A Rare Glimpse at a Different Side of North Korea

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The cultural life of North Korea

North Korea's 65th anniversary of the Workers' Party offered a rare insight of every daylife in the capital Pyongyang

Tania BraniganThe Guardian, Friday 15 October 2010larger | smaller

A street scene in Pyongyang. Photograph: Dan Chung/Guardian

Old men playing cards in a park; a woman shopping for vegetables; tired workers jostling for space on a rusting trolley bus. These tiny glimpses of daily life would beunremarkable anywhere else. But this is Pyongyang, capital of one of the world's mostinsular countries, and even the mundane is an extraordinary sight – more fascinating toa journalist than the pomp of North Korea's largest military parade, the real reason wehave been allowed in.

We expect to see the portraits of Eternal President Kim Il-sung and his son, the Dear Leader Kim Jong-il, gazing down at us from roadsides. We have been well briefed onsocialist haircuts and vinalon, the miracle fabric made from limestone and better knownfor durability than comfort. We have read the propaganda, combining revolutionaryfervour, the vocabulary of 30s potboilers and accounts of Kim's visits to potato-starch

factories.

But who knew that The Da Vinci Code was a hit in this strictly controlled city? ThatCéline Dion is a karaoke favourite? Or that the mass performances are not only a tributeto the leadership and motherland, but the way that many young people find partners?

Few foreigners see this city at all. Around 2,000 western tourists visited last year, plus perhaps 10 times as many Chinese visitors. The expatriate population, excludingChinese and Russian diplomats, and including children, stands at 150. Mobile phonesare confiscated at entry; visitors are accompanied by official escorts at all times;tourists' photos are inspected and frequently deleted, even when their subject matter is –

to outside eyes – entirely innocuous.



A family passes before the Party Foundation Monument. Photograph: DanChung/Guardian

Information is so sparse that interpreting North Korea is not so much like reading tealeaves in a saucer as examining them while they float in a milky brew. People devotetheir careers to the country yet acknowledge they know little about it – one Seoul-basedexpert, Park Hyeong-jung, is reportedly writing a paper on "just how terrible our research and predictions are", though others say information about daily life – such asmarket prices – is much better than two decades ago.

Our rare media trip has been organised by the government at little notice to show theworld that Kim Jong-un, the leader's youngest son, is now heir apparent. We arrive inPyongyang less than 24 hours after flinging scribbled applications at the Beijingembassy and officials admit they hadn't expected so many journalists. With minders inshort supply we have more freedom than usual, visiting the railway station, departmentstore, vegetable shops and kiosks and a local restaurant. This is by far the wealthiestsection of the wealthiest part of the country.

"Nobody who lives in Pyongyang is an ordinary person. This is the top five to 10% of the population," points out Barbara Demick, whose book Nothing To Envy offers avivid account of ordinary life in North Korea.

On top of that, we have arrived amid unusual celebrations. The party has promisedspecial supplies to households in the capital, including a bottle of alcohol, cooking oiland sweets. Most passersby are drab, in grey, khaki or navy outfits; their only colour thered Kim Il-sung badge pinned to each lapel. But women attending the military paradehave brought out their bright traditional gowns for the holiday and others show a thirstfor colour, with vivid bags or jackets. Hot pink is a surprisingly popular shade inPyongyang. Most are immaculately made-up and all are neatly coiffed. Hair is a seriousmatter in North Korea, which licences a limited range of haircuts – in 2005, statetelevision launched a series titled Let's Trim our Hair in Accordance with the SocialistLifestyle.



On the streets, a handful of residents lick ice lollies; one tiny girl holds a candy flossstick in each hand. Across from our hotel, people jostle at food stalls for savoury

pancakes, fritters and pizza (reportedly a favourite of Kim Jong-il's). An enormouswhite frosted cake with pink icing roses is priced at 9,000 won (£6.25), while a dish of shaved ice with syrup costs just 5 won. Young men take aim at shooting stalls, and

around town crowds gather to watch open-air concerts, the bands lined up in neat rowslike Merseybeat-era Beatles.

But some who know the city suggest that attractions such as the street lighting willvanish once we have gone. Even during our visit, most roads away from our hotel aredark. The sleek restaurants surrounding it are almost empty. The central departmentstore is gloomy, illuminated only by late-afternoon light and a string of fairy lights. Asat a rainy English fete, the effect of the bunting above the counters is more plaintivethan festive. Stock lies untroubled in glass counters or on the shelves behind them:lengths of plaid fabric, clocks, footballs, pastel towels, TVs and even a cafetiere set.There are perhaps 20 visitors sprinkled across four sizeable floors and the only actual

customer appears to be a small child buying a cheap plastic toy.

Old men play Korean Chess in Pyongyang. Photograph: Dan Chung/Guardian

There are certainly signs of change here: Air Koryo has new planes and three gleamingairport buses to ferry passengers from runway to terminal. Last week a vast new theatreopened, as did an apartment complex, although it may be destined for officials. The

105-storey Ryugyong hotel – more than two decades in construction – is finally glass-sheathed and due to open in 2012. That year will mark the 100th birthday of thecountry's founder, Kim Il-sung. But it is hard to see how it can achieve its pledge to

become "a great, powerful and prosperous nation" by then – even given theStakhanovite industrial efforts lauded in its newspapers.

Life must be good for some in Pyongyang. A journalist spots a North Korean handingover $2,000 to buy two Longines watches. Orascom, the Egyptian mobile phonecompany that opened a network here last year, already has 200,000 subscribers,although the handsets cost anywhere between £65 and £190 and their use is strictlylimited: Koreans can only call other Koreans, while foreigners can only call each other

or abroad.



But away from the handful of show projects there is little sign of improvement inordinary lives. Overloaded trolley buses wheeze along, more rust than steel. Onereporter sees a woman and child apparently digging for roots in a park. The country has

been heavily reliant on food handouts since the 90s, when hundreds of thousands died.Those who have visited the countryside recently say residents are visibly gaunt, even in

farming areas.

Pyongyang is lucky: no one is plump, but nor is there noticeable emaciation. Dr AndreiLankov, associate professor at Kookmin University in Seoul, says the official income inPyongyang is around 3,000 won a month, but many have ways of making money on theside and – unlike other North Koreans – its residents receive subsistence food rations.Most top those up at markets that are legal though never formally acknowledged(officials insist that "everything is public"). At the turn of the year, the governmentembarked on currency reforms to eradicate an increasingly independent group of "kiosk capitalists". But wiping out hard-won savings caused highly unusual public discontentand even, reportedly, unrest.

"It was a near complete disaster; the first time in my memory that high-level NorthKorean officials openly complained to their counterparts about government policy,"says Lankov.

The government swiftly reversed the changes and reportedly executed a senior officialfor the blunder. Now, says one frequent visitor, the economy is exactly as it was – except that prices have risen sharply and people are unhappier. The government wouldlike foreign investors to help revive the economy, but the country's unpredictability andthe international sanctions imposed over its missile and nuclear tests make that unlikely,despite its rock-bottom wages.

Armaments are its big earner and those aside, its existing production base seemsunlikely to save it. The current issue of Foreign Trade, designed to woo international

business, advertises a curious selection of goods – homemade wigs, rabbit fur, steelcutlery and Kaesong Koryo Ginseng Extract, recommended "for treating radiationdiseases, cancer and Aids". Amid these problems, culture becomes more important thanever as a tool to bind support for the regime. Often, it makes little attempt to disguise its

pedagogic intent – songs include Vinalon is a Textile Made from Stone and MyYoungest Daughter, Pok Sun, Became an AA-Machine Gunner.

But music is a genuine passion as well as a political tool for North Koreans, and other tunes combine political themes with romance. Our foreign ministry escorts grow misty-eyed when The Night of Pyongyang City starts playing at the mass dance. Young loverswalk hand-in-hand at night murmuring the romantic melody, they say. Many of thosecouples have met through the months of drilling for such performances.

"Lots of people also find love in the Grand People's Study Hall. I found my love there,"says one minder. "People usually keep loving relationships for a long time and try tohelp each other in study or work . . . You can't achieve CNC technology [technological

production] if people don't have that aspiration," he adds.



Tired commuters cross Pyongyang on an old bus. Photograph: Dan Chung/Guardian

More surprisingly, The Da Vinci Code was a big hit here, though it seems unlikely thatDan Brown's publishers are aware of the fact – or are benefiting much. So, too, wasHarry Potter. Young women love Jane Eyre and Anne of Green Gables – a translationof the third volume in the series is due out shortly. Though banned, foreign films arealso increasingly – albeit surreptitiously – popular. The government hoped peoplewould watch films such as the sprawling patriotic series Nation and Destiny when itauthorised DVD players. But smuggled movies from China have provided residentswith a glimpse of life outside. One NGO worker recalls a teenager requesting shylywhether she could ask her a question: Who did she think was better – Brad Pitt or Keanu Reeves? Though they might sound trivial, such anecdotes show that theinformation seal is not airtight.

Koreans in border areas are also using smuggled handsets and sim cards to make callsvia Chinese networks. Many have slipped across the border, too, or have relatives livingcovertly in China. The country is becoming increasingly porous.

"People are beginning to suspect that the world lives better than they do," says Lankov.But he adds that very few realise how much better, and that North Korean propagandahas adapted. "It doesn't insist any more that it is a prosperous and rich nation andeverything else is hell. They say, 'Well, there are other places, but we have our leader

and our pure national blood . . .'," he notes.

It is impossible to know whether North Koreans find such statements convincing. Tearsstain the faces of some performers at the mass dance when they glimpse Kim Jong-ilwatching them – but the cheering is piped through speakers and apparently pre-recorded.

"North Koreans do criticise the leaders and politics, just not in public – especially toforeign visitors. That is the quickest way to be arrested, tortured and sent to prison. It's asociety where pretty much all freedoms are restricted," says Kay Seok, the Seoul-basedresearcher for Human Rights Watch.



State news agency KCNA describes such reports as lies, insisting: "The independentand creative life the Korean people enjoy is a dignified, worthwhile and happy lifeunimaginable in the capitalist society."

In the absence of open conversation, analysts seize on the tiniest signs to read the mood

of the country. If rising hemlines indicate optimism in western economies, so too cantrousers show defiance in North Korea, one observer suggests. Women are banned fromwearing them in Pyongyang in the summer, apparently because Kim Jong-il considersthem alien to Korean culture. Neighbourhood committees monitor compliance and sendoffenders home to change. Yet as the temperatures rose this year, several womendefiantly clung to their slacks. Is that, asks the Korea watcher in all seriousness, a signof increasing disaffection and feistiness following the disastrous currency reforms?

Only North Koreans know for sure. And they are not telling.guardian.co.uk © Guardian News and Media Limited 2010

/ News / World / AsiaA rare glimpse at a different side of North Korea

FILE - In this Oct. 10, 2010 file photo, a North Korean dancer cries during a gala showto mark the 65th anniversary of the communist nation's ruling Workers' Party inPyongyang, North Korea. (AP Photo/Vincent Yu)By Jean H. LeeAssociated Press Writer / October 13, 2010E-mail|Print|Comments (0)Text size – +Page 2 of 3 --

Pyongyang was ready for its close-up.



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PYONGYANG, North Korea—North Korea may be struggling to feed its people, butthere was no shortage of mouthwatering options on the menu at our guide's favoriterestaurant: ostrich, duck and beef; scallops, crab and lobster; pancakes, stews, noodlesand even spaghetti. Tweet 5 people Tweeted this


Even the kimchi -- and normally I am not a fan of the spicy fermented cabbage that isKorea's most famous dish -- was irresistible.

That meal was part of a remarkable whirlwind trip that AP photographer Vincent Yuand I took to Pyongyang, capital of one of the world's most hidden nations, for the 65thanniversary of the ruling Workers' Party.

Breaking away from the gaggle of foreign reporters allowed into the country for thefestivities, we ate traditional North Korean fare for lunch. Afterward, we wanderedalong the scenic Taedong River, stopping to chat with families picnicking along itsgrassy, willow-lined banks.

Later, our guides had a surprise: a trip to an amusement park. Earlier, as we'd sped pastin a car, I had squealed with delight and told them how much I'd love to see the fair.

It was well past midnight when we finally returned to our hotel, exhausted but elated.As we looked over his photos and recounted the day, Vincent shook his head and askedaloud: "Was it real?"

------

"Covering" North Korea isn't easy. The state keeps a tight clamp on information. AsAP's Seoul bureau chief, I rely heavily on dispatches from the official Korean Central

News Agency. Foreign journalists are rarely granted visas to enter the communistcountry, and often resort to sneaking in with tour groups, disguised as students or scholars.

After 2008, when leader Kim Jong Il reportedly suffered a stroke, even fewer reporterswere allowed in. Two American journalists who slipped across the Chinese border werearrested in March 2009; they were eventually freed months later after former PresidentBill Clinton intervened.



I made a brief trip to Pyongyang a few weeks after their release and was one of the fewforeign journalists to visit the country in 2009. The mood was tense, a sense of uncertainty in the streets. Every unexpected noise made me jump, especially in my hotelroom at night.

This visit was completely different. Pyongyang was ready to celebrate. Weeks earlier,leader Kim Jong Il's youngest son had been named a four-star general, all butconfirming what many had suspected: that young Kim Jong Un was being groomed tosucceed him.

A few days after that, most North Koreans got a first glimpse of their future leader whenstate media published the first known images of Kim Jong Un as an adult.

That set the stage for last weekend.

Red flags and celebratory banners went up across the city. Construction workers put the

finishing touches on renovations and buildings got a fresh coat of paint.Continued...At the last minute, a select group of media outlets was invited to cover the anniversary,including AP. As word spread, dozens of other journalists rushed to the North KoreanEmbassy in Beijing, begging for entry.

It was the foreign media's first real chance to report from Pyongyang in more than twoyears.

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Kim Jong Il is in the house. That was the rumor when we arrived, straight from theairport, at the parachute-shaped May Day Stadium to see the famed Arirang spectaclethat is part opera and part circus.

And this was clearly no ordinary event. Soldiers guarded the parking lot with rifles atthe ready. Military VIPs, their uniforms bedecked with medals, filed solemnly past.

It's said that for the 100,000 performers who spend most of the year training for theintricately choreographed extravaganza in which they sing, dance and fly through theair, their dream is to perform for Kim Jong Il.

They got their wish -- as well as a bonus. Joining Kim in the viewing booth for the firsttime was the heir apparent, Kim Jong Un. My hands shook as I tried to snap a photo; allI got was a blur.

As the music faded, the performers stood dazed, gazing up into the stands and reluctantto leave. Many were in tears. Only after an announcer urged them to leave the field didthey scurry off.

The next day, we had a front-row seat for what was apparently the largest military parade in North Korea's history, a marvel of synchronicity, with troops goose-steppingin perfect precision across the plaza to shouts of "mansei" -- "hurrah" -- from the crowd.

Tanks followed, loaded with a fearsome array of missiles and rocket launchers.



"Kim. Jong. Il." The chant rolled across the plaza. A frenzy of waves and cheers eruptedas he appeared, son at his side, on the observation platform above a huge portrait of Kim Il Sung, both the family and the nation's patriarch.

Tears rolled down our guide's face.

"It's my first time seeing the Young General," he said, "and the third seeing the greatComrade Kim Jong Il."

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Foreign reporters are typically kept on a short leash, restricted to the hotel and the major sights and kept away from North Koreans. So it was a rare treat to eat lunch Monday ata local restaurant.

The eatery was festooned with blinking lights, the walls lined with framed photos of culinary specialties. Waitresses wore bright, traditional dresses called "chosun ot," andthe place was packed with families enjoying a meal together on a state holiday.

We were offered the choice to pay in North Korean won, euros, Chinese renminbi or U.S. dollars. I settled the bill in euros, and got a piece of Japanese candy aschange.Continued...Outside, Kim Il Sung Plaza was filled with children skating and riding bikes. Couplesstrolled along paths lined with weeping willows. Families gathered in clusters along theriverbank, eating food provided by the government as a celebratory gift marking theoccasion. Tweet 5 people Tweeted this


The idyllic scenes challenged what we thought we knew about North Korea, animpoverished nation struggling to emerge from economic hardship and slapped withU.N. and U.S. sanctions for its nuclear defiance. The average wage is believed to be just

a few U.S. dollars a month, and the U.N. estimates that 8.7 million people are goinghungry.

But perhaps not in Pyongyang, the nation's capital and showcase.

Vincent, who was drinking soju, an alcoholic beverage, with one family, waved me over and pressed a pair of chopsticks into my hand. A mouthwatering spread lay beforethem: beef casserole simmering in a pot, tofu soup, dumplings, tempura.

With very little prodding, their 5-year-old sang for us. Dressed in a red plaid skirt andgreen sweat shirt, she was coy and charming, every inch a future Arirang performer.



Down by the water, where rowboats plied the river, Vincent faced off against a NorthKorean in a game of badminton. Steps away, a father showed his son how to fire a rifleloaded with pellets. The guides hurried us along -- it was time to rejoin the reporting

pool.

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A year ago, I wrote that an amusement park in central Pyongyang appeared to be shutdown, the lights out, a ghost town of abandoned carnival rides.

This time, the Triumph Children's Park was bustling, people lined up at the front gate jostling to get in. Inside, there were bumper cars, a Tilt-a-Whirl and a rollercoaster torival Coney Island's Cyclone.

Children ran around with Mickey Mouse balloons, and screams filled the air.Sophisticated young women with heels and handbags posed for photos; young men in

suits and khakis stood around smoking.

There was plenty of junk food, including Belgian waffles served with Country Kitchenmaple syrup, hot dogs and soft-serve ice cream. We settled on burgers, mashed potatoesand fried chicken, which came with clear plastic gloves to keep your hands clean -- anice touch in a country fastidious about hygiene.

Otherwise, it was easy to forget we were in communist North Korea.

Just before we said our good-byes for the night, our guide gave Vincent a small, glossyred pin bearing the smiling face of Kim Il Sung, just like the ones affixed to the shirt of every North Korean.

"Always wear it on your left side," he said, "close to your heart."

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So, as Vincent asked repeatedly, was it real? Were we among the lucky few foreignersgiven the chance to experience what life is like for "real" North Koreans? Or was it acarefully choreographed performance put on for the benefit of visiting journalists?

In the end, we decided there was no way the encounters could have been staged: thestew bubbling on the portable gas cooker, the couple canoodling in the bushes, thescreams and laughs that filled the night air around the Tilt-a-Whirl.

It may not have been what we expected in one of the world's last communiststrongholds, but it was definitely real.

------

Jean H. Lee is AP's bureau chief in Seoul, South Korea. Photographer Vincent Yu,

based in Hong Kong, last visited North Korea in the early 1990s.



© Copyright 2010 Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

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A Rare Glimpse at a Different Side of North Korea