by Scott Fisher
Once off the bus, as we did finally approach, the guides held us back a few meters so the designated flower girl could walk up and solemnly present our gift to the statue. With that we were expected to bow our heads and observe a small moment of silence. Fortunately, the guides were too busy with their own bowing to pay us much attention.
Looking Down on Pyongyang from the Kim Statue
Photo courtesy Dan Harmon
Once the moment of silence was over, we were free to wander the monument for a few minutes, with the understanding we would be respectful and refrain from approaching too closely to the actual statue. Everyone's cameras burst forth at our first approved opportunity to take pictures in the DPRK.
We could tell by the wreaths next to our flowers that others had come and gone earlier that day, but for now the place was mostly ours. Except for the 25 people in our group, the massive square stood empty. This much open space in Seoul, especially on such a beautiful day, would have been jammed with picnickers, couples, vendors, kiosks and a decent bit of pandemonium. Here though, all was quiet, peaceful and empty.
Statue at Juche Tower
Photo courtesy Thomas St. John
The North Koreans are somewhat atypical in that they add the writing brush of the intellectual to the hammer and sickle of the worker and peasant. The hammer-sickle-brush emblem is quite common and can be seen on everything from statues, to pins, buildings, etc. In the center of Pyongyang (barely visible in the middle of the cityscape photo above) is a large park with giant versions of the same hammer, sickle and brush.
After 5-10 minutes of looking at the statues, the guides were pushing and prodding us to hurry and get back on the bus. We were urged to, "hurry, hurry, hurry" in a way that would be instantly familiar to anyone who's ever boarded a bus, subway or elevator in South Korea. The first bit of rushing at the airport had been cool - we'd all been ready to get the tour started. It was at this point, barely an hour in the country, that people first got irritated by the relentless pressure to move to the next place.
The next place was supposed to be a good one though, North Korea's version of the Arch of Triumph in Paris. Of course, as it was to be endlessly pointed out, theirs is taller than the one in France. The triumph in question was North Korea's defeat of the Japanese in 1945. Thus kicking them off the Korean peninsula and, as a side benefit, ending World War II. When asked about the U.S. role in the war the guides mostly demurred, preferring instead to discuss the awe inspiring military exploits of General Kim.
Arch of Triumph
Photo courtesy Thomas St. John
The giant arch was easily visible as we made our way further into the uncrowded city. The barren streets, nearly devoid of both people and cars, are a stark contrast to the teeming masses that jam Asia's other large cities. As we got out of the bus, warned to hurry up so we didn't fall behind schedule, we were again granted the privilege of taking pictures. This time, to line up the photos, we had to walk into the middle of what seemed to be a major street - though there was hardly a car in sight. Seoul has more traffic at 3am in a freezing blizzard than this street did in the middle of a Saturday afternoon.
We got our pictures, then hurriedly went back to the bus. Before we got back though, we came upon a little bonus sitting at the foot of the arch – a small souvenir stand, providing a chance to see what the North had to offer, plus an opportunity to talk to someone other than our guides.
The stand was nothing like those in the South, where they are jammed with everything from food and drink to towels, woodcarvings, dolls, and ceramics. All we had here were a few drinks and some pins. North Koreans are really big on pins - every adult in the country wears a pin of one of the Kims over their heart, everyday, everywhere they go. These aren't for sale. Instead they have to be earned (or bought from refugees along the North Korean-Chinese border) and are taken very seriously. We asked the young guide, Mr. Huk, about this. What would happen if you forgot to put your Kim pin on one morning? He was incredulous, "How could one forget their head, or their heart, when they left in the morning!?!" The idea of forgetting to wear one's pin was apparently quite preposterous.
Still, the ones they had on sale at the Arch were interesting. A few commemorated the Arirang Festival, plus one or two sported the North Korean flag. Wearing either pin could probably get us jail time, or at the very least deported, in the South. Still though, most of us went ahead and got a few. Naturally, since all together we were buying at least 20 pins, we asked for a discount, something pretty much standard practice when buying a lot of anything in the South, or for that matter, anywhere else in Asia. Here it just got us a weird look and a refusal. The price was set by the government per pin or per drink, so how could it change? We all paid full price.
Once business was attended to, curiosity got the better of the ladies and they started asking us where we were from, where we had learned our Korean, etc. Before I could think, I said I'd learned it in South Korea, again, like on the plane, using the South Korean term. The same sour expression at what must be a very non-PC term twisted the woman's face. Before we could get much further though, the guides came and hustled us off. No more holding up the rest of the group while we selfishly talked to people. We had to hurry so we could go see one of the true treasures of the world - the Tower of the Juche Idea. A tower honoring Kim Il-sung and his philosophy, and of course the tallest or roundest or most whateverest in the world. It just couldn't be missed!
Tower of the Juche Idea
Photo courtesy Thomas St. John
The Tower of the Juche Idea, with its flaming top, stands like a beacon along the eastern shore of the Taedong River in central Pyongyang. The tower serves as a chance for the North to begin educating visitors not just on the greatness of Kim Il-sung, but also on Kim Il-sungism, as Juche is also called.
This "leading light of world philosophy" extolls the virtues of the independent North Korean way of socialism. By stressing strength through independence and self-reliance, it's thought the people of the North can be inoculated against the evil material temptations of the outside world. "We may be poor, but at least we have our dignity. Unlike those money grubbing sellouts in the South." That kind of thing.
The tower itself offers great views of the city and surrounding area. The sky was crystal clear the day we went and you could see forever. That is, once we paid the extra $10 to go to the top.
Juche Tower - riverside view
Photo courtesy Dan Harmon
What I'll always remember from my visit to the tower though, is not the view, but rather my first chance to 'ditch' the guides and the rest of the group. When the bus pulled up to the base of the tower we were once again broken into our language groups, then this time we were paired with a new guide from among the staff at the tower.
In what was to become a pattern over the next few days at all the larger monuments, a 'specialist guide' for that place would come out and give the tour while one of our normal guides provided the translation. They would also answer any of our questions, either through the guide, or, once they got over the shock of foreigners speaking Korean, directly from us.
It was at the Juche Tower that I first began to realize being able to speak Korean was going to add an interesting dimension to the trip (and as an added bonus prove somewhat unsettling to Mr. Huk, our rookie guide). The tower guide started with a walk around the base of the tower, extolling both its virtues as well as those of Juche's founder. We learned how the different levels and various designs making up the tower all correspond to some aspect of Kim Il-sung's life.
It was kind of interesting, but the beautiful location of the tower, right along the river, ended up stealing the show. As the guide wound up her presentation someone asked if we could go down and get some pictures from along the river. This request was granted and everyone, including our normal guides, headed down to the riverbank.
Except me. I hung back and tried to strike up a conversation with the tower guide. At first she was reluctant, sa
ying her English wasn't very good. I persisted and she finally relented, once the idea of a white person speaking Korean worked its way past her preconceptions.
We started by talking about her job and whether a lot of people were coming for the Arirang Festival. As we talked, she was walking me around the corner of the building, out of earshot of the others.
Once we were away from the others, the questions came pouring out. "What's life like in the South? Why do you live there? What's it like living there? What about your students (I'd told her I teach at a university) - what are they like? What do people in the South say about the North?" The woman was full of curiosity about life across the border, barely two hours south of where we were standing.
I tried my best to answer, as we both kept looking over our shoulders to see if the others were coming. I felt really sorry for this lady. All she was doing was asking some basic questions about life in another country, but she was worried about getting into trouble. I'm going to wonder for a long time if I should even be writing about her . . .
Our conversation lasted about 10 minutes. Mostly with her asking questions about the outside world, especially the South. I found it odd that she was asking an American so many questions about South Korea, but she just seemed curious about what life was 'really' like on the other half of the Korean peninsula. As a guide, she'd had much more interaction with outsiders than the average DPRK citizen. I guess this inkling of forbidden knowledge is what drove her to take a chance and try to learn a bit more about the outside world.
Later, as I met and tried to talk with other people in a similar way, I realized how unique this woman was. First, she allowed herself to wander away from the group with me, knowing full well others would see, if not hear. Second, she was brimming with questions and curiosity. Something I never got from anyone else the whole trip. Finally, once we were out of earshot, she totally dropped the endless Kim is great droning in favor of just having a 'normal' conversation. Every other time I was able to pull someone aside it just ended up in a fit of ideological proselytizing. Perhaps the independence of the Juche Tower had worn off on her . . .
When we saw the others coming back, she returned to telling me how great Kim was, but still got a weird look from Mr. Huk, our young guide.
Once everyone got back, we paid our $10 and headed to the top of the tower. A couple of ear pops in the elevator later and we were at the top. The view was fantastic, as you can (hopefully) see from some of the pictures above. While looking over the city Mr. Baek and Mr. Huk pointed out our next stop - the Yanggakdo International Hotel.
As for my former conversation partner, I think she felt nervous about what she had just done. She kept telling our guides how nice it had been to be able to talk to a foreigner in Korean and enlighten him directly on the virtues of the Great Leader. I played along, thanking her profusely for all her information and tried to throw out a couple of positive comments on Kim and Juche to make her look good. After a while, it seemed Mr. Baek and Mr. Huk bought the cover story and were satisfied nothing untoward had happened.
I'm going to wonder about that lady for a long time.
Yanggakdo International Hotel
"Was the hotel ok? Did you have electricity? Water? Food? Were the rooms bugged? Could you leave?" People are always curious about our hotel in ways I've never heard after trips to other countries. The hotel, while far from luxurious, was fine. Though the anti-U.S. and anti-Japanese photo displays in the lobby were less than welcoming.
The hotel, complete with meeting rooms, restaurants, a nightclub, and a revolving bar at the top, is located on a small island in the center of the Taedong River. Relatively isolated, with the only connections to the rest of the city being two bridges, the hotel seemed a perfect spot to house foreigners. Though free to walk the grounds, any attempt to leave the island was regulated by our guides and the guards on the premises. We could leave - as long as we had permission and went with one of our guides.
Yanggakdo International Hotel
Photo courtesy Thomas St. John
The rooms were big, with incredible views stretching from the heart of Pyongyang to the distant countryside. They had beds, hot water, fridges (though no rip-off mini-bars in the People's Republic) and, for all we know, bugs. Any time we talked in the rooms, we tried to keep things general, especially avoiding direct criticism of the Kim clan. Were they bugged? I don't know. Could we have gotten into trouble for saying something negative about the Kims? Again, I don't know. But there's something about the pervasive presence of big brother in the North that discourages regime commentary until the voyage home.
That first day, after we arrived, the guides oversaw check-in and divvied us up, two per room. They were very clear about who was going into which room - no switching once we got our keys.
Before we were allowed to go up to our rooms though, we first had to decide which tickets we wanted for the Arirang show. We'd seen signs and heard from the guides how great it was, and were looking forward to seeing it in person.
The hitch was, which tickets? They ranged in price from $50 to $300. Our travel agent in Beijing had warned us we'd have to choose shortly after arrival.
He'd also been kind enough to tell us there was little difference between the $100 and $50 seats, and that both were fine. At the time, we'd discussed it and decided on the cheap seats - $50. Here in the North though, the guides weren't so helpful. They'd obviously sized us up as lower-priced buyers, so they split our German and American group away from the Japanese and, after a brief explanation, urged us to get the $100 tickets.
Front row at a football game? Okay, maybe I'll pay $100. To see the Arirang Festival? Not gonna happen. A look of consternation passed over Mr. Baek's and Mr. Huk's faces when we said we wanted the $50 seats. "Yes, that's possible, but I think there aren't many Americans that come here. If you only buy the $50 seats then everyone will see you and maybe you'll embarrass your country."
Of all the things I've done that could be considered embarrassing to America (not that many, by the way - any time something weird happens I say I'm French), this one seemed pretty benign. Our German comrades concurred and we stuck with $50 a ticket, much to the chagrin of our guides.
The more I think about it, the more I get the impression the guides were judged by how well they upsold the Arirang tickets. Obviously, the more high-priced seats, the better. For some time after this, they seemed downright surly. I don't think it helped that the Japanese group also went with the cheap seats.
Once we got the tickets, we were finally free to proceed up to our rooms for a couple of hours of free time. All of this with the admonishment to be back down to Dining Room Two by 6 o'clock sharp for dinner. After that was the big event - the Arirang Festival.
Arirang Festival
I'd heard plenty about this show before I came and, frankly, had been a little skeptical. A bunch of people flipping around colored squares? How impressive could that be?
To put it mildly, my expectations were blown away. The show was spectacular, and somewhat eerie, all at the same time. If Orwell had put a stadium scene in 1984, this would have been it. How could 100,000 people, as everyone claimed anyway, all work together in such perfect harmony? Mr. Huk, who sat next to me throughout the performance and who always seemed brimming with fervor to show nonbelievers the one true way, used the beauty of the performance to fill my ear, endlessly, with the utter, undeniable greatness of North Korea. For him, this many people working together in lockstep precision was a sign that he and his countrymen were of one pure heart, of one pure mind, working together to fulfill the ideals of the Kims and Juche.
"The people who come here for the performance are from all walks of life. Workers, students, soldiers, everyone who comes here is a volunteer. No one is paid. They do it because they love our country. The Arirang Festival shows how we can work together as one to achieve anything we desire, no matter who stands against us."
Mr. Huk was polite enough not to point out the “who�
� in this sentence meant me, or more specifically, my government. And, of course, the puppet government down in the South where I was living.
The spectacle was something I'll never forget, though perhaps not for the reasons Mr. Huk and his countrymen intended. The show was so precise as to be robotic. No one outside the group, everyone buried within it. All done with a flair and focus that was chilling to behold. The model of mass unity that was being held up as proof of greatness and independence smacked of mindlessness. Everyone in the performance was human, with their own hopes, dreams and desires. This however, was something to be eliminated, not tolerated or encouraged. These were things that still had to be rooted out in an effort to build the utopian, Juche-centered society. The zeal in Mr. Huk's voice spoke not of a country, but of a cult.
Daytime view of the Arirang Festival stadium
Photo courtesy Thomas St. John
We pulled up to the stadium after a beautiful evening drive along the Taedong River. Our bus dropped us off at the stadium, having passed hundreds of people along the way heading to join in or watch the show. The atmosphere was very friendly, with people smiling and waving to us in the tour bus.
As we walked up to the stadium, we passed a small group of souvenir stands selling Arirang posters and t-shirts, North Korean stamps, and even pizza. Of course, the guides told us we had no time to browse. We had to, "hurry, hurry, hurry" to get inside before the show started. They promised to allow us a few minutes to shop after the performance.
