostly chatting, hacking at the fairway as an aside.

We discussed life in Pyongyang, the guides’ upbringing and education, hobbies, movies and music, even as far as technology, stopping only at politics or any sensitive matters, as these sorts of questions were forbidden — best case it’d make them uncomfortable and worst case, it could land them in trouble.

Nonetheless, scratching the surface was a great insight into the Pyongyang elite. It’s hard for me to explain to you. To talk to a group of people that have collectively never watched Pulp Fiction. Crazy, I know.

But, in all seriousness, it’s quite remarkable. On one hand, you have well-educated, privileged and relatable guides living within the most advanced city of North Korea. On the other, these same people are missing an entire section of ‘knowledge’ that we have otherwise, namely recognition of global branding and pop culture. North Korea is the only country in the world without Coca-Cola. They’ve never heard of it. Google may as well be in Swahili. VISA in Tagalog. What are The Simpsons? North Korean men are amongst the most prolific smokers on earth, but haven’t yet discovered Marlboro. The Beatles or Elvis Presley were people that have never existed. Man, I wish I could rediscover Tupac Shakur. And well, “My friends and I in Australia usually organise our events on Facebook,” — You’d better begin by articulating the concept of Facebook, how we access it on our Apple iPhones and then share photos over uncensored 4G networks. It’s quite easy to trip over during a conversation.

Orchestral music, primarily female vocals, appeared to be the most popular music between the guides. Interestingly, they’d watched Monsters Inc. and Finding Nemo. Legally. Many sterile, lightly themed international movies are used in Pyongyang’s Foreign Language University as learning tools. I’d come across guides that spoke German, Chinese, Russian, French, Danish and even Vietnamese. Just for tours. These students had never before met a native speaker. They will also never be allowed to visit the languages native country.

Ri didn’t own a camera, so I let her commandeer mine for the last handful of holes. She took a lot of photos, including many of the photos you see here today (Thanks, Ri!).

Multiple phone calls were made as we played the course, presumably back to Pyongyang. I don’t know why, I wasn’t going to ask either. Mobile phones were common in Pyongyang and other major cities. Mainly ‘bar’ phones, but I’d also spotted flip-phones, even touch screens. Apparently they run legally on a heavily censored internal network named ‘Koryolink’ that has disabled both Internet access, and international calls, unsurprisingly.

The feeling I got was that this kind of censorship was common knowledge to those in Pyongyang.

Throwing a spanner in the works, I asked the guides if they were aware of international current events. They were all aware of the Ukraine Crisis, the Arab Spring and even the Ferguson unrest in the United States — world events are covered in their local newspaper, The Pyongyang Times (albeit in an interesting manner), a daily paper that would put even CNN’s agenda to shame.

Oh and apparently it’s true that by law, each residential home is required to have portraits of both Kim Il-Sung and Kim Jong-Il hanging from the wall.

“Look, pheasant!” The guide interjected, changing the topic and misdirecting me away from yet another group of manual labour picking at the rough.

There was no pheasant.

To the 18th. The final hole to the Cold War’s final frontier.

The day’s precedent had long been set; I finished with an anticlimactic bogey thanks to a 3-putt I’m still upset about. I’ve got to do something about those knee-knocker 4-footers. I keep telling myself that.

Anyway, what a day. I’d lost more balls than I’d made pars, the course itself hadn’t been particularly impressive, it was an expensive round, there’d been snakes, and it’d gone considerably overtime. But, it was a round of golf I’ll never forget. We’d had a blast. Good old fashioned fun. In North Korea, where fun wasn’t a word. Ri had discovered she was in fact, a left-hander and Kang had added another sporting love to his repertoire. The caddy had met an Australian. And I’d shown her that we too, were just as bad at golf. There’d been laughter, banter, but most importantly a deeper interaction than I’d otherwise had during the stringent, well-dressed ‘façade’ of North Korea’s take on Pokémon Snap, an organised, government sanctioned tour.

Monuments to Kim Il-Sung had been intriguing, his old age facility fascinating, the Metro Museum bizarre and the Demilitarized Zone’s fake wall perplexing, but to none of these I could comfortably attribute the word ‘fun’, until today, with Pyongyang Golf Course.

Twilight had set in, and the course sprinkler system had turned on to give us a friendly prod back to the clubhouse, just as I’d fired my last approach shot too — I’ll blame the bogey on that.

“Did you enjoy yourselves?” I asked the guides.

Ri nodded her head, “Yes, it was very relaxing. Thank you.” She’d made a similar comment today for each cleanly hit iron stroke, motioning the flight of the ball with her arm, the kind of shot that sounds and feels great off the hands, that goes sky high towards the green and lands with an enticing thud. It’s a golfers kryptonite. Yes, it was relaxing. She ‘got’ it. Either that or Ri simply enjoyed stressless days at work and long walks on the beach. Don’t ruin it for me.

Kang walked over, shook my hand firmly and thanked me, “It was great. I hope to play golf again soon,” he replied, expressing his gratitude for today’s induction.

He meant it, too.

We looked at each other, knowingly, each mustering a half-smile more telling than any words could be —

— After today, It was unlikely Kang would ever get the opportunity to step foot on a golf course again.

Dusk fast approaching, the invisibility cloak granted by the darkness was analogous to our uninterrupted, peaceful day frolicking woodlands without control or scrutiny, we packed it in and shuttled back to ‘normality’, Pyongyang, North Korean central control, totally offsetting the freedoms I’d savoured today. Military checkpoints reappeared, frozen in time just as prior; Kim Il-Sung’s static, photogenic grin began to emerge, murals illuminated alone to a backdrop of ghostly Soviet high-rise silhouettes, and eerie revolutionary music cut through the spotless, curfewed streets near flag-draped sites of national importance. My stop at the Draft Beer Hall was cut short after ‘illegal’ photos I’d taken inside, and the questions now asked of my guides redefined ‘politically correct’ closer to that found inside George Orwell’s timeless classic 1984 — surveillance in Pyongyang is similarly culturally instilled. Dinner was segregated alone, a table for one in an empty restaurant — three waitresses, ten plates of food and a seat facing North Korean State Television, Kim Jong-Il was shown inspecting agriculture productivity four years beyond his death.

Fittingly, my day ended where it began, Pyongyang’s very own ‘hotel Alcatraz’, the island-isolated Yanggakdo International, where I’d be imprisoned for one last night.

The hair we’d let down on the golf course had now been pulled back into a neat, compact bun, so to speak — Pyongyang meant business as usual.

Bunkers no longer innocently meant the golf trap filled with sand.

But, it didn’t matter.

A day on Pyongyang Golf Course was a day I almost forgot I was in North Korea.

Almost.

If only for a moment.