Return to the free world

Pyongyang station [Enlarge]

We should have had a lie in this morning as we were not due to leave the hotel until 09:30. But Sod's Law came into play and we got a wake up call meant for someone else… at half past six. We got up, showered, dressed, packed up our bags and took them down to our last ever Yanggakdo Hotel breakfast. We certainly won't be eating eggs for a while—we've eaten more than our average annual consumption of eggs in one week. We had been told to be on the bus at 09:30, ready to go. The entire group managed better than that, and was on board and waiting for the driver at 09:15. This unusual burst of punctuality was due partly to the group's continual improvement in doing what is asked of it, but mostly because everyone was now desperate to get out of here. Our train back to China wouldn't wait for us, and staying here for several days while we found another way out of the country would drive us mad. Not to mention the 500 US dollars per day fine which would be levied on each of us for overstaying our visa.

Before the coach left the hotel, Mr Lee had some things to distribute. First of all he handed out the DVDs made by our cameraman. He has been following us all week, and we saw a sneak preview of his results in the duck barbecue restaurant last night. It looked really good. Then Mr Lee gave someone a large plastic bag containing all the mobile phones for both groups. The bag had a customs seal on it, which would be checked by the border guards on the way out. Consequences for opening the bag before then were not mentioned, but they really didn't need to be. Finally Mr Lee made us check three times that we had our passports and all our belongings with us. Then we set off for the train station.

Pyongyang to Dandong carriage [Enlarge]

When we had booked the tour, we decided to take the one day 'Dandong extension'—a brief stopover in Dandong, the Chinese city on the DPRK's northern border. Roughly half of us had chosen to do this (all of our group and two members of group B), and we were all placed together in a North Korean train carriage. The rest of group B are staying on the train overnight, and going all the way to Beijing in one go. Their carriage was Chinese. The style was the same (four berth compartments), but the Chinese carriage was newer and had heating!

A lot of shunting was going to be necessary. A long train would leave Pyongyang. Most of the carriages (full of North Koreans) would only go as far as Sinuiju, the Korean city which faces Dandong across the Yalu River. Our carriage and group B's Chinese carriage would be unhitched and taken across the bridge into China. Our carriage would be left there, and group B's carriage would be connected up to a Chinese train going from Dandong to Beijing.

We shared a compartment with two Australian ladies with whom we have become good friends during week. Between them they have got decades of amazing independent travel stories to tell. One of them first travelled to China in 1979, when the only way in was on an organised tour and many people had never seen a westerner—sounds strangely familiar!

The final parting word from the guides was a reminder not to take any photographs from the train as we travelled through the DPRK countryside. If anyone on or off the train sees us take a photo they are duty bound to report it to the authorities. The customs officials will find out and people's photos will be gone through and 'edited'. Then Mr Lee, Mrs Lee and the two group B guides waved us off. They were still smiling as we chugged slowly away, but the second we were out of sight they must have collapsed in an exhausted heap on the platform. All the guides worked so unbelievably hard this week to meet our requests wherever possible. They must think that Westerners are a bunch of spoiled, lazy, scruffy, rude, disobedient, rich, arrogant dickheads. But not once do they let it show. We'd like to think that they will get a couple of days off, but we know that won't happen. They will be straight back to the office to prepare for the next group. And when summer comes and it's busy on the farms, they will join the other office workers from Pyongyang who have to go and do a turn helping out doing hard manual labour. Our lives are incomparably easy compared to theirs, and they are amongst the elite in the DPRK—the trusted few who are allowed to travel around the country and interact with foreigners.

The train made steady progress out of Pyongyang and the dreary grey landscape of the city turned into the dreary brown of the countryside. There wasn't much to photograph anyway. It looked like all the other rural areas we had seen, and a lot like many of the rural bits of China, and even India, that had slipped past the windows of other trains we have taken. All the sensitive stuff is pretty well hidden. After a while a railway employee from the restaurant car came round touting for business. We had a look, but the restaurant car was thick with cigarette smoke, and on seeing the state of the kitchen we lost our appetite anyway. Mindful of the story we'd read about Indian railway kitchens, and of the fact that we had two long train journeys ahead of us, all day today and overnight tomorrow, we slipped off back to the compartment. We don't ever want to get sick, but we especially don't want to get sick now. The duck barbecue last night had laid low one member of our group (we did suggest at the time that using the same chopsticks to eat the cooked duck as she was using to handle the raw duck was a bad idea). She spent the first hour of the trip in the squalid train toilet, and the rest of the time on her bunk, sleeping it off.

A man came round and handed out three forms to each person: a DPRK departure card, a customs declaration card and a health screening card. We filled in the first two okay, but the health card was only written in Chinese and Korean. Luckily two of the group could read enough Chinese to get us by. At 15:20 we stopped at Sinuiju station, on the DPRK side of the border. The passports and cards were collected up and taken away. Then the customs officials came round. We had to leave the compartment and come back in to be interviewed individually. Some people had their bags searched, some people had their photos reviewed on their cameras, and yes, some people lost photos. But we survived the experience unscathed. The guard wasn't even bothered about our oil painting, for which we had carefully asked for a receipt to prove that it was regular art and not socialist realist art, the export of which is banned.

At the same time as our border formalities were going on, the North Koreans in the other carriages must have been getting their papers checked. There is no concept of free movement in the DPRK—you need permission from both the head of your work group and the local government to even travel to the next village. Going to a border town must require an even greater level of checks and balances to make sure you don't have any crazy ideas like escaping. All of a sudden the station sprang into life as the Koreans were released from the train. They began to file past our window along the platform. They were all weighed down by some very heavy looking luggage. The older women in particular looked like they were permanently bent at 90 degrees from a lifetime of carrying heavy loads on their backs. After things had calmed down, we were told that we could get off the train and stand on the platform if we liked. "But stay near the train!" It was cold outside, and so after a quick bit of fresh air we retreated back to the slightly warmer carriage. Some people who were brave enough to stay outside managed to have a conversation of sorts with the DPRK wrestling team, who were travelling to Beijing for a tournament.

Bombed bridge separating North Korea from China [Enlarge]

Three hours and five minutes after we had stopped, our passports rematerialised. We were approximately as cold as we had been when we were stuck at Niš in Serbia, but far less bored thanks to the Aussies' travel tales. These two make our round the world trip look like a package holiday. Almost immediately, the train began to move again. As we rolled slowly across the Yalu River on a utilitarian box girder bridge, we could see the famous 'half bridge' that was bombed by the Americans during the Korean War and now stands as a strange kind of monument, jutting out pointlessly into the middle of the river. The Chinese half is intact, but the Korean half is gone apart from a few concrete pillars.

Chinese immigration was relatively painless, but still took over an hour. The officials were smiley. They said "Hello", we said "Ni hao". Obviously North Korean customs checks are so thorough that the Chinese don't feel the need to do any more checking. We were finally released from the train and met our new guide on the platform, in the form of the small but voluble Brooklyn. He led us out to the waiting coach which whisked us across town to the Zhong Lian Hotel.

It wasn't the Sheraton, but it sure felt like it. We could buy overpriced ice creams in the foyer, we could access our email in the Business Centre, and if we wanted to we could go outside, into the street, and walk anywhere we wanted. You cannot believe how weird, how exhilarating and how scary that feels unless you have experienced the DPRK. We checked into our room then went down to the hotel's restaurant for dinner. That meal was good! At the end of our tour of China, barely a week ago, we would have been happy never to have a sumptuous Chinese banquet ever again. But after seven guilt-ridden days of eating meals which were generally very poor quality, but which were so relatively extravagant that no North Korean (apart from one) would even be able to imagine them, this delicious and high quality food was so welcome.

Talking of guilt, there is plenty of information on the web about the food shortages in the DPRK, and the consensus seems to be that this year is going to be another really tough one after the floods of 2006. We used to get annoyed if our local supermarket ran out of frozen peas. But most people in North Korea (or at least the non-elites outside Pyongyang) are surviving on 200 g (7 oz) of rice or grain per day, and hardly anything else. These are people we've seen in the street, people we've driven past, always smiling and looking cheerful. They live in a country that tries to depict itself as modern, advanced, and superior. A country which preaches Juche (self-reliance) but is hooked on international aid to meet its most basic needs. Standing on the riverside in Dandong this evening we could take our pick of 24 hour convenience stores and buy anything we wanted for a small amount of money. Then we could jump in a taxi and drive through the neon-lit streets to a bar or restaurant serving any dish from almost anywhere in the world and eat until we were full. But five hundred metres away on the opposite bank of the river, so dark that you could be forgiven for not realising there's even a city over there, people were coming home from work to their cold, dark apartments, and going to bed with their hunger barely touched by their starvation rations. You will surely never find a contrast as stark as this anywhere in the world.

All our photos from today are here. You can see everywhere we go in Google Earth by going to our progress map, then clicking the Google Earth tab.

Day 146
Pyongyang to Dandong

This map shows the route we took in this post. Click it to see larger maps of our whole route at flickr.

Maps are taken from the CIA World Factbook.

Seriously needing to get out now

Grand Monument on Lake Samji [Enlarge]

This morning there were a few sore heads and bleary eyes. If the bar at the Pegaebong Hotel had not run out of beer it is probable that some people would not have gone to bed at all. As we met for breakfast, most people were starting to look very travel weary.

Breakfast had a potato theme to it. The butter was rancid so we ate our potato bread dry, or with a little potato jam. There were also hot baked potatoes available. It was tempting to slip a potato into each pocket to keep our hands warm as we ventured out into the cold. The good news was that minibus B had been retrieved from the spot at which it ran out of diesel last night, and refuelled. We have no idea where the fuel comes from, we have yet to see a petrol station in North Korea.

Grand Monument guide [Enlarge]

We needed to be at the airport for our 11:00 charter flight back to Pyongyang, so we only had time to see one more attraction in Samjiyon: the Grand Monument on Lake Samji. Standing in deep snow was a typically huge bronze statue of the Great Leader. This one depicts him in his younger days, when he was fighting the Japanese on the slopes of Mount Paekdu. It is made of special non-tarnishing bronze, by the looks of it. It has been here since 1979 and is still as shiny as ever. It's so shiny you might almost think it was made of plastic. We couldn't check it out in detail because we would have left tell-tale footprints in the snow, and in any case we weren't even allowed to walk on the raised step which surrounds the statue, so we would have been arrested for disrespecting the Great Leader before we got within five metres of him. We had to make do with wandering around the well swept paths admiring the statues from a distance. As well as the Kim statue, there were larger than life revolutionary scenes. On the right were anti-Japanese guerilla fighters bravely charging forward to attack the enemy. On the left were people who had been forced out of their homes, making camp, cooking, playing music and generally making the best of things in their secret camp in the mountains. And to cap it all there was a miniature version of the Juche Tower in Pyongyang, complete with glistening red flame.

Guerilla Army monument on Lake Samji [Enlarge]

The two minibuses slithered back along the narrow forest trail to Samjiyon Airport. As we pulled in to the airport, which is primarily a military airfield, we caught the briefest glimpse of a squadron of ancient, silver MiG fighter jets through the bushes, probably MiG-15s, which are apparently still used at Samjiyon as trainers.

Check-in was the smoothest we have ever experienced anywhere. The bus drove almost all the way to the plane, which was still parked where we left it yesterday. We got off the bus, took a hand-written boarding card from Mr Lee, walked to the plane and boarded. Why can't British Airways check-ins be like that? Again everyone had to take all their luggage on board—we didn't get to see what was in the hold this time.

The short flight was accompanied by Air Koryo cider as ever, and the educational reading material this time was a copy of the magazine Korea Today, which should really be called Korea Yesterday given that virtually every story is about the miracles performed by Kim Il-sung. On landing at Pyongyang we found the airport almost deserted. There were no staff at immigration and it seemed our arrival did not even merit switching on the lights. Perhaps the red carpet would be out later on though, as we noticed that the arrivals board was showing a flight coming in from Incheon, South Korea's main airport! This is not a regular occurrence. Within half an hour or so of touching down, we were having lunch in the revolving restaurant on the top floor of the Yanggakdo Hotel.

Update 7th May 2007: The flight from the South was bringing some VIP delegates for talks, which turned out to be quite significant.

After lunch we had time for a shower and to do the laundry before meeting in reception at 14:30. For the second time this week, we had a choice of our next destination. We could visit the Grand People's Study House on Kim Il-sung Square—a huge library with 30 million books—followed by a trip to the Revolutionary Cemetery; or we could go to an international football match [US: soccer] between the DPRK and India. Isla used to be a keen footy-fan, going to watch her home town play most weekends, but Glenn hates football and had never been to a football match before. But this was North Korea! How cool will it be to be able to say that the only live match you've ever been to was in Pyongyang! We had been asking all week if we could go to the match, which we had read about on the plane into North Korea, in the Pyongyang Times. It reported on the first leg of the tie, in India, and we wanted to see the return match so that we could observe for ourselves the heroic team that had secured a 0–2 victory, humiliating the home side with their bravado and skill. So there was no doubt about it, we were going to the football. The tickets were fifteen euros each and, after splashing out on an oil painting, a trip to the circus and two visits to the Mass Games, we did not have enough cash left. So we had to borrow twenty euros from one of our comrades, to be repaid in Chinese yuan once we get to an ATM on the other side of the border tomorrow. We now have absolutely no money left.

Taesong Department Store, Pyongyang [Enlarge]

On the bus we learned that we had enough time to visit a department store before the match started. So what? So, this is Pyongyang, and visiting one of the famous department stores is a big event, that's what. Sadly it wasn't going to be the grand-daddy of them all, Department Store No. 1, since foreigners are never allowed in there. But it was a worthy consolation prize in the form of the foreigner-friendly Taesong Department Store. Hard currency only, of course. In the DPRK, euros have taken over from US dollars as the hard currency of choice, even with the locals, although they have to be much more careful about flashing them than we do.

Taesong Department Store, Pyongyang [Enlarge]

We were given fifteen minutes to have a look around the four floors of desirable goods. Stepping inside was like going back in time to an austere age of shelves and racks thinly stocked with whatever products the shopkeepers happened to be able to source that week. Exclusively Chinese imports by the look of it. But at the same time there were a few 'show' items such as large plasma TVs on sale for a few thousand euros. By our calculation, that's a few hundred years' earnings for the average North Korean, according to the estimates at Life Funds for North Korean Refugees. Floor 1 (the ground floor) was electrical goods and furniture including some fake wood sideboards. Floor 2 was clothing and cuddly toys. Floor 3 was jewellery and household items. Floor 4 was art, ornaments and souvenirs. Even if we had had any money left to spend, there was nothing we could possibly have wanted here. But as ever it was a surreal experience not to be missed.

We carried on to Kim Il-sung Stadium for the football match. We weren't sure what to expect. The match was an Olympic pre-qualifier for the Asian group, between two nations who don't have much of a footballing pedigree. It was on a weekday afternoon and the North Koreans don't have much mid-week leisure time. Nevertheless, people were flocking through the streets to the stadium. They weren't exactly waving flags and scarves and blowing whistles and trumpets, but it looked like there would be a good turn out.

Kim Il-sung Stadium [Enlarge]

The stadium was imposing, but not in the way that the Arirang one was. As we went in to take our seats we could not see any spare spaces. We had no need to worry: an entire row of Koreans was hastily relocated for our benefit. As expected, we were in prime position, and we had comfortable little fold-up chairs to sit on. The guide taught us how to say "Come on, Korea!" in Korean (it's "Chosonikkida!", but we're not sure how you spell it).

We were surprised to find ourselves sitting right behind a line of Indians, who had turned out to support their side—presumably they were embassy staff. Over on the far side of the stadium the grandstand was full of Koreans, almost half of them wearing army uniforms. Everyone stood for the national anthems. The game began, although we hardly noticed, as there was no cheering, no booing, no singing. The atmosphere could only be described as polite and reserved. There was a low level of chatter, the occasional rustle of a newspaper and a gentle round of applause when the play merited it. It was typically surreal. When the Koreans scored their first goal our group all leapt from our seats, cheering and waving the flags we had brought along specially (never more important to support the home side than here); and we found ourselves celebrating alone, stared at by a still-seated, bemused crowd who were obviously wondering who let these crazy foreigners in.

Pyongyang football crowd [Enlarge]

The Indian team were no match for the DPRK. Another goal followed just before half time (we confined our celebrations to hearty applause that time). After the break, India tried a little harder. Whatever their Russian coach had said to them during the interval had worked, and sustained pressure eventually produced a goal. But it was too little too late and the game finished 2–1 to the DPRK. So, did their side's dominance stir up support in the crowd? Was it the rousing cheers of the loyal fans that spurred the team to victory? Er, no. This was, without a doubt, the least animated football crowd ever seen. It's not for the want of patriotic fervour, it's just that they are completely unable to express themselves.

What a week. Leaving the stadium, the road back down to Kim Il-sung Square was choked with traffic. Yes, a North Korean traffic jam! We were so happy to be gridlocked! We couldn't make a left turn to join the queue so our driver went right, then immediately did a U-turn. All of a sudden we were surrounded by blacked-out SUVs doing U-turns with us. It seemed that we had taken our fleet of minders by surprise. Or possibly they were just fans who were trying to dodge the traffic like us. Who knows.

While we sat in the traffic we managed to get a traffic lady to smile at us, but only after everyone on the coach slid open the windows and smiled, shouted "hello" in Korean, and waved our DPRK flags frantically at her. She tried to resist, but in the end she couldn't help smiling back. We tried again, getting three attempts at one poor traffic lady when we were diverted around Kim Il-sung Square to avoid a military parade practice. But testament to their resolve, we couldn't break any of them. There was a definite end-of-term feeling on the bus—there is no way we would have dared to do this at the beginning of the week.

When we got back to the hotel and met up with the folks who had chosen the other option for their afternoon's entertainment, we found that they had had an equally crazy time, being trailed by a Japanese film crew and watching the practice for the world-famous military parade which is coming up on 25th April (as we understand it, foreigners are never allowed to see this parade, so they were really privileged to see the practice). The DPRK has enough craziness for every taste. We didn't bother taking our chances with the Yanggakdo elevators so we instead chatted to Mrs Lee in the lobby until it was time to go out for our farewell dinner. It was at the Pyongyang Duck Barbecue Restaurant. There was a festive air and it was a great meal—cooking pieces of duck on our own four-person barbecues in the middle of each table. There was soju as well as the usual Taedonggang beer. We haven't dwelt on the subject of the beer before, but there's a funny story about that too. A few years ago the North Koreans decided that they should be brewing their own high quality beer, so they bought up the insides of a British brewery, shipped it to the DPRK, reassembled it and got brewing. The brewery in question was Ushers of Trowbridge. The county town of Wiltshire. Where we come from. In fact, Isla was working in Trowbridge when the site closed in 2001 and it was big news that the town was losing its historic brewery. It wasn't such big news that the buyer of the brewing equipment was Kim Jong-il, though it did make it into a small piece in The Guardian in 2004 (it's the second story on the page). Now the Ushers site is being redeveloped as a supermarket while the old machinery continues to make very tasty ale.

A strange thing happened to the group today. People agreed that returning to Pyongyang felt like 'coming home'. Pyongyang, the city that felt so strange and backward when we arrived less than a week ago, now felt comfortable and advanced—compared to the countryside. We are becoming institutionalised, and that is scaring us. When we booked this tour, we thought that seven nights might be too little. But now that we've spent six nights here, we are extremely claustrophobic and desperate to get out of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. It is messing with our minds. This time tomorrow we will be back in the free world (we never thought we would refer to China as 'The Free World'). How will we cope with being able to go out for a walk by ourselves, we wonder? It's daunting.

All our photos from today are here. You can see everywhere we go in Google Earth by going to our progress map, then clicking the Google Earth tab.

Day 145
Samjiyon to Pyongyang

This map shows the route we took in this post. Click it to see larger maps of our whole route at flickr.

Maps are taken from the CIA World Factbook.

Wintertime in Samjiyon

Pyongyang Airport duty free shop [Enlarge]

At 05:10 we were woken from an all too short sleep by Marie, one of our next door neighbours in the Yanggakdo Hotel, banging on the door. We asked her to do this, as our only alarm clock is the beeper on Glenn's cheap-and-dodgy Chinese watch, and we didn't have faith in its ability to wake us at such an hour.

Last night's laundry was just dry enough to put on. Dressed and packed, we reported for breakfast, still half asleep. Miraculously everyone made it on board the bus by 07:00 and we drove through the deserted streets of Pyongyang to the airport. Our tour group had chartered an Air Koryo flight to Samjiyon in the far north of the country—from where we would be going up to the top of Paekdusan (Mount Paekdu, also often transliterated from Hangul as Paektusan, Baekdusan or Baektusan). The mountain is a volcano, with the world's highest crater lake at the top. It is the most sacred place to all Koreans, from the North and the South, as it is regarded as the birthplace of the Korean nation and its people. On that the two Koreas agree. Where they differ is that the North has appropriated the region as the site of the legendary guerilla battles won by the victorious Great Leader Kim Il-sung during the anti-Japanese war, and as the birthplace of the Dear Leader Kim Jong-il. More on that later.

Chaos greeted us at the airport. It was due to be a very busy day at North Korea's main airport: firstly our flight out at 08:00, then a scheduled flight to Beijing at 08:30, and three arrivals due in at some point during the day! Looking at the mayhem in the terminal we wondered if the staff would cope. We were told to fill in departure cards. We queried this, as we were not leaving the country. But no, the official said that people who are departing need to fill in departure cards; so we did. Of course when we got to customs, they weren't interested in taking them from us because we weren't leaving the country. Initiative is regarded as a counter-revolutionary trait here, and is strongly discouraged. At times like this, it shows.

When we had left the hotel, it was much emptier than it had been at the start of the week, as most guests who were here for the opening few nights of the Mass Games had now left. We will be away from Pyongyang for only one night, and when we return we will be back in the same rooms as before—the rooms will not be used in between, as we still have the keys. However the management wanted to charge us for leaving luggage in our rooms, so naturally almost everyone decided to bring all their luggage with them. The only problem was, when we got to the airport the staff wouldn't let us check in any luggage, so it was all going to have to come on to the plane with us.

We wondered why they weren't allowing any bags to be checked in. And then we caught sight of the plane out of the terminal windows. Its hold was being filled with North Korean cargo! The load appeared to include many sacks of food. Presumably at least some of the sacks are rice given as food aid from the US imperialist aggressors (which, incidentally, the North Korean people are told is not aid, but reparations for the Korean War, forced on the US by the victorious Kim Il-sung as part of the armistice terms). It was our plane, but the Koreans were not going to pass up on the opportunity to transport a free plane-load of freight up north. Of course if it really was food aid then we don't mind a bit.

We perused the wares in the duty free shop and tried out the bus-station-like seats. That took all of five minutes, and we felt very glad that we didn't have to spend more than half an hour waiting for our flight. We said goodbye to Simon, who was heading back to Beijing to man the Koryo Tours office.

Our transport for the short flight up to Paekdusan was a Tupolev Tu-134B, one of two owned by Air Koryo. It was small and quite smart, with large windows. It felt safer than the antiquated Ilyushin in which we had flown from Beijing to Pyongyang. Because we're travelling light we were unhampered by luggage, and so we were able to beat the crowd and nab the front seats in business class (yeah, baby!), with extra leg room. That was the only business class perk we would be getting on this flight however.

We got airborne without incident and soon the sunny Pyongyang morning was far behind us. We flew over bleak, pointy hills which started to get a sprinkling of snow as we flew north. We got another copy of the inimitable Pyongyang Times, and more of the uniquely tasting North Korean cider that you only seem to get on Air Koryo flights. The further north we flew, the whiter the hills became, and before long the snow was beginning to fill the valleys. For the first time we noticed that Mrs Lee was wearing a natty set of snow boots and a very warm looking coat. We had a niggling feeling that we were going to be badly under dressed for northern North Korea.

Road from the airport into Samjiyon [Enlarge]

When we landed, Samjiyon airport was surrounded by substantial snowdrifts. The best we could do was put on our jumpers and an extra pair of socks before the doors opened. Unlike in Pyongyang, there was no silly airport bus to take us the few metres to the terminal. Here we walked, and in the end we didn't even need to go into the terminal, which was just a small building with the control tower on top. First off the plane, we grabbed a seat on the minibus which had arrived with perfectly timed precision, and then assisted our comrades as they hoisted their suitcases into the small vehicle. When every seat was taken and every inch of aisle was crammed with baggage, half the group were still standing on the tarmac. Luckily there would be another minibus along in a minute. Our driver said something in Korean and Mrs Lee translated his words. He said that the road to and from the airport was narrow and there was no room to pass, so we couldn't leave until the other bus arrived.

The other bus was not far behind, and we soon set off. Initially the road was quite clear of snow, but as we got further from the airport it turned into a white skid pan. Our driver was used to these conditions, judging by his rally-driver-style method of taking corners on full opposite lock. The other bus behind us was struggling to match his pace. We stopped and waited for them to catch up a few times.

Samjiyon town, population 27,000, is typically strange. Many of the buildings are new and smart, with freshly painted walls and brightly coloured corrugated metal roofs. They look quite chalet-like, not the drab grey blocks we have got used to. At first glance, the town almost looks like a French ski-resort; but when you look behind the facade, the buildings have that unmistakeable North Korean appearance—cold and dark. There is plastic sheeting nailed across the inside of a lot of the windows, there are no lights on inside any of the houses, and there is no sign of smoke from any of the chimneys. We saw plenty of people hanging around the streets of Samjiyon, but even with their presence, the town doesn't feel lived in. It reminds us of Imber, the village on Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire that was commandeered by the Ministry of Defence in World War 2, then never given back to its residents. Most of Imber's buildings have been destroyed and replaced by hollow shells for army street-combat practice. From a distance Imber could pass as the real thing, but up close all the houses look dead and uninhabited. Incidentally, it is opened up to the public a few days each year and we took the chance to go and see it in April 2006. Our photos are in a Flickr set here.

Lobby of the Pegaebong Hotel [Enlarge]

We are staying in Samjiyon's finest (only?) hotel, the Pegaebong Hotel. The lobby is typical North Korean style: simultaneously grand and austere, with no lights on and that usual all-pervading coldness. We were given a little time after check in to unpack and relax in our room while the guides arranged the first of the morning's activities. The rooms are all recently refurbished, and ours has two clean single beds, a nice warm Korean-style heated floor, a view onto the snowy hillside, a TV and a modern bathroom. But as with the hotel in Kaesong, there is a complete absence of running water. Glenn had the bright idea of filling the toilet cistern with water from the full bath, so that at least we could flush it properly. Unfortunately he soon discovered that the toilet wasn't even plumbed in, as the water ran straight out of the back of the toilet and onto the floor. It seems that there has never been running water in this hotel. We tried the TV. It worked, in that you could switch it on, but it displayed nothing but static. Preparing to go out again into the snow, we put on a few extra layers of T-shirts, along with our shirts, jumpers and coats. In the end, we were wearing all of our clothes. There was a knock at the door and a flask of hot water was delivered, so we made a coffee from the small supply of sachets we had brought with us.

Paekdusan Museum [Enlarge]

Now that everyone had taken their luggage into the hotel, there was a bit more room in the minibus. We drove the short distance to Paekdusan Museum. In this new and impressive building we were shown paintings and panoramas of Mount Paekdu. These are provided, in part, because the actual mountain, several tens of kilometres away, is hard to get to during the winter. In fact, the guide said, it is completely inaccessible from September to June! The itinerary provided by Koryo Tours (who have been taking people to the DPRK since 1993), clearly stated that we would be going up the mountain, but it now seems that we won't, and in fact we never had a chance of doing so. We felt pretty let down by Koryo. No wonder Simon went back to Beijing rather than accompanying us.

Back on the minibus Mr Lee confirmed what the museum staff had just said. Paekdu is impossible to get to at this time of year. He and Mrs Lee were as surprised as we were—we believe that they truly didn't know until this point. Mr Lee said that perhaps we could try later to see how far we could get, but for now we would be doing the other items on the itinerary. Amid rumbles that just giving up like this wasn't showing much revolutionary zeal, someone proposed that if we couldn't go up the mountain, maybe we could go up Samjiyon's ski-slope instead? The ski-slope towers above the town and has a chairlift all the way up. We could see that the chairlift wasn't running, but we felt that if anyone could make it work, Mr Lee could. The minibuses took us to a new building at the bottom of the ski-slope, and we walked to the chairlift.

Samjiyon chair lift [Enlarge]

Why is there a ski slope and chairlift in North Korea, where the citizens never take a holiday? We honestly don't know. It's a tiny slope compared to what you get at 'proper' ski resorts. Either this slope is a training facility for the DPRK Olympic team, or it's a plaything for high-up party officials, or they have visions of turning the tourist industry up a notch at some point. Who knows?

At the chairlift station we knocked at a door and a couple of men came out. They seemed to be in charge of the chairlift. [Hang on! Surreality time-out! They don't know we're coming (it was our idea), there's no electricity to make the chairlift work, and there are no skiers around who might want to use it anyway. And yet they have two men permanently based in the station?] One of the men said that we couldn't ride on the chairlift because there was no electricity. Mr Lee had a quiet word with him and he went to make a phone call. Apparently he was asking the electricity suppliers whether they could see their way to sending some power our way for a few minutes to let a bunch of tourists go up the hill. The answer, of course, was no.

Some of the group decided to walk up the hill anyway—partly in revolutionary zeal, partly just to have some time in relative freedom. All week we have not once strayed more than a few paces from the guides. We decided not to follow them—we've done enough skiing to know that a ski-slope at the end of the season, baked in the sun by day and sub-zero by night is going to be more icy than snowy. We were under dressed and unequipped. The last thing we wanted out here, in one of the less developed corners of a very underdeveloped country, was to get wet or slip over and break something. The folks who did try only got about half way up before turning back.

Group with snow comrades [Enlarge]

Confronted with a pristine field of snow, the Brits in our group did what all Brits do and began to make some snowmen. The snowman building instinct is so strong that it must have once had an evolutionary purpose! Some of the Aussies had never witnessed snowman construction before and were keen to join in. We made two finely crafted snow comrades decorated with stick arms raised in patriotic salutes, Australian five cent coins for buttons and pretty convincing pine-frond-comb-over hairstyles. When the climbers returned, Mr Lee took a photograph of the group with the two somewhat short and plump snow comrades.

Being snowbound for three-quarters of the year means that very little grows in the Samjiyon area. The one crop they have any success with seems to be potatoes, introduced here by Kim Jong-il after his father died, in a rare admission of the failure of the previous policy of planting rice everywhere, whether the ground could support it or not. Almost everything on our lunch menu was potato-based. Potato bread, fried potato, and potato jam, all washed down as ever by North Korean beer. The potato jam tasted just like honey. All in all, lunch wasn't too bad and we reconvened in the minibus reinvigorated and a little warmer than before.

Rimyongsu waterfall [Enlarge]

Mr Lee gave us two options for the afternoon. Option one was to attempt to get to Mount Paekdu. He said we almost certainly wouldn't get very far, but he was willing to try. Option two was to visit the originally planned sights of a waterfall and the secret camp where Kim Jong-il was born, and then to attempt Paekdu afterwards if we have time. The risk with option one was that we could spend all afternoon trying and failing to reach Paekdu, and end up not seeing anything. The only sensible choice was option two. Then Mr Lee went to group B's bus to put the same options to them. He was gone for a long time and seemed cross and rattled when he got back. Group B had evidently been less easily convinced than us, and several of them still really wanted to attempt to get to Mount Paekdu. We joked to Mr Lee that he shouldn't have bothered asking group B as they are just the workers and Group A are the intellectuals. Anyway, the decision had been made, and we drove off towards Rimyongsu waterfalls.

It was quite a long way along a flat, straight road. Once again our bus led the way and once again we had to wait for the B bus to catch up. When both buses finally made it to the destination we discovered that they had got stuck and had to push. Located on the edge of a village, the Rimyongsu falls are very pretty. Two camera-shy locals were building a dam across the outflow of a small lake to boost the water level—the lake is the village's only source of drinking water. Above the lake, up a winding wooden walkway, there was a pagoda-style viewing area.

Receiving the Great Leader's guidance [Enlarge]

When we came back down, a woman in KPA uniform was waiting for us. She had come to give us a talk about the area. We were so cold by now that we slunk away and sat in the bus with a few other slackers. We don't mind cold if we have the right clothes: a few years ago we did –24°C (–11°F) in northern Finland quite happily. But unprepared as we were, it was no fun. We're sorry to say that we missed the talk, which was apparently about the visit to this very spot many years ago by the Great Leader himself, and the on-the-spot guidance given by him to the grateful villagers. As we were getting ready to leave, a troupe of young locals marched past us, their leader carrying a huge red flag. They assembled next to a monument and stood to attention as a man came out to meet them and started reading from a book. Mrs Lee told us that the man was probably reading them some of Kim's guidance from that day, so that they could be inspired by it. We couldn't help noticing that they all seemed as badly dressed for the conditions as us, although in their case we're sure it wasn't caused by lack of preparation.

Stuck on a hill [Enlarge]

After the waterfall we drove a long way through the forests to visit the secret camp. According to current North Korean history books, this is the place where Kim Il-sung and his wife Kim Jong-suk commanded their guerilla army and defeated the Japanese. While they were here, Kim Jong-il was born, his birth being foretold by a swallow and signalled by the appearance of a double rainbow over the sacred Mount Paekdu and a new star in the sky [And they say religion is banned in North Korea?!]. Official birth records in Russia seem to suggest that in actual fact the young Kim was born in Vyatskoye, near Khabarovsk in Siberia, a year earlier than claimed. Western propaganda says that not only were the Kim family not in this area during the anti-Japanese war, but there wasn't any fighting here at all. Make up your own mind.

Walking to the Dear Leader's birthplace [Enlarge]

With group B's bus leading the way we were making reasonable progress up towards the camp when they ran into a spot of bother. Their bus couldn't make it up a snowy slope. A stream of group B 'workers' jumped out of the bus and pushed. They got it moving and it drove a little further, then stopped to let them back on. We backed up a bit to find some flat, less slippery ground so that we could get moving. A few hundred metres further on, the B bus got stuck again. This time their efforts to get it going were unsuccessful and it was decided that everyone should go the rest of the way to the mythical birthplace on foot. A true pilgrimage. As we walked past the B bus we had a look at its back tyres. They were as bald as racing slicks. No wonder it had been struggling to keep up with us all day—it was a miracle that it got as far as it did.

The Dear Leader's birthplace [Enlarge]

It was a slippery but pleasant twenty minute walk up to the camp, where we viewed the pristine wooden huts, the Dear Leader's childhood toys, and the huge monument on top of the nearby mountain (Jong-il Peak). Having marvelled respectfully, we walked back down to where the buses were. We then spent about an hour reversing back down the narrow track. At least that meant our bus went first this time! We did okay for quite a while, with the driver looking in his mirrors to keep it between the metre-high snow banks. But then he got it wrong on a bend and buried the side of the bus deeply into the snow bank. He couldn't move forward or backwards to get out. He ordered us out to push, but the door was on the side of the bus which was buried, and it wouldn't open. He told us to climb out of the windows. No way! Of course there was a simple solution to those brought up in countries where initiative is not systematically squashed—we told the driver to get out, and then we exited by his door! It didn't take long to push the bus out of the snow bank and we got underway again, this time with the driver hanging out of his window for a better view.

In the time it had taken to get going again, group B had not caught up with us. We had previously stopped to wait for them to catch up, but after the third time of doing this, our driver seemed to get fed up, so this time he didn't wait for them.

We finally got back to the Pegaebong Hotel just after dark. Dinner was ready, so we went straight in to the dining room and got started. Half an hour later, we were well into our potato-based meal and group B still weren't back. We asked Mrs Lee if she had heard any word of them. She hadn't, and she was looking worried. There are no mobile phones in the DPRK, and no telephone boxes. There is no mountain rescue service. If you get into trouble, you've got to get yourself out of it. She asked our driver to go and look for them. He refused, saying that when he found them he would have to reverse all the way back in the dark! He had a point.

At least forty-five minutes after we returned, two people from group B walked into the dining room, to a round of applause. Their bus had run out of fuel! They all had to walk the last three or four kilometres in the pitch dark, with no idea where they were going. Over the next fifteen minutes or so more of the group drifted in, two-by-two.

The reality began to set in. If we had all tried to get to Mount Paekdu, their bus would have run out of fuel halfway up the mountain, miles out of town. Who knows how much fuel we had in reserve? It could have been serious. Later in the evening, in the bar, the folks in group B told the story of their daring walk through the wilds of North Korea. As the blueberry wine flowed (no evidence of blueberries in the taste, and 40% proof so not really wine), the tale got taller. The story had started out with someone's torch picking out one lone, slightly nervous looking, KPA soldier in amongst the trees; but after a while it had turned into a heavily armed garrison, trailing them through the forest. Some group A people said that they wished it had been our bus that ran out of fuel, so it could be their story of daring escape in the icy wilderness. Heck, by now it probably is! For us, there is quite enough North Korean surreality in our story with the snow comrade building, bus pushing and ten kilometre reversing. No exaggeration is necessary.

All our photos from today are here. You can see everywhere we go in Google Earth by going to our progress map, then clicking the Google Earth tab.

Day 144
Pyongyang to Samjiyon

This map shows the route we took in this post. Click it to see larger maps of our whole route at flickr.

Maps are taken from the CIA World Factbook.

Springtime in Pyongyang

Central Pyongyang [Enlarge]

It was another sunny morning when we woke up at 07:30. We flicked on BBC World to find out what was happening around the globe. Imagine our surprise when one of the main news stories featured Charles Scanlon reporting on the North Korean nuclear talks—from last night's soirée! We were just getting over the that's where we were! shock when two members of our group danced on by in the background, behind the presenter! How much more surreal can this week get? We have to come all the way to North Korea to get on our own TV news. Good job we weren't shown on screen, as Isla's mum and dad don't know we're here. It's strange to think that North Korea is making headlines all over the world, watched by millions who are concerned about nuclear proliferation and stories of mass famine. And we are actually in the country, closer than anyone. But we are dancing at soirées and going to the circus, completely unaware of what is going on, along with the majority of its inhabitants… We went down to breakfast to share the news with the two new TV stars.

Talking of TV, we managed to find North Korea's only channel on our TV in the hotel room. From what we can tell, it is filled with wall-to-wall weirdness and extremely unwatchable. The programme we saw last night was some sort of karaoke singalong accompanied by rousing music and pictures of lovely North Korean scenery. For well over an hour. Televisions in North Korea are modified so that they can only pick this channel up, and it is a serious crime for the Koreans to try to receive anything else.

Our group at Kim Il-sung's birthplace, Mangyongdae [Enlarge]

First stop of today's tour was Mangyongdae, Kim Il-sung's birthplace. In a picturesque wooded hillside area on the western edge of the city, the house where Kim Il-sung's parents lived in the early twentieth century has been reconstructed as a tourist attraction, or rather a spot of religious significance. We were shown what a simple life the Great Leader had been born into, and then posed for a group photo in front of the little cottage. Then we went for a walk up the hill to a scenic spot overlooking the city. It was a beautiful place on a beautiful day, and a good place to spend a little while before resuming our very full tourist agenda. At the gift shop, we found that they were selling bottles of cola, which Mrs Lee described as 'Korean Coca Cola'. In the name of science we bought a bottle. It tasted like those little 'cola bottle' penny sweets that you used to get (probably still can) and was flat. Really nasty, but the bottle's label will make another great souvenir.

The next item on the agenda was a ride on the Pyongyang Metro. Now normally such a journey wouldn't merit an agenda item of its own on a tourist itinerary, but this week is not in any way normal.

Pyongyang Metro Yonggwang (Glory) Station [Enlarge]

Pyongyang is proud of its metro system, and almost every tourist has a ride on it. But it seems that tourists only ever travel one stop, and always between the same two stations, Puhung (Rehabilitation) and Yonggwang (Glory). Because of this, a number of conspiracy theories abound on whether the metro is even real, or whether the whole show is staged.

We have found evidence that some westerners have managed to travel more widely than this usual short tourist route, so we can be confident that the wider system does exist and is operational, at least some of the time. But there are also claims that the wider system doesn't run much these days because of power shortages; or that it does run but the lights are off in most of the stations; or that the network is much smaller than the maps say it is; or even that it is much bigger than the maps say, because it has secret lines heading off towards military installations. Well, we've ridden on it now, but surrounded by our Protective Bubble as we are, we still have no idea what it's all about, and no hard evidence to offer.

Pyongyang Metro Puhung Station [Enlarge]

We started at Puhung (Rehabilitation) Station, at the end of the Chollima Line. Just inside the station, there is an electronic map of the metro network, and Mrs Lee showed us how it works. You push a button for where you want to go, and the map lights up the stations en route and shows you the best way to get to your destination. The only thing is, the network is just an 'X' shape, with only one interchange station. Wouldn't a straightforward map pasted onto the wall be sufficient to guide the lost traveller?

Having been allowed straight through the barriers without paying (tourists never have pay because they are guests in the country), we descended an extremely long escalator into what felt like the depths of the earth. As with everywhere else in the DPRK, one of the things that struck us the most was the complete absence of billboards and adverts. The whole week here we have driven far and wide and seen precisely zero brands, logos, or commercial slogans. Not one. But on the escalator down into the metro, the pure whiteness of the walls made this absence even more apparent.

Now allegedly a hundred metres below the surface, we passed through triple, metre-thick blast doors. There is no attempt made to hide the fact that this place clearly doubles as a bomb shelter. We emerged into an extravagantly decorated atrium and found ourselves staring at mosaics of the Kims lit by exquisite chandeliers. We paused at the top of the staircase which led down onto the actual platforms to take in the scene before us. As if on cue, not one but two trains arrived almost simultaneously. The station erupted into life with people coming and going.

After a few minutes our train arrived and we were ushered into a carriage. A few people in the group thought they had seen a number of Koreans getting off the train on the other side, then crossing the platform and getting straight back onto our train. Maybe they had all missed their stop. Glenn stuck his head out of the still open door of the carriage and noticed that the station which a few moments ago had been buzzing, was now completely empty. OK, Puhung is at the end of the line, so it is fair that the other platform would be empty, but still it seemed a little strange that nobody was coming down the stairs any more.

In our carriage, Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il were there as usual, their portraits smiling down at us from above the door. We made the short journey to Yonggwang (Glory) Station, and got out. This was another magnificent station, similar to Puhung but with its own character. Again we spent a few minutes looking around and then we left. Our coach was waiting for us at the surface.

The following is our opinion formed from this limited experience. It seems highly likely that we rode on a special, 'luxury' train, and that some or all of our fellow passengers were stooges. All the seats in our carriage were taken. Precisely all, no more, no less. The station suddenly became busy just as we arrived. Where did all the people come from? The streets are not full enough to supply that many passengers all the time. Once we boarded the train, the station emptied. The reverse happened at the other end of our journey. It sounds crazy that we are even contemplating that the whole show was faked, but that's what a trip to North Korea does to you! [Actually we are seriously starting to doubt our sanity on a number of counts, but that's going to be the subject of a 'debrief' post when we get out of here.]

Kim Il-sung statue [Enlarge]

Down by the river, we visited the Fountain Park. This is a popular place for newly-weds to pose for photographs. Our main reason for coming was to buy a couple of bouquets of flowers so that we could place them at the feet of the Great Leader's statue, our next stop. Bowing at his embalmed corpse is not enough. The cult of Kim Il-sung requires just a little more respect than that. So, having procured two bunches of fresh flowers our group got back on the bus and headed for the imposing statue of the eternal president. It is 21 metres tall, bronze, and suitably impressive. No matter what your view is of the DPRK, you cannot deny that they are the masters of patriotic monuments and statuary. We waited for a break in the crowds then we walked forward and stood in a line in front of the steps leading up to the base of the statue. Two of our group had volunteered to lay the flowers so they walked forward and respectfully placed their bouquets alongside the hundreds of others which were already in place. Then they rejoined the line and we all took a bow, directed by Mrs Lee. Mr Lee took photographs for the group using our cameras. Our respect-paying duty was done. To celebrate, we went to a souvenir shop.

Laying flowers at the Kim Il-sung Statue [Enlarge]

After lunch in the Yanggakdo's 47th floor revolving restaurant, we visited the Art museum, then went for a walk by the river. The guides seemed much more relaxed than they had been at the start of the week. A combination, perhaps, of the April sunshine, the holiday atmosphere and the fact that we were getting much better at staying together as a group. Or maybe they'd been very worried that we might misbehave at the mausoleum and the statue where we and they would be being most closely watched. Now that the formalities were out of the way it seemed that they could chill out a bit. Having said that, they were still too nervous to let us go rowing on the river with the locals.

Tower of the Juche Idea [Enlarge]

We crossed the river to the Tower of the Juche Idea, a 150 metre tall granite column with a 20 metre torch on top. It is the highest stone tower in the world (of course). The torch is illuminated at night on special occasions. The tower has a large basement with several rooms inside, and a lift to take visitors up to the viewing platform just below the torch. We had an excellent view over the whole city from the top, but unfortunately it was also extremely cold so we couldn't stay up there for long. We had a rest in the basement's lounge, watching local TV and drinking overpriced coffee. Once we had warmed up a bit we went to the Workers' Party Foundation Monument, another massive statement to the greatness of the system. To the traditional hammer (for the workers) and sickle (for the farmers) is added the pen, to represent the intellectuals.

Us at the Monument to the Workers' Party Foundation [Enlarge]

Ever since our first visit to the Mass Games we had been asking Simon from Koryo Tours if there would be an opportunity to go again. He assured us that there would, but we had heard nothing more. By our calculations, tonight was our last chance as we are flying up north to Mount Paekdu tomorrow. But nothing had been said, and we hadn't actually seen Simon very much. He has spent almost all his time with group B. At our final stop of the afternoon, in another souvenir shop (!), we heard in passing that Simon arranged yesterday for group B to go to the Mass Games again tonight. He had not thought to ask us if we wanted to go too. Several people in our group were incensed, as this was the main reason they had come on this trip. We were not quite as bothered as them, but given the choice we would most definitely have signed up. Someone found Mr Lee and begged him to find out if we could go too. It was only about an hour and a half before the show started, and he wasn't sure if it was possible at this short notice. But he pledged to do his best.

Singing waitresses [Enlarge]

While we went for dinner, Mr Lee was nowhere to be seen. The meal was held in a slightly surreal restaurant, at which the waitresses doubled as singing, dancing entertainers accompanied by a 1980s synthesizer. Unfortunately we couldn't stay to enjoy the show for too long, because the amazing Mr Lee was back with good news—we were going to the Mass Games again! We didn't have our warm clothes with us, we had laundry to do, we couldn't afford another 100 euros, and we had just been told that we had to be on the bus at 07:00 tomorrow. We really could have done with an early night. But we are probably never going to have the opportunity to see this again. There was no doubt about it, we had to go, and we would have mortgaged the laptop if necessary. Having paid up again, we are now down to our last ten euros, and we have no way of getting any more money until we return to China on Thursday.

Arirang Mass Games [Enlarge]

The Mass Games were as wonderful as before, and we got to see some things that we had missed or forgotten about the first time round. There is so much to see that it is impossible to take it all in. We finally got to bed about 22:45, and set the alarm for 05:10 tomorrow morning. So much for an early night, but it was well worth it.

All our photos from today are here. You can see everywhere we go in Google Earth by going to our progress map, then clicking the Google Earth tab.

Happy birthday, Mr. President

Us in front of the Kim Il-sung Mausoleum [Enlarge]

As befits the birthday of the Great Leader, the sun was shining brightly on Pyongyang this morning. Our group assembled in the hotel reception and headed for the bus. We were dressed very smartly. Well, compared to the North Koreans we were still a bunch of scruffy buggers, but we had at least made an effort. Glenn's tie, bought in Beijing before we left for this very occasion, was pink and shiny. We were required to dress up because we were off to pay our respects to President Kim Il-sung at his resting place in the Kamsusan Memorial Palace. It was all the more exciting as it marked the half-way point in our quest to visit all four pickled communist leaders on display in the world. How would he compare to Ho Chi Minh?

Well, Kim's mausoleum—which used to be his presidential palace—is much bigger than Uncle Ho's. The queue of people waiting to see him was a similar length, but in Hanoi the tourists had outnumbered the locals. The opposite was true here. We relinquished all bags and coats, and anything in our pockets apart from a wallet. Then we made our way along a kilometre of escalators and travelators, twisting and turning as we got deeper and deeper into Kim's palace. Finally we had to walk through a disinfecting airlock, to the chamber where Kim lies in a glass case as pink and lifelike as if he were just asleep. The queue shuffled forward and we could see what protocol was expected of us. People walked in groups of five, respectfully, around the body, pausing at each side to bow, then continuing clockwise. Where we were queuing, the faithful had to walk past us to get out. All the women were in tears, grief-stricken. This guy died thirteen years ago, but he is so beloved that his people still mourn him.

As we bowed solemnly at his feet, his right side, his head, and his left side, it all felt pretty weird. We were in the company of wailing women and sober gentlemen, and watched over by motionless soldiers from the KPA. We had to take a reality check. Here we were in the strangest country in the world, bowing to a bloke who's been dead for over a decade but is still president of his country; adored by his people but reviled in the west as an evil Stalinist who set back North Korea and its people by decades. But we're getting used to accepting weird stuff this week. It is starting to feel almost normal.

After paying our respects to President Kim we were given personal minidisc players so that we could listen to a recorded commentary. The English-accented actor narrating it spoke with a suitably shaking (and in our opinion, badly acted) voice. His words breaking up with grief, he explained how terrible it had been for the DPRK, and the world, when Kim Il-sung died. Having walked around the great hall looking at photos of the Great Man's many Great Achievements, the commentary finished and we handed back the players. We moved into another large room filled with awards given to the President by various states and nations around the world. It was an impressive collection, but mostly they were from places like Venezuela, Cuba and Syria, and small African republics. As well as high national awards, there were some honourary citizenships, doctorates and degrees. There were also a few awards from 'normal' countries, but when you looked closely you saw that, mostly, they were not from the governments, but from those countries' Communist parties, or Korean Friendship Associations, or Juche Study Groups. We looked hard, but we didn't see anything at all from the UK or the US.

Next we moved on to some rooms containing the lavish presidential train carriage and a heavily armoured Mercedes. Finally, it was suggested that a representative or two from our group might like to leave a message in the visitor's book. So two volunteers sat down at one of the many desks set aside for the purpose, and wrote something thoughtful and profound. After which we headed back on the long travelators and down the escalators to collect our coats and bags.

On the long, respectfully slow journey back to the cloakroom, the group got quite spread out. About half way back, there was a Korean lady ushering people out of a side exit. She didn't realise that we all needed to go back for our coats. The guides explained to her and she let us past, but unfortunately one member of our group was a bit too far back to see this, and so he allowed himself to be shooed out of the door. As easily as that, he had fallen out of the Protective Bubble. He had escaped! He later reported finding himself in a vast open square with no idea which way to go. He started walking in the direction he thought he needed to go, and was very soon surrounded by minders who strongly urged him to get back with his group straight away. When he said he was lost, they marched him straight back to where he needed to be—it seemed they knew exactly which group he was with. It was an interesting insight to just how closely we are being watched this week. We don't notice the watchers, but they are most definitely there.

Kimilsungia Flower Exhibition [Enlarge]

If you're famous, it is not uncommon to get a flower variety named after you. In fact Sir Winston Churchill, Britain's wartime Prime Minister, has a rose, a fuchsia, a narcissus, a Michaelmas daisy, an orchid and a very nice red sweet pea named after him. In the DPRK, two flowers are cultivated more than any other: the Dendrobium 'Kim Il-sung' (an orchid) and the Begonia x Tuberhybrida 'Kim Jong-il'. Otherwise known as the Kimilsungia and the Kimjongilia. At least once a year there is a big show dedicated to these two flowers, and we just happened to be in Pyongyang at the right time to visit. In the style of a village flower show, prizes are given for the finest specimens. The competitors are the various work units from around Pyongyang. Mrs Lee proudly showed us her office's stand, at which we noticed a specimen supplied by none other than Koryo Tours. While we were looking around, three young men approached us and asked in quite good English where we are from. This is a regular question from locals when you're travelling around the world, but we didn't really expect to be asked it in North Korea. It turned out that they were electrical engineering students from one of Pyongyang's many universities. Glenn did his degree in electrical engineering, so we chatted to them for quite a while. They asked Glenn whether it is true that power stations in our country don't need people to run them! Where did that come from?! We told them that a lot of things in our country are automated, but that they still need people. Maybe the DPRK propaganda machine tells them that we automate everything so everybody is unemployed.

Outside the exhibition hall a crowd had gathered. A man with a microphone had their rapt attention. Was it a protest? Get real, this is North Korea. He was singing karaoke! Mrs Lee translated the chorus of one of his songs for us. It went Cold noodles! Cold noodles! Pyongyang cold noodles! Catchy! Little did we realise what was for lunch later…

Next up was the Pyongyang English Language Bookshop. It sold souvenir books, postcards and stamps. We had a look, but couldn't really be tempted by much. The big draw for us was to be found outside the bookshop at a road intersection. Where most cities use traffic lights and roundabouts at their main junction, the DPRK's cities have traffic police officers. (They have traffic lights, but they are permanently switched off.) In central Pyongyang these officers are all young and female. They wear an immaculate blue uniform, a knee length skirt, white ankle socks and shiny black shoes. They direct the traffic with precise, robotic movements, and having watched them many times we still have no idea what their signs mean and how they actually control the traffic. See the video we took below, which actually contains a lot of traffic (for Pyongyang).

It was time for lunch, and our chance to sample the 'famous' Pyongyang cold noodles. What can we say? They are noodles, they are cold—refridgeratedly cold—and you eat them with mustard and vinegar added to taste. They are spicy and slimy, and hard to control with metal chopsticks. It's been several hours since our noodle feast, and we are not nostalgic for them yet, in fact we don't plan to visit another cold noodle restaurant in the forseeable future. But they were okay. We are told that cold noodles are what the North Koreans yearn for when they are away from home. We are yearning for a steak pie in an English country pub on a summer's afternoon, washed down with a nice pint of real ale; so we can at least sympathise with the spirit of this, if not the choice of food.

Pyongyang trolley bus [Enlarge]

Right, where were we? The guides took us back to the hotel for a brief rest. When we reconvened in the lobby Mrs Lee and the female guide from group B, Miss Che, were dressed in traditional Korean costume. We drove to the Triumphal Arch, a close replica of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris—except three meters taller, of course. The dates on it commemorate the year that Kim Il-sung left home at the age of fourteen to go off and fight for liberation from the Japanese and the year that the Japanese withdrew from the peninsula. Before too long we were back on the bus and ready to go. Just after we set off we had to stop for something. A trolley bus came up behind us and overtook, but he was limited in his space because he was attached to the overhead power lines. He clipped us and knocked our wing mirror off, and detached himself from the lines. Nobody seemed too bothered.

Pyongyang Circus [Enlarge]

We had a choice of where to go next: a trip to the park or a visit to the circus. We wanted to do both, but the thought of being part of a group of eager photographers snapping 'real' North Koreans having a picnic in the park swung it. We opted for the circus. We're getting pretty fed up with a couple of the people in our group (and Group B has a few also). Their SLRs are permanently whizzing indiscreetly and their long lenses are always poking out of the bus windows, causing embarrassment to the reticent North Koreans, who mostly do not like their photos being taken, and who are obliged by law to report to the authorities all photography that they notice, as pointed out by Simon in the pre-tour briefing!

The circus was of the old variety, with performing animals. We don't like that (although the poor animals were very talented), so we don't have much to say about it. But while we were there, accompanied by Mrs Lee, something strange happened. A shadowy man came in to the dark auditorium and attracted Mrs Lee's attention. She suddenly jumped up and ran up the stairs and out of the building, virtually climbing over us in her haste. She was gone for around fifteen minutes, and when she came back she was white and shaking. She spent the next few minutes repeatedly turning round towards us, doing a head count. It seemed that in the process of splitting two groups between two destinations, they had lost someone. That is very, very serious.

After the show we tried to get Mrs Lee to tell us what had happened, but all she would say is that there had been a calculation error. We never did find out exactly what the problem was, but we think everybody was in place all along, but they had somehow miscounted the group in the dark circus.

We stopped next at the Pyongyang stamp exhibition, the best place to see the world-famous collection of DPRK stamps, if you're into that sort of thing. There was a shopping frenzy—it seemed that several people had been waiting for this for a long time, and had shopping lists of particularly rare or interesting North Korean stamps to buy. We settled for a couple of postcards and everyday stamps.

Soirée in Kim Il-sung Square [Enlarge]

We were knackered. Three long and full days had worn us out. We could have done with an evening off, but we had another activity scheduled tonight: a soirée. After dinner we drove back to Kim Il-sung Square. If you've only seen one place in North Korea on the TV, this square is it—it's where they have their famous mass military parade doubling as a don't mess with us show of strength to the west. We parked and walked through a building and up onto the steps in front of the Grand People's Study House. Facing out onto the empty square we stood and shivered and waited for something to happen. In front of us film and television cameras were setting up, and a band and choir were getting into position. As we had been driving around all day we had seen huge groups of young men and women standing in the streets, waiting for the start of the soirée. This was no intimate soirée, it was a North Korean mass soirée. What else? The dancers came into the square, arranged as vast battalions. Looking back down the street we couldn't see the end of the lines, and the crowd stretched as far as we could see into the distance—all the way to the Taedong River, and even at the base of the Juche Tower on the other side! That was over a kilometre away! When the square was full the band started playing and the massed crowd launched into their dances. The steps were simple, but the dancers were so perfect and their timing was immaculate. The overall effect was breathtaking, and typically North Korean. The people must wish it was the president's birthday every day. We learned that Kim Yong-nam (the Chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme People's Assembly, one of the top three in the country along with Kim Jong-il and Kim Yong-il) was on the balcony above us watching the proceedings.

What happened next, after about half an hour, was a complete surprise. We were invited to join in! Mr Lee tried to drag us all off the stands and into the square. Isla was off in a flash! But if you know Glenn, you know that one thing he does not do is dance, ever.

With Mr. Lee at the soirée [Enlarge]

Except now!

[Glenn says: "I had a What the hell? moment and thought to myself How many times in my life am I going to get the chance to take part in a soirée in the Kim Il-sung Square, along with umpteen thousand other dancers, watched over by Kim Yong-nam, and televised by North Korean TV? The answer to this question was 'One' and so I joined in.]

Mr Lee came with us, split up a North Korean couple and paired them up with us. They were primed to receive some westerners and they looked after us admirably. As more guests joined in, the perfect formations in our corner of the square broke down into complete chaos. Isla's partner was a friendly translator called Mr Che, and Glenn's partner was so nice that he didn't want to give her back. We thought that this week couldn't get any better, or stranger, but this evening it did. We surely can never beat this.

All our photos from today are here. You can see everywhere we go in Google Earth by going to our progress map, then clicking the Google Earth tab.

Back to Pyongyang and the Mass Games!

Another exhausting but incredible day. Here's the story…

The hotel was not able to deliver on its promise of half an hour's hot water this morning. At breakfast, we discovered that we were lucky even to have running cold water in our room, as most other people had just had a bath that was plugged and full of water. And a bucket.

On the itinerary we had been given before the tour started, one of the items for yesterday was 'a walk in the old town'. We were looking forward to this part, because so far we have been strictly segregated from 'real' North Korean people. But the guides never mentioned the possibility of doing this walk yesterday—it seemed that this item had been cancelled. We wondered whether it was because of the people who wandered away from the group when we were up at the Kim Il-sung statue yesterday, showing that they couldn't be trusted with something really risky for the guides. The guides certainly did not need to willingly put themselves under any more pressure than necessary for a bunch of tourists who can't follow simple instructions like "Do not leave the group".

We got back on the bus ready to return to Pyongyang, and then Simon from Koryo Tours said that he had managed to get special dispensation for us all to go for a walk around the old town! Whether he pulled any strings with Mr and Mrs Lee to secure this walk for us, we will never know.

There were two conditions. (1) There is to be absolutely no wandering off. (2) The cameras stay on the bus.

This seemed like a fair trade to us. We stepped outside. Like children on a school trip, the group of forty tourists walked in a long crocodile, two by two, along the road to the old city gate. It was immediately clear that this sort of thing does not happen every day in Kaesong. In the capital Pyongyang, the people are almost getting used to the sight of foreigners now, but here in provincial North Korea, we were still a novelty: fascinating to some and deeply frightening to others. People were crossing the road to avoid us, children were staring, people coming out of buildings and side streets were startled and didn't know how to react. We said Anyonghashimnika! (hello!) to some of the passers by, and waved at some of the children. We got no overt responses, but we felt that we had received a discreet smile or two.

Our walk from the Kaesong Folk Hotel to the Nam Gate was about 600 metres. It was easily the strangest and most intense few minutes of our whole round-the-world trip so far. We walked past dark shops and houses, and a thousand interesting corners around which we would have loved to peek. But of course it was impossible.

This was extreme tourism.

The two buses sped past us and waited at the Nam Gate to pick us up. The guides didn't want us to cause even more of a disturbance by walking back the way we had come. As the engines started up there was a buzz on board—if you weren't there, it is impossible to describe to you how significant the walk had been.

We drove out of town and back to Pyongyang, and the guides must have breathed a huge sigh of relief that their risk had paid off without incident. It is amazing how in this country full of the most strange sights, such a simple thing like taking a short walk in town will prove to be one of the most memorable things we have done. No matter how much the regime tries to keep knowledge of the outside world at bay, surely this sort of complete cultural barrier cannot last much longer.

Monument to the Three Charters for National Reunification [Enlarge]

As we came to the edge of Pyongyang we saw the Monument to the Three Charters for National Reunification, built in 2001. This vast statue bridges the Reunification Highway and forms a gateway to the city. It was our first of the many bizarre, gargantuan monuments in Pyongyang on our itinerary. We hadn't seen any of the city on the previous times that we had driven through, as it was always either dark or foggy. But today it was clear and sunny. The statue is impressive: two female figures, thirty metres high, dressed in traditional Korean dress and holding aloft a map of a unified Korea. We parked just in front of it and got out to take pictures, and Glenn waited a while for a car to come along and drive under it to give a sense of scale.

We drove across the town centre to the Mansu Art Studio. This is where the statues and mosaics of the Great Leader are made, and where they also make beautiful paintings and celadons. We were shown around several workshops where the work of the artists was on display. In the second room, we met two young male artists who had a display of oil paintings. The work was amazing—highly skilled, as all the work is in the DPRK, but some of it was quite western in style. Korean taste in art looks, to our eyes, garish. To Korean eyes, our western taste is insipid. One painting caught our eyes more than all the others. It was fully western in style, and probably the most insipid picture in the room. It showed a Pyongyang street on a snowy, foggy morning. The artist had perfectly captured the grey tower blocks, the trolley buses with their dim lights shining through the gloom, the people hurrying from one cold place to another. We both fell instantly in love with it. We have never bought an original painting before—what little 'art' we used to own was cheap and came ready-framed. We asked the guide, via Mrs Lee, how much the large oil painting of Pyongyang was. It was 100 euros (GBP 68 / USD 136). We said we would like to buy it. Mrs Lee said to hang on, as she thought she could get us a better deal. Moments later she had done a deal for 100 US dollars! (GBP 50 / EUR 74) We paid quickly, and also persuaded the artist to write down the name of the painting and a biography of himself. We're going to have to FedEx the painting back home when we get to Beijing.

Ryugyong Hotel [Enlarge]

It was 12:15 and time for lunch. We drove across town towards the Manyongdae area of Pyongyang for lunch at the Pine Tree Mountain Restaurant. On the way we got our first view of Pyongyang's most contentious sight: the Ryugyong Hotel. At 105 floors and 330 metres, this reinforced concrete structure was started in 1987, but after five years construction stopped. It has remained as a shell for the last fifteen years. It would have been the world's tallest hotel if completed (it is still 9 metres taller than the next tallest, the Burj-al-Arab in Dubai). At 3,000 rooms and 360,000 square metres of gross floor area, it would also have been one of the world's largest buildings.

The rumour outside the DPRK is that the design is flawed, the concrete is of such a poor quality that the building cannot be finished, and that it cannot be demolished either, so it stands as an embarrassing monument to everything that is wrong with North Korea's system. We were pretty impressed with the architects for trying, as it certainly leaves a mark in your mind when you look at it. Before our trip we had read that the people of the DPRK, including tour guides, are under orders to deny that the Ryugyong exists, even though it can be clearly seen from virtually anywhere in the city. In actual fact, our guides did not deny its existence although they were not particularly keen to talk about it. They said that construction is on hold because at the moment Pyongyang has more hotel rooms than it can fill, so it is a waste of money to continue work at present. An excellent photo we have found from inside the fenced-off site is here.

Paying respects to the Great Leader [Enlarge]

Propaganda is all around you in Pyongyang, in the monolithic statues and mosaics around the city, but at our next stop we got an inkling of how it is used in film and television. After lunch, we drove to the Pyongyang Film Studios where most of the DPRK's movies are made. Near the entrance, small children were queuing to lay flowers at the feet of another statue of the Great Leader. In this effigy he is depicted with a fatherly arm around a young girl, as he pours forth his wisdom to the film-makers of the DPRK.

The latest blockbuster had just wrapped and the lot was quiet. The film studio manager showed us around some of their outdoor sets where they film most of their epics. The sets are all historical, and all set in north-east Asia: North Korea in the 1930s and 50s, China and Japan in the 1930s, and South Korea in the 1950s.

South Korea at the Pyongyang Film Studios [Enlarge]

It seems that the entire output of the studios is designed to promote the heroic struggle of the people of the DPRK and to reinforce the message that all the hardships of the past and present are down to the Japanese colonialists and the US imperialist aggressors. Of course it is impossible for North Korean films to be made on location in other countries, and we were told that cost limitations preclude filming on location even inside the DPRK so the film studios have to use and reuse the few sets they have. One building we were shown was built and painted in a different historical style on each of the four sides, so it could be used for films from four different eras in Korea's past. Someone asked whether North Korea has big movie stars. "Of course!" was the reply, but sadly they were all off set today. That seemed to signal the end of our visit.

Captured US jeep [Enlarge]

The main war museum in Pyongyang is the Victorious Fatherland Liberation War Museum. Like so many of Pyongyang's buildings, it is enormous. To see all the exhibition rooms would take days and, as usual, we only had about 45 minutes. A woman in immaculate army uniform showed us around. She was efficient and strict, a bit reminiscent of Lotte Lenya playing Rosa Klebb in From Russia with Love. When she told us to move to the next room, we moved. For the first time in our trip so far, our group of committed independent travellers was fully under control. The war museum houses all kinds of military paraphernalia from captured US planes, guns and helmets to documentary evidence of the misdemeanours and war crimes perpetrated against the DPRK by—you guessed it—the US imperialist aggressors. The best was saved for last. At the top of the building in a revolving room is the world's largest 360 degree panorama. Since this was the first cylindrical panorama we had ever seen we had no frame of reference, but it was indeed very big. A huge canvas ran around the outside of the room, on which the background was painted. In front of the canvas was about five metres of 3D scenery—including, apparently, a real American tank. It was very well done, so much so that you could hardly see the join between the painted background and the 'real' foreground. The subject of the scene was a generic fight in the Victorious Fatherland Liberation War, in which the Korean People's Army has recently retaken a village and triumphantly beaten the US army. Did you doubt it?

Changgwang Health Complex barber shop [Enlarge]

Where do you go in Pyongyang when you need a haircut? To the Changgwang Health Complex, of course. Sadly we were here to admire the facilities, not for highlights and a manicure. Before we could see the place we had to remove our shoes and put on a pair of flip-flops. They were one-size-fits-all (or not, as the case may be) so Isla's flipped and flopped with every step, while Glenn had to walk around the building on tiptoes. Looking around the group it seemed as if no one's shoes fitted. We first visited the barber's shop, where a number of hairstyles were available. We were more interested in the North Korean TV showing in the waiting room. Some members of the group said that they could pick it up in their hotel room—we must try to find it tonight amid all the satellite stations we are given as privileged guests. Next we were divided into single sex groups and led off in opposite directions. Isla and the girls' group walked through the women's changing room, through the gym to the outdoor children's pool where two dozen boys and girls were playing around in the water and sliding down the play-slide. They didn't seem particularly surprised to be visited by a group of foreigners—either they were used to it, or they were expecting us. At the same time, Glenn's group of chaps was viewing the Olympic-sized pool and diving boards. The two groups swapped locations without bumping into one another.

We were reunited before too long and bussed off to our final stop of the afternoon, the captured American navy vessel USS Pueblo. Wikipedia has the full story. There have been recent talks about repatriating the Pueblo, but for the time being she is moored in the Taedong River, just a couple of bridges down from the Yanggakdo Hotel, and has so far attracted over a quarter of a million visitors. We walked around the boat, admired the shell holes and the spying equipment, then we were shown the most anti-American documentary of our trip so far on an impressively modern flat-panel TV and DVD combo.

By now Mr and Mrs Lee wanted us back on the bus, quickly. Tonight we were going to the Mass Games and time was running short. Some people in the group had asked if we could stop at the hotel for a quick shower before dinner, since we had not had hot water this morning. The Yanggakdo wasn't far away, but we had to drive the long way round to get to it and by the time we got there we only really had time to go upstairs to our room, dump our bags, find our jumpers and go back downstairs, remembering that the lifts are notoriously unreliable. True to form, our lift took us all the way down from Floor 37 to Floor 3, then for some inexplicable reason reversed direction and started going back up. We pressed lots of buttons and persuaded it to stop at Floor 12, where we got out and had to wait for another one that was one its way down.

Dinner was another traditional Korean feast: hotpot. Like the royal lunch in Kaesong, we each had a small burner in front of us and a bowl filled with soup. Once the soup was boiling we added raw meat, then let that cook for ten minutes. We added vegetables, including green chillies and let it cook another few minutes, then finally an egg. It was a nice idea, but to be honest a chef would have made a better job than us.

Arirang Mass Games [Enlarge]

We were good and warm now, and ready for the highlight of our trip—billed by Koryo Tours as "The most amazing thing that you will ever see, guaranteed". North Korea doesn't go in for internal competitive sports too much. (Whooping other countries is OK, but not each other.) So, as a form of entertainment, a sporting endeavour, a mass health drive, a show of power, and a demonstration of what can be achieved when the individual submits totally to the needs of the collective, the DPRK gives the world The Arirang Mass Games.

We arrived at the Rungrado May Day Stadium at 19:15. Predictably, the stadium is big. In fact it's the largest stadium in the world, with seats for 150,000. North Koreans (privileged ones only, of course) pay a pittance to see the Mass Games; but westerners pay anything from 50 to 300 euros. On Simon's advice, we all went for the standard 50 euro tickets as there is very little difference. He was right—we ended up right next to the 300 euro enclosure, in pretty much prime viewing position.

The stadium is like any huge sports stadium, open air and mostly made of concrete. From the carpark it's a short walk up some steps and then in through one of the twenty-something entrances. Then there's a short tunnel which brings you out about halfway up the side of the grandstand. As we walked down the tunnel, a wall of colour greeted us, accompanied by a wall of noise. This was twenty thousand schoolchildren on the opposite side of the stadium, holding up large books of coloured card, shouting in chorus, banging their card books and snapping them open and shut to create huge mosaic slogans and pictures. It was all done in perfect unison. It was breathtaking. Literally. We all sat down and Isla took a while to summon enough self-control to close her mouth, which had fallen open in wonder. We just sat and stared for a good ten minutes. And the show hadn't even started! How are the banks of children kept in time so well? Does an electric current run through each seat every time they are supposed to flip their cards? In the quest for perfection in North Korea anything is possible. Actually, each bank has a 'conductor' standing down at the front, with a flag. That explains the timing, but we never figured out how they know which page to go to and who exactly the conductor is pointing at. The kids must have the entire show memorised. As you look at our photos on the right, bear in mind that the huge backdrops you see behind the dancers are this human mosaic. You can see it in action in the video at the bottom.

Arirang Mass Games [Enlarge]

A silent troupe of dancers walked out in straight, very straight, lines and stood on their marks. This was the opening night and there was some extra pomp to be gone through. At 20:00 the speeches began, in alternating Korean and English for the benefit of the tourists, of which there were quite a few. As the speeches went on we were filmed copiously both by our camera man and by other North Korean videographers. Some of them had normal looking TV cameras, but several were using old cine cameras with rolls of film on the top. We guess these will be used for newsreels to be shown in the more remote villages and towns. We can only wonder what commentary will put on top of the footage of the western tourists.

Arirang Mass Games [Enlarge]

Then, with great fanfare, the show began. It was impossible to know where to look. If you watched the card holding students making their amazing pictures, you missed the dancers. But by concentrating on the dancers you couldn't watch the pictures change. It was a joy to take in the whole thing, then to switch you attention to a small group of performers and watch how the whole uniform mass was composed of individuals, every one dancing their socks off, whether they were right at the front or tucked away in a dark corner at the back. The show was made up of lots of different scenes. Dancers gave way to torch and flag twirling young men. Then tiny children, no more than seven or eight years old, performed headstands and back flips. They were followed by skipping elves, then a marching band the size of a small army. The army slot culminated in a montage of the late Kim Il-sung being displayed on the human video wall, to rapturous applause from the adoring crowd. This show was in honour of his 95th birthday, after all.

Next there was a slightly surreal portion where dancing goats, pigs, chickens and rabbits emerged, accompanied by several types of vegetable. This was the farming slot. The creatures moved aside to reveal baby animals behind them. Behind the chickens, however, were dancing eggs. Just the dancers' little white legs were visible under the shell. It was adorable, bizarre and comedic in equal measure.

Arirang Mass Games [Enlarge]

Then the dancing gave way to some acrobatics. The lights went out and spotlights picked out two acrobats, a man and a woman, who were swinging at a great height above the stadium floor. They had no safety harnesses. They twirled around each other, the man clinging by his finger tips, the woman dangling by her feet, from his feet. And then she fell! There was a genuine collective gasp from the audience. For an instant we thought that there had been an awful accident, but the spotlight followed her down and into the safety net that had secretly appeared in the darkness and now covered the whole stadium floor. Acrobats started being shot up into the air, flying in colossal arcs which spanned the entire length of the world's largest stadium, before falling into the net, while others whizzed through the air on zip lines.

A huge inflatable globe was wheeled out, a united Korea illuminated in red, and all the dancers, marchers, acrobats and performers took to the arena for one final sensory overload of sound, colour and synchronisation. And then it was all over.

It was, as promised, absolutely the most amazing thing we have ever seen. The short video below and our photos cannot even begin to do it justice. It was indescribable. It made an Olympic opening ceremony look like a school play. We were exhausted just watching it, but the performers have to do it again every night for the next month! As we crossed the car park we mingled with thousands of the gymnasts, all justifiably buzzing from their performance. The bus took us back again to the Yanggakdo hotel, and we went back to our room to look at our photos and to try to start making some sense of this amazing, incomprehensible country, where almost the entire population lives with no electricity or running water but where they can put on the greatest show on earth. Where nobody is free to think or act for themselves, but where the people truly love and exalt the leaders who enslave them, in a way that the subjects of the communist rule in the Soviet Union or China never did.

Click the button in the video below to watch it—it is just a few bits and pieces that we filmed during the show; we weren't allowed a tripod and anyway most of the time we were too busy being amazed to even think about using the camera.

All our photos from today are here. You can see everywhere we go in Google Earth by going to our progress map, then clicking the Google Earth tab.

Day 141
Kaesong to Pyongyang

This map shows the route we took in this post. Click it to see larger maps of our whole route at flickr.

Maps are taken from the CIA World Factbook.

Update 7th May 2007: We were on North Korean TV when we went to the Mass Games! It was recorded and put on YouTube by atiu88. See clip below. We are shown on the right hand side of the screen at 01:28. The clip is worth watching anyway because it includes lots of stuff that we didn't include on our video, and is generally better quality.