On the minute ride from a North Korean customs and immigration center, near the DMZ, to the first stop of our so-called tour of this city, I feel eerie emptiness. Bare streets with very few people, empty roads except for our tour buses being led by military escorts, a countryside devoid of trees and foliage. And North Korean soldiers - wearing old Soviet-style uniforms - standing guard on empty roads along our route.
When a colleague asks our North Korean guide about it, he says the soldiers are there for our safety. Yet, I am moved by just being there because of a personal connection to North Korea. When the guide sings Korean folk songs, I think of my dad, whose family was split during the Korean War. His family, living in Pyongyang, managed to escape to the south.
One of his brothers, studying in Seoul, traveled north to be with his family, but they never united. His whereabouts are unknown. The trip to Kaesong on Wednesday is part of a packed two-week cultural exchange program in Korea for U. That day, we join several hundred South Korean tourists and other visitors on this so-called tour. Many are senior citizens; others are school-aged children.
We are the few Westerners. At least two North Korean tour guides, who are government employees, accompany each bus. The visit comes with strict ground rules: No cell phones, laptops, cell phone batteries or other communication devices. Before we leave South Korea, our tour bus driver instructs us to throw away our English-language newspaper.
Such printed material would be inappropriate. Our cameras are allowed only after the tour operator and North Korean officials examine the devices to make sure they do not have long lenses. There are limits on where we can take pictures and what types: no photos of North Korean soldiers, guides or scenery outside the designated tour spots. In fact, one colleague is reprimanded and forced to delete a photo of ordinary North Koreans gathered underneath a gate, which read in essence "We don't envy anybody.
