Waking up in North Korea was an odd experience.

Although an alarm was set, it was unnecessary.  By 7:00 AM, heavy machinery was rattling on the riverfront, so loud it must have woken up the whole city.  And by 8:00, anyone left asleep would probably not have lasted through the loudspeakers blaring propaganda.

The first event of day two was the trip to the Kumusan Palace of The Sun, the final resting place of dictators Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il.  The building took 20 minutes to enter on a moving walkway, and 20 minutes to leave, during which time we watched North Koreans weep over their journey to see their dead leaders.  The leaders lie in state, surrounded by their own accolades and portraits.

This trip is covered in detail here, and it is hard to believe it constituted only a fraction of the day’s events.  The day continued with more monuments and monumental encounters.

The first stop after the palace was a memorial site for martyrs of Korea’s ‘liberation’ from Japanese colonization.

In the west, we acknowledge that the Allied powers, the USSR and the USA, jointly liberated Korea from the north and south, respectively, as defeated Japanese forces withdrew or surrendered in 1945.

In North Korea, however, the story goes a little differently. Imperialist Japanese troops were ousted by Koreans alone, led by the “great general,” the “Korean Tiger,” the communist leader, Kim Il-sung. He led a plucky band of commies and patriots, and this tributary cemetery where we’d just arrived, overlooking Pyongyang high on a wooded mountain, immortalizes these folks.

Bronze busts of the leaders and soldiers stood with brief descriptions of their lives and work for the Korean liberation. Looking at all of these faces, it is striking that some of them may well be considered heroes on both sides of the 38th parallel. Japan’s colonization of Korea was, like most colonization efforts and especially those done by Japan, brutal. And there were many busts here – maybe 100 or more. The monument shined like new.

“How did they manage to get every face done so accurately?” I asked.

“They had pictures for some,” Ms. Jeon, my tour guide, began, “for the others, President Kim Il-sung described their faces.”

So, in between establishing a nation state, a cult of personality, rebuilding a war-torn society and invading his neighboring country, he apparently found time for forensic arts.

In a prospering, democratic country, this hill might be a high-income suburb instead.  Who knows.

Next we stopped near the “Funfair,” a (temporarily) closed North Korean theme park, complete with a roller coaster. At a Korean-style gate, a holiday dance ceremony was taking place in the spring sun (this may hurt your ears):

Then we hit the road again for the stamp shop. On the way, pretty much everywhere we drove, propaganda dominated the streets.

There were no commercial billboards, few business signs, and few cars beyond imported Beijing taxis.

There were pedestrians donning fashions long outdated in the west, bright colored buildings in need of paint jobs, and portraits and murals admiring – nearly deifying – the leaders. Within North Korea it was easier, but still difficult, to try to envision a world where this was all to be seen from birth until death.

A prominent skyline feature: a tower, very similar to one I’d seen a year earlier in Seoul:

Lunch was too much food as usual, especially in a starving country. This is no food review blog, so you’ll just have to take my word that I was satisfied.

After this, we attended a circus. One had to note the lack of capitalist influence in the arena – outside the main hall, there was nothing. No concession stands, drink stalls, or souvenir booths in the whole complex. Just marble walls. Not even coffee.

In fact, the whole country seemed out of coffee. We were seated an hour before the show, and no one could stay awake. In a poor country, first world luxuries become readily apparent.

This blog is no circus review. But the acrobatic talents on display were shocking and impressive. Sometimes one could discern a story: a man breaks free of binds, unfurls a North Korean flag in triumph, but later men dressed in dark green take his beautiful companion – perhaps South Korea.

There followed many sharp, aggressive dances, perhaps simulating war.

At the end of the long performance, one other tour group and ours were assembled outside and were taken by an old tram to a park. Many Koreans had gathered there, for barbecues and picnics.

An old lady was doing some sort of folk performance. When she saw the gaggle of foreigners she rattled off some exclamation that seemed to express shock – perhaps “Oh my God! Foreigners!”

Whatever she said was funny enough to make our tour guide Ms. Jeon laugh – and edgy enough for her to refuse to translate it.

 

There was a sausage stand. I bought a sausage and a water for one US dollar – this is important.
There was a tiled square in the center of the park. Large speakers were playing folk music.

Paaaaangapsuuuuumnida! Pangapsumnida! Nice to meet you, over and over. It was actually pretty catchy.

“Who wants to dance?” asked our German tour guide. My hand shot up like an unsanctioned rocket, and a smiling older woman showed me a basic Korean folk dance.  No videos will be shared.

Less than thirty seconds after our tour guide rounded us up and started to leave, the music stopped. The dancers slowly scattered and two people began dismantling the sound equipment. It was no later than 4:30 in the afternoon, the sun was still high in the sky, and we’d only been there fifteen minutes. And suddenly I began to wonder why a sausage stand in the park accepted US dollars.

The next stop, by bus once again, was Juche Tower.

Like the Washington Monument, the Juche Tower stands in the center of a capital city designed around it and is something of a monument to the founding ideology – the Washington Monument to President Washington and his devotion to democracy, and the Juche Tower to, of course, “Juche,” the state ideology of the DPRK.

At the base of the tower were plaques from Kim Il-sung and his ideology’s fans from around the world.

“Where are you from?” the stern on-site guide asked us at large. “America,” I answered, to which she said “Yes! We have three,” showing me three such plaques from across our great land of free speech.

On top of the tower, which felt a lot higher than it looked from the ground, we had a broad view of Pyongyang.

Built on the blood, ashes, and misery of an entire nation, Pyongyang is a clean, revitalized city with charming colors.

The city is full of white elephants, built with money that could almost certainly have helped the people in other ways, namely with food and heat.

The city is not overdeveloped despite being completely rebuilt since the Korean War (a product, more likely, of North Korea’s economic stagnation).

Unlike every other Asian capital this writer has seen (seven), it has a good deal of greenery.

The last leg of the day’s itinerary was a return to the “Funfair,” the Kim Yung-Mitchell Theme Park.

No longer closed, this fully operational theme park was packed with North Korean families and young people.  While there were quite a few rides, most tourists had their attention focused on one behemoth: the massive roller coaster at the back of the park.

Having seen a photo of Kim Jong-un testing a roller coaster, I believed the ride was safe. We were ushered to the front of the line. Far from being annoyed, the queue of North Koreans seemed quite intrigued to watch a gaggle of foreigners ride a roller coaster.

We boarded. I said hello to the two North Koreans next to me in English, and they responded enthusiastically in kind. After the ride began to move, and contorted us forward like a superhero, it became apparent that the picture of Kim Jong-un showed a different roller coaster.

“Superman!” I yelled to the watching North Koreans, as we passed the line, realizing from their confused faces that they didn’t know who he is.

Unfortunately I do not have a film of the roller coaster in action, as my camera malfunctioned at this stage.  No roller coaster had ever produced quite the same simulation of a near-death experience. I high-fived the North Korean next to me after we finished, feeling more accomplished and more stupid than I’d ever felt in my life.

By this point word spread around the park that foreigners were there and kids began walking up to us to say hello, and walking away. Truthfully this isn’t all that different to attending a crowded event in rural Japan.

Next we approached a Frisbee Ride.

We were joined by more North Koreans on this. I sat next to a short young Korean man with a big grin showing some gold teeth. “Hello!” he burst out at the sight of me. He then turned to his girlfriend and prodded her into saying hello as well. “Annyeong haseyeo!” (Hello!) I said.

They were quite happy, and the man continued babbling whatever English words he could think of even as the ride began. “Yes! Wow! Do!” He high-fived me one last time before the swaying became too much.

I came to value his camaraderie, as this eclipsed the roller coaster as the most terrifying ride I have ever taken. The disc stormed into the sky, spun around and tumbled back to Earth, constantly feeling like it would come loose and collapse at any moment.

North Korean Theme Park Disaster Kills Over a Dozen Foreign Tourists didn’t seem that far-fetched a headline to glance at in a western paper.  This was my thought process on that ride.

“Wow! Yes!” rattled out of the Korean man over and over in English; it was impossible to tell if he was more thrilled by the wild ride or by speaking to a real American.

Finally the ride settled back to Earth.  Jelly-legged, we walked back into the park; I never thought I’d love North Korean soil so much.

“The ride operator said she ran at extra speed for the foreigners!” laughed Mr. Hang, our other tour guide.  Respect, ride operator.

My fear fuse officially broken, I started greeting every single person I made eye contact with from that point forward, whether or not they had on a Boston shirt:

The last ride was bumper cars.  My thoughts eased up.

It is so relaxing to be back on Earth. Two Dutch tourmates! Crash!
Everyone is having so much fun. Ms. Jeon! Light crash!
I’ll never do that Frisbee Ride again. Irish tourmate! Crash!
Thank God we’re done with the scary rides and no one will get hu- INFANT! NO CRASH!

Two North Korean men in separate cars, perhaps having more fun than anyone else, were barreling around the arena at full tilt, with infants no older than six months in their arms. After two hours of an exciting theme park, I suddenly remembered I was in a really awful country.

With no remaining interest in any rides, we finally left the park, which was only getting more crowded as night darkened, and proceeded to dinner.

Dinner was delicious, and once again there was too much.

“If you eat it all,” explained Mr. Hang, “It means we didn’t give you enough.”

The same cultural norm checks out in South Korea, where most restaurants offer unlimited sides.

It was hard to believe the day began with seeing the dead bodies of two of the modern era’s worst dictators and finished with a roller coaster. We wondered aloud what was staged and what wasn’t.  We went to bed with more questions than we woke up with.  We wondered about what was next.

And I thanked God I would spend only a few days here.

So ended another bizarre day in North Korea.

More photos:

Thanks for reading.  All photos are property of Gregory A Nasif.