by Devan Hawkins
This summer a land mine injured two South Korean soldiers. South Korea responded by reinstating cross border propaganda broadcasts and North Korea responded in turn by with shelling. But as these periodic arousals of tensions between the North and South often do, the story disappeared just as quickly as it arrived with relatively little change in the status-quo between the two countries, which has persisted in much the same way since the end of the Korean War in 1953.
It is a surprising fact to many foreigners, like myself, that although much of the international news from the Korean peninsula concerns incidence like these, within South Korea news about this over 60 year-old conflict receives comparatively little attention. Indeed, during a recent trip to Seoul, the only media coverage I saw of the conflict (limited to images and English language media) focused on a controversy about some images of a North Korean missile launch being Photoshopped. So what explains the seeming indifference of South Koreans themselves when much of the rest of the world is so fascinated by the divide between the modern South and proto-Stalinist North?
Curious to see the reality of this North/South divide first hand, I took a tour of a portion of the 260 kilometer long demilitarized zone (DMZ) that separates North and South Korea. There are many tour companies throughout Seoul running these tours, offering visits to various historically significant sites along the border for between 40,000 and 130,000 won ($35 to $115) depending on where they stop. I found it difficult to find a tour for the dates I wanted, even while booking a month in advance, which says something about the popularity of these tours. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find any company that was able to book the full DMZ tour, which includes a trip to the Join Security Area (JSA) the only portion of the DMZ where North and South Korean forces stand face to face. Because of the sensitive nature of the JSA, tours there require advanced notification of participants at least three days in advance.
The tour I eventually booked was planned to include a stop at an observation site along the DMZ and the third infiltration tunnel, one of the numerous tunnels from which members of the North Korean Army have tried to infiltrate the South. Unfortunately, I was in Seoul during the height of the MERS scare. From the day I arrived in the city until the day I left, I probably saw the number of Koreans wearing surgical masks in public double. So when the day of the tour came around, the tunnel had was closed due to concerns about the spread of the disease in its close confines. The tour company replaced the trip to the Infiltration Tunnel with one to the Bridge of Freedom, formerly a location where prisoners of war could be repatriated to the South.
Traveling out of Seoul and towards the DMZ lead us along the Han River where constantly manned guard towers were spaced about every 100 meters. Our tour guide pointed out to us how vital these towers were to the security of Seoul. He described how there have been amphibious encroachments into the city by North Korean operatives using the river. He also mentioned, nonchalantly, that North Korea presently has the capability to destroy Seoul in less than two hours. I, along with some of the others on the tour with me, was incredulous of this claim. Pyongyang has certainly threatened on numerous occasions to turn Seoul into a “sea of flames,” but would a modern country like South Korea really be powerless to stop a destructive attack from the North on their most important city? These comments seemed to confirm a suspicion I had when I signed up for the tour, that although these tour are, as far as I know, not sponsored by the government, they do to some extent serve a propaganda function.
However, other than those early experiences, for the most part the tour did not feel like a propaganda exercise. Of course, the negative aspects of life in the North were emphasized, but this would be hard not to do considering the indisputable realities of life in the Kim family’s North Korea. Most of what was said did not feel over the top. This was refreshing. Often stories from the North that make their way to the United States tend to be filtered through the most fervently anti-North Korea media or are just plain inaccurate. For example, a report that Kim Jung Un’s uncle had been executed by being fed to hungry dogs, which was picked up by media throughout the United States, turned out to not be true. It originated with satirical Chinese social media post.
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s seen from the overlook at the top of the Museum, the contrast between the two sides of the DMZ was stark. Within sight of the viewing platform were both the dense skyline of Seoul and the vast expanse of suburbs surrounding it. Turning 90 degrees and facing the North revealed a small farming community with a few crudely built structures, some of which lacked roofs. There were about twenty North Koreans working on the farm. The area of the DMZ near Seoul is one of the most populated parts of the DMZ owing to the fertile farming made possible by the Han River.
The comparison between the two sides is certainly somewhat unfair. If Pyongyang, North Korea’s main metropolis, was as close to the DMZ as Seoul, the difference between the two sides of the border would be less obvious. But even the development of Pyongyang is somewhat of a farce. The over 1,000 foot tall Ryugyong Hotel, the city’s centerpiece, has remained unfinished for decades. Although I’m sure there are some rural parts of the South not altogether different from what I could see in the North. The voyeuristic nature of watching others go about their normal lives was odd. These tours take place daily. Anyone who goes to the observation deck cannot help but wonder what those on the other side of the border think about the gawking tourists watching them, assuming they had strong enough binoculars to look. With the lack of context provided by the tour, watching these people was really just an opportunity to write whatever preconceptions we had about life in to the North on to these people across the border from us. To some they may have looked like suffering laborers, slaves to a dictatorial regime. More likely they were just regular farmers doing their job and making the most of their lives in often difficult circumstances.
After the museum, we headed to the Bridge of Freedom located adjacent to Imjingak Park. During the Korean War, the bridge was a place where defectors could cross from the North to the South, knowing that they that they may never be able to go to the other side again. Since the end of the war, families would come to the sight to remember their relatives from whom war had separated them. Despite the sadness associated with its history, the area has a carnival like atmosphere. For most Koreans, those memories are much more distant that they were in the last century, so to keep the location attracted for the younger generation an amusement park, complete with a Viking ship has been built near the bridge.
The bridge itself was next to a rice patty field. Its blocked entrance was covered in prayer flags, some of them new, many of them faded. It is difficult to imagine how long they will keep being put there. Being ignorant of both Korean and the Hangeul alphabet used to write it, I couldn’t read what they said. But their sentiments were obvious.
The two Koreas are certainly different worlds. Over 60 years of separation has had a dramatic effect. The languages they both share, although still mutually intelligible, have diverged. Even physiologically, South Koreans are taller than North Koreans. In Don Oberdorfer‘s book The Two Koreas he describes how when two North Korean infiltrators were captured and taken to a South Korean hospital “one of the North Koreans was overheard to say to the other that he could never marry a South Korean women—‘they’re too big for us.’” So if the two Koreas are not only divided by a border, but also in these other fundamental ways—is there hope for reunification? Or will that 250 kilometer long border which now feels like an anachronistic remnant of the Cold War, destined to fade as others like it have, become just a border like any other, dividing its people not only politically, but also in a more fundamental way?
Ultimate DMZ and JSA: Private Tour including North Korea Spy Commando Invasion Route
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Devan Hawkins is a freelance writer from Massachusetts. He has had travel writing published on TravelMag.com and writing about other topics in the Islamic Monthly, Antipode, and Radical Philosophy.
All photos are by Devan Hawkins:
The Bridge of Freedom
Prayer Flags located near the Bridge of Freedom
View of North Korea from observation deck
View of South Korea from the same observation deck
The proposed Seoul-Pyongyang-Paris train in museum
by Leslie Hebert 
We retreated out of the icy downpour into a restaurant just in time for a traditional Chinese lunch of fresh stir-fried meat and vegetable dishes. The afternoon turned out to be a bit foggy, with filtered sun coming through the surrounding glossy wet Karst Mountains. As we walked around the lakes and canals towards the Li river, it seemed like a dreamscape. There was an ethereal glow over the city with the moist warm afternoon air.
Christmas morning was grey, but without rain. Yanhua had given me a choice of going to her friends sisters wedding or back to her Red Yao village of Huang Luo to meet her family. I wanted to see what village life was like – I had been to enough weddings – as participant and observer! Three hours later we arrived at Yanhua family’s hotel. Her mother, Pan Luifeng, in full hand knitted traditional dress, greeted us as we stepped off the bus. Yanhua changed into the Red Yao woven clothing that young and single girls wear. Shortly after we arrived the three of us headed across a swinging cable bridge to take some photographs and video at the riverside. I immediately felt I had know this family for a long time. They laughed and sang songs together while my camera clicked away. The village name, Huang Lou, actually means Long Hair. Yanhua’s mother holds the Guinness world record for the longest hair. It is very black and shinny, and wrapped around her head in a traditional bonnet style.
In the afternoon Yanhua and I took a bus trip up the narrow terraced valley to Dazhai Village. From there we hike for two hours up smooth stone steps to the “Thousand Layers to Heaven” viewpoint. The terraces truly did disappear up into the etherial fog. It was so quiet on the side of the mountain – only our heavy breathing from climbing thousands of steps could be heard. We were treated to a little sun, but the clouds thickened on our return and a cool light mist fell on our shoulders. This was Christmas Day – what a special way to spend it no matter the weather was!
Grandma sat across from me with a glint in her eye. It was that kind of glint that means “I think you are the right man for my granddaughter!” At the start of the dinner I stood up thanked everyone for making me feel so welcomed on my special day of the year to spend with family. Yanhua’s mother returned the thanks by saying I am part of the family and always welcomed!
One of the delights of staying for a few nights in a place, rather than visiting for a day, is having the time for unexpected discoveries. We passed the night in a youth hostel, and breakfast came courtesy of the vending machine: a variety of different flavored minute noodles. Another machine offered a range of both hot and cold coffees, all served in a can, the temperature indicated by the color. The man on reception even made us some green tea in a gorgeous ceramic pot.
Within minutes, we’d spotted our first deer. Soon we saw them everywhere, some condescending to be patted, others scampering away should we venture too close. Meanwhile, paths and secluded walkways enticed us in all directions. There are more than enough temples to satisfy the most ardent visitors; tea houses to partake of refreshment, vending machines for cold drinks and ice-cream (flavors including green tea), and manicured lawns stretching down to lakes for simply relaxing. We even stumbled across some vegetable gardens and a few small rice paddies, all grown by the monks who live in the temple complexes. Walking down an alley of stone stairs, we came across a group of ladies painting.
Everywhere we walked, the deer were relaxing in the shade, nibbling the grass, or simply wandering at leisure.
The walkways around the shrine are lined with some 3000 stone and bronze lanterns. These have been donated over the centuries as tokens of thankfulness and faith. During festivals in February and mid August they are lit: a spectacular time to visit. You can also buy a slip of paper (omikuji) with your fortune; if unfavorable, simply tie it to one of the trees to negate its effects. Behind the temple is the Rokuen, a botanical garden preserving Japanese plants, and famous for its wisteria, plus its Homotsuden, a hall displaying costumes, swords and ancient armor.
There are two ways to climb Fuji san. The most popular way is to climb up the mountain to the 7th or 8th station’s inn and sleep until a few hours before sunrise. This even gives you time to rest and even cook a small meal in a space oven. The other way is to climb up the mountain all night and down the next day without stopping. Guess which we opted for?
The spirit of Mt. Fuji had some surprises in store for us. The first hint this would not be a pleasant climb came when our leader, Daniel, informed us the weather forecast said “tokidoki ame” or “scattered showers.” Despite this news, our group headed into a large shop in the 5th station, with an air of naïve excitement. I put my valuables in a locker and purchased a souvenir wooden walking stick. Walking sticks can be branded for a few yen at each station. Each stamp is unique.
Maybe this angered Sengen-Sama. Next thing I knew, I was drenched, despite having raingear, and clinging to black, slippery rocks etched into the mountainside. The wind was strong. I worried one of us would be launched off the path in a strong gust. This was tokki dokki ame?
With Mt. Fuji behind us, I rode public transportation back to my home in Mito, Japan. We must have looked strange to the commuters. Everyone in our group was dripping with water, caked in mud and aching from head to toe. Trails of dirt mapped our movements. I continued to rely on the support of our walking sticks while climbing the stairs in the subway. I had suffered from a minor case of altitude sickness on the way down the mountain. Sick and sleep deprived, I was able to sleep sitting, standing up or lying on the floor while waiting for the bus. Despite being dispirited, two of my friends and I agreed to try the climb again next year, when the experience was not as fresh in our minds.
Two years later, I sadly packed my belongings to leave Japan. Japan had been my home for so long, and I had to leave quickly due to rough personal circumstances. I had no idea how to get my Mt. Fuji walking stick on the plane. It was too long for my suitcases. Airport officials would not be amused if I took it through check in. But I did not want to part with it. The stick represented my determination despite the blackest of circumstances and physically grueling of challenges.
