It is possible to spend hours in Pyongyang being driven from one impressive, bombastic monument to the Juche Idea, the Korean adaptation of Marxism, after another. We only had a single full day in the city, and our guides were determined that we would make the most of it. This is the way trips to North Korea work: you may not travel without a guide, and the guides have the final say over what you are allowed to see.
We liked our guides: the serious, senior Mr. Ju, with his rimless spectacles and short-sleeved casual shirt. Mr. Kim, older, smiling, a football fan who talked up North Korea's quarter-final appearance in the 1966 World Cup, while claiming that South Korea reaching the semi-finals in 2002 was a less impressive achievement, "Because they played in their home country". His partisanship soon melted when I brought up the 2010 World Cup though, as he joked about his country's 7-0 defeat against Portugal in that tournament. Then there was Miss Choe, the youngest of the three guides, with her heels and smart handbag and efficient, business-like knowledge and presentation.
There were so many statues and monuments that now, just a short time later, it is difficult to recall each one. At the statues of the leaders - always referred to as "President Kim Il-sung" and "Comrade Kim Jong-il" - we were obliged to lay flowers in front of the towering brass figures. After we had done this and retreated to take photos, a group of nursery school-age girls did the same, wearing shiny buckle shoes and frilly dresses and lead by their two teachers.
We visited a book shop on a busy street corner, where you can purchase such titles as "The U.S. Imperialists Started the Korean War" and "Kim Jong-il on the Juche Thought". From here we walked to Kim Il-sung Square, where the huge military parades take place. Today it was quiet. Anyone who wandered too far from the group was quickly called back, or even stopped by an interested "passer-by" who would shepherd them back in the right direction.
At the memorial site for the martyrs of the resistance movement against the Japanese occupation, we laid flowers for a second time. Here, there is row upon row of busts depicting the martyrs in affectionately close detail. There are hundreds of busts in all, looking over the city from a hill top, the monuments and skyscrapers and giant triangular form of the Ryugong Hotel looking like the front cover of a science fiction paperback.
On we drove. A guide in traditional costume showed us the birthplace of Kim Il-sung, set in an idyllic park where the cicadas buzzed. A group of local women and children arrived at the collection of restored huts where the Great Leader spent his childhood. We asked them to join us for a picture. Apprehensive at first, once a couple joined they relaxed and we took a picture, and said "thank you" and "goodbye" and whatever else we could manage in our on-the-hoof Korean. We showed them the pictures and the children crowded around to see them as children do everywhere.
By now it was late afternoon. We were taken for a five-stop ride on the Pyongyang Metro. Mr. Ju stated that Western rumours of the Pyongyang Metro consisting of only two stops and being full of actors, only there for the sake of tourists, are the product of "crazy imaginations". He had a point. This is at least one well-known rumour about North Korea that is obvious nonsense.
We went down into the station, a small, brown concrete building, the tunnel at the bottom of a deep escalator. On the platform, chandeliers looked as though they were powered by 60W bulbs and tiled mosaics of socialist murals adorned the walls, a far more attractive sight than the usual advertising seen in metro stations all over the world. Guards in dark blue uniforms stood at the edge holding red flags and inscrutable expressions. The inside of the train was dark with wood panelling and pictures of the leaders hung over the end of each carriage. We crowded in amongst the locals on their way home from work.
At the Pyongyang No.1 Department Store it was closing time. The shop assistants were all young women, wearing a uniform of a white blouse and bright pink skirt. I waited outside the front entrance near the bus. Two of the shop assistants left by the front door, turning right down a slope before disappearing around the back of the building. A third appeared and followed their path, before a fourth stopped near where I was standing and called out to her. They had a short discussion before the third girl turned on her heels, spinning 360 degrees to avoid a manhole cover, the breeze ruffling her uniform, and also vanished around the corner.
The Chongnyon Hotel has a karaoke room. Any other options for socialising after a hard day of sightseeing were lacking, so we decided to try it out. At first we were few and apprehensive. It was Miss Choe, our sensible and professional Korean guide, who broke the ice. She gave a respect-worthy rendition of Celine Dion's Titanic theme "My Heart Will Go On", which, rather than feeling awkward, made it natural to take part, and encouraged us all to try ourselves. Soon everyone was singing, not least of all yours truly, as I found myself, much to my surprise, desperately searching through the karaoke machine's list of songs for "Somewhere Beyond the Sea". Mr. Kim joined us and, later, Mr. Ju, who was less serious than his usual self after a beer or two. More members of our tour group arrived bearing gift shop liquor and good humour. It was a party.
Someone attempted to rap "Forgot About Dre" to hilarious consequences. Electric Six's "Gay Bar" was sung in duet to the nonplussed looks of the Koreans, who contributed with their own more traditional style of music. My next contribution was Barry Manilow's "Mandy", which I took far too seriously. One of the waitresses from the karaoke room's bar joined in. She was an expert and the only person to hit all the correct notes, doing this while waving her arms around like a pro. She then gave a performance of Flashdance, recreating the moves to perfection in what was probably the most bizarre moment, and fitting end to, a day and evening featuring some of the strangest and most memorable things I have ever seen.
We liked our guides: the serious, senior Mr. Ju, with his rimless spectacles and short-sleeved casual shirt. Mr. Kim, older, smiling, a football fan who talked up North Korea's quarter-final appearance in the 1966 World Cup, while claiming that South Korea reaching the semi-finals in 2002 was a less impressive achievement, "Because they played in their home country". His partisanship soon melted when I brought up the 2010 World Cup though, as he joked about his country's 7-0 defeat against Portugal in that tournament. Then there was Miss Choe, the youngest of the three guides, with her heels and smart handbag and efficient, business-like knowledge and presentation.
There were so many statues and monuments that now, just a short time later, it is difficult to recall each one. At the statues of the leaders - always referred to as "President Kim Il-sung" and "Comrade Kim Jong-il" - we were obliged to lay flowers in front of the towering brass figures. After we had done this and retreated to take photos, a group of nursery school-age girls did the same, wearing shiny buckle shoes and frilly dresses and lead by their two teachers.
We visited a book shop on a busy street corner, where you can purchase such titles as "The U.S. Imperialists Started the Korean War" and "Kim Jong-il on the Juche Thought". From here we walked to Kim Il-sung Square, where the huge military parades take place. Today it was quiet. Anyone who wandered too far from the group was quickly called back, or even stopped by an interested "passer-by" who would shepherd them back in the right direction.
At the memorial site for the martyrs of the resistance movement against the Japanese occupation, we laid flowers for a second time. Here, there is row upon row of busts depicting the martyrs in affectionately close detail. There are hundreds of busts in all, looking over the city from a hill top, the monuments and skyscrapers and giant triangular form of the Ryugong Hotel looking like the front cover of a science fiction paperback.
On we drove. A guide in traditional costume showed us the birthplace of Kim Il-sung, set in an idyllic park where the cicadas buzzed. A group of local women and children arrived at the collection of restored huts where the Great Leader spent his childhood. We asked them to join us for a picture. Apprehensive at first, once a couple joined they relaxed and we took a picture, and said "thank you" and "goodbye" and whatever else we could manage in our on-the-hoof Korean. We showed them the pictures and the children crowded around to see them as children do everywhere.
By now it was late afternoon. We were taken for a five-stop ride on the Pyongyang Metro. Mr. Ju stated that Western rumours of the Pyongyang Metro consisting of only two stops and being full of actors, only there for the sake of tourists, are the product of "crazy imaginations". He had a point. This is at least one well-known rumour about North Korea that is obvious nonsense.
We went down into the station, a small, brown concrete building, the tunnel at the bottom of a deep escalator. On the platform, chandeliers looked as though they were powered by 60W bulbs and tiled mosaics of socialist murals adorned the walls, a far more attractive sight than the usual advertising seen in metro stations all over the world. Guards in dark blue uniforms stood at the edge holding red flags and inscrutable expressions. The inside of the train was dark with wood panelling and pictures of the leaders hung over the end of each carriage. We crowded in amongst the locals on their way home from work.
At the Pyongyang No.1 Department Store it was closing time. The shop assistants were all young women, wearing a uniform of a white blouse and bright pink skirt. I waited outside the front entrance near the bus. Two of the shop assistants left by the front door, turning right down a slope before disappearing around the back of the building. A third appeared and followed their path, before a fourth stopped near where I was standing and called out to her. They had a short discussion before the third girl turned on her heels, spinning 360 degrees to avoid a manhole cover, the breeze ruffling her uniform, and also vanished around the corner.
The Chongnyon Hotel has a karaoke room. Any other options for socialising after a hard day of sightseeing were lacking, so we decided to try it out. At first we were few and apprehensive. It was Miss Choe, our sensible and professional Korean guide, who broke the ice. She gave a respect-worthy rendition of Celine Dion's Titanic theme "My Heart Will Go On", which, rather than feeling awkward, made it natural to take part, and encouraged us all to try ourselves. Soon everyone was singing, not least of all yours truly, as I found myself, much to my surprise, desperately searching through the karaoke machine's list of songs for "Somewhere Beyond the Sea". Mr. Kim joined us and, later, Mr. Ju, who was less serious than his usual self after a beer or two. More members of our tour group arrived bearing gift shop liquor and good humour. It was a party.
Someone attempted to rap "Forgot About Dre" to hilarious consequences. Electric Six's "Gay Bar" was sung in duet to the nonplussed looks of the Koreans, who contributed with their own more traditional style of music. My next contribution was Barry Manilow's "Mandy", which I took far too seriously. One of the waitresses from the karaoke room's bar joined in. She was an expert and the only person to hit all the correct notes, doing this while waving her arms around like a pro. She then gave a performance of Flashdance, recreating the moves to perfection in what was probably the most bizarre moment, and fitting end to, a day and evening featuring some of the strangest and most memorable things I have ever seen.
