The door slowly cracks open

A 40-minute drive takes us from here to the border of the world’s most secretive and oppressive communist nation.

Last weekend, I went with four friends on the second-ever foreign group tour from South Korea to Kesong City in the DPRK.

The novelty that had awed me in my stay at Kumgangsan was replaced this time with a grim sense of the horrendous tragedy of that land and people. In my entire first year in East Asia till now, this second North Korea trip has been my most intriguing and most sobering experience.

“How was North Korea?” is a question I hope I’m never asked. What can I possibly say?

As I sit here with my B.A. in journalism, my head clear after a week back in the real world… all words still fail me. Even the best photos anyone has smuggled back fall abysmally short of conveying the impression of cruel emptiness that one absorbs from the very air.

Although tempted to give it up as hopeless, I’ll at least relate some basics.

Of course, we were shown great landmarks, historic relics and beautiful scenery. But most importantly, although tightly controlled and closely watched, we were allowed to see some of the actual city.

Ancient, crumbling buildings accentuated enormous signs, banners and monuments revering the nation’s leaders. Quiet streets were traversed only by an occasional car–usually a very old one–filled with soldiers. One or two empty buses (donated by South Korea) made their rounds just for our viewing pleasure, as did a few privileged pedestrians. The rest who weren’t out working in rice fields seemed to all huddle behind corners or up alleys, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of us over walls when guards weren’t looking.

I did have one unforgettable encounter. First, two things must be understood that made this a surprising experience. One is that this entire tour, down to the peanuts sold on the hike, is a huge money grab for North Korea’s impoverished government. Secondly, Americans–clearly identified as such on the large id. card we must wear–are generally watched more closely and treated more harshly than others.

So, the encounter. Before our waterfall hike, I stopped at a snack stand to buy a $1 water bottle. I gave the North Korean staff lady $5. She then handed me two bottles, and carefully counted out ten dollars change. Totally confused, I tried to give her back a water and her money. She smiled and shushed me, quickly turning her attantion to the next Korean buyer.

This was the most obvious of several things I saw on this trip that made me think: The more contact North Koreans–even government workers–begin to have with Westerners, the sooner the knots of brainwashing and mindless animosity will begin to loosen and unravel.