Beijing, October 8, 2008, Wednesday
Trip Start
Sep 26, 2008
1
14
31
Trip End
Oct 18, 2008
Beijing,
China
Monday, April 13, 2009
"How did you arrive?" - I asked.
"By taxi," she answered. And then gave me a nylon bag she held in her hand:
"This is for you."
I opened it and found something wrapped up in a paper
Beijing 1
. Unwrapping it on the spot, I saw a nice, dark brown leather belt for trousers. I nodded in acknowledgement, thanked her and asked: "Have you eaten yet?"
"No."
I insisted on buying her a breakfast and after a brief initial hesitation - maybe she considered it polite to decline at first - she accepted and we placed our order. The conversation took a bit to get in the full speed, but very soon we started catching up with each other's news. In fact, as I consider my life pretty settled of lately, without any tectonic changes or events, it was Juan who was gradually taking over and offering me a glimpse into what was going on with her.
She was an old friend. Not in the range of those childhood ones, or friends from university days, but seven years is not short, either. We knew pretty much everything essential about each other, so now we basically just picked it up where we'd left it off last time we'd been in touch. She was a nice girl. Well, not a girl any more but rather a married woman now, in her mid-thirties who at some point had buckled under what she perceived the society pressure and decided to marry the first decent guy to come her way. But the way I saw it, it had been a self-imposed pressure, however much the Chinese society may still lag a bit behind western society in liberalising its views on single people
Beijing 2
. But China is as varied - or even more so - as any other country, and what binds and views may still exist in the province, first-world cities like Bĕijīng with urban and globalised population have effectively got rid of them. However, Juan obviously never fully shed some of the constraints that she had carried over in her luggage from her home province of Shānxi, so neither her high education - she holds a master's degree - nor years in Guǎngzhōu and Bĕijīng helped her shake loose that sinking feeling that "it was time" to get married. So at one point she had met Mr.Ren online, a Chinese guy with resident in Australia, and since he was "nice" and they "had a lot" to talk about, she decided he was a good man to marry. When she informed me about her decision and asked me what I thought, I just asked her if she loved him. I kind of sensed she didn't. At least not much. She offered me an argument which I heard in Asia on more than one occasion, assuring me that she would "learn to love him". I must admit that I've never been a convert to such a philosophy and approach to love, so I just told her to think it through. After all, it was her life, and who was I to dispense advices who and how she should marry. But when she first informed me that her marriage was a lot rockier than she thought it would be, I was sorely tempted to say "didn't I warn you?" In fact, it was just another confirmation of what my travels and exposure to "different" cultures had already taught me.
Beijing 3
And that is that we are not so different after all. The bottom line is that every human being cries and laughs for same things and there is no creature in this world who can redefine basic concepts of love and friendship. You either love or you don't. And there are no textbooks like "hundred lessons to learn to love" or "crash course in how to worship someone". You can learn to cook and you can have a crash course in a language. But you can't order yourself a tool kit to enable you to love somebody. What Juan got instead was a crash course in that most basic of life lessons. Which is how to marry wrong. So now her marriage was increasingly sliding down the road to perdition and the more she tried to save it, the more it was sinking into that black hole of no return. Like in a quicksand.
It was obvious she needed someone to talk to. She couldn't do it in Australia. There was no one to turn to there. She couldn't do it with her husband's family, either, as it was something unthinkable even in her wildest dreams. She couldn't talk to her own family as it would be a massive loss of face for them. At least that's what she thought. Even if I seriously doubted it. She was a great lady, well-behaved, educated, a role-model in many respects. I couldn't imagine parents who wouldn't side with a daughter like that when she is in trouble and needs help. Even in China. But, that baggage she had brought over from Shānxi was still with her
Beijing 4
. So she felt stuck. And I was like an outlet valve. Someone to help her vent some frustration off. We talked for almost two hours when finally I informed I would have to go.
"What do you plan to do?" she asked.
"I am going to the Mao Mausoleum. And in the afternoon I need to go to the travel agency. You know that I'm off to North Korea tomorrow."
She nodded.
"And after that?"
Suddenly I felt even more sorry for her. Here she was, back in her home country for a month or two, away from her husband who had proved to be more of a curse than a blessing, and that was a bit of a relief for her. But at the same time I was the closest person she had that she could talk openly and freely to about whatever was on her heart. Two hours were obviously not enough for her.
"Well, I don't know how long it'll be. But there's something else," I started.
"Today is my birthday, in fact."
She raised her eyebrows:
"Really!?"
"Yes"
And then it was like a light switched on on her
Beijing 5
. "Ah! Yes! October 8!" and then she was embarrassed.
"Sorry that I forgot."
I laughed.
"Don't worry. Besides, you brought me a present. As if you knew."
She nodded, still a bit embarrassed, but I went on:
"Well, the thing is, I've got some friends here who also know it's my birthday today and they insist on having a drink with me. So when I return from the travel agency, I promised to ring them up. I wish you had arrived earlier in Bĕijīng, as you said you would."
So unfortunately those two hours with Juan were all I could set aside for her on my last full day in Chinese capital. We could only hope that the next occasion won't take too long to come, that was all.
We went out in the street together.
"Where will you go now?" I asked.
"I don't know. I'm thinking about the Summer Palace. You sure can't join me any more today?"
Unfortunately I couldn't
Beijing 6
. I wished her best of luck, no matter what the life had in store for her and we went each our own way. And my way led me again to the Tiān'ānmén Square where I was going to meet PingPing. Same station, same exit, this morning we were in a way coming the full circle. The big week off was already way behind us, but you wouldn't tell it by the crowd on the square. Now that the Mao Mausoleum was open again, there was a long queue of people lining up to enter, stretching out hundreds of metres and snaking across the square.
The entry was seemingly free of charge. After all, Mao is still the modern day China's biggest icon and until he is one day in the future replaced by someone else, how can the common man in China be charged for a wish to pay his tribute to and bow before the Great Helmsman?
Except that in China nothing is free of charge any more. So if something is ostensibly free of charge, they do find ways to get money from you in a more subtle manner. In case of the Mao Mausoleum it works so that when you happily enter the long and winding queue, at some point - already deeply inside the queue - you are informed that you can't get absolutely anything into the Mausoleum. No exceptions there apart from the obvious one in the form of clothing and footwear that you have on. So to your own delight, you need to leave the queue, leave the square, cross the street and get into one of neighbouring buildings where there is a sort of deposit service. Needless to say, any deposits you make there, you are charged for them. And so the authorities do get your money after all. Of course, you can always leave all your stuff at home and get there with the devil dancing in your empty pockets. Or you can park your car somewhere and leave your things inside. But you'd have to pay for the car park and have a slightly shifted state of mind to drive a car on clogged Bĕijīng streets
Beijing 7
. Anyway, all those options were merely academic as far as PingPing and I were concerned, and the only real one we were left with was a simple and straightforward procedure of parting with some of our cash and then going back into the queue, albeit with a slightly less buoyant mood. I am still unaware of any clear explanations as to why heavy X-ray screening of whatever you have on you does the trick for all other buildings and sites we visited theretofore, and appears inadequate for the Mao Mausoleum. If they offered one, I must have missed it.
Anyhow, we were back in the queue which, luckily, didn't move that slow so eventually our spirits lifted up rather soon. Of course, the Chairman Mao Memorial Hall, as it is officially called, is the old Mao's final resting place. Allegedly, he wished to be cremated, but his reverent followers in a ubiquitous display of personality cult common in many communist countries, decided to embalm his body and shortly after his death began with the construction of a mausoleum. And that was the place we were going in now. In front of the entrance gate you could buy yourself a yellow flower, or more than one if you wish, three yuan apiece, and lay it at the foot of the crystal coffin containing Mao's body. I decided to skip that flower thing and PingPing showed no particular interest, either. However, it would be unfair to say that nobody felt an urge to reach out for flowers. Some people did.
Once inside, we experienced a significant difference in temperature, leaving an already hot day behind and stepping into the cool and relatively dimly lit interior. A number of stern looking and motionless soldiers, dressed in their parade best were in sight, and we proceeded in silence where people, if feeling they had to say something, only whispered to each other. Then we entered that huge hall where the old Mao is having his rest, snaked around the coffin and went out.
That was all there was to it. Just about. Not much. Those who had flowers were granted a few additional seconds to lay them at the foot of the coffin and then we were ushered out. All in all, a sort of anticlimax.
Mao himself looked rather, well, unhealthy. Which isn't much of a surprise regarding his condition. But then again, his was the first body I ever saw like that and I was not prepared for the sight of a corpse that's been artificially preserved for years on end. They say that the Chinese learned the embalming technique from the Vietnamese, who in their turn took it over from the Soviets. But then, allegedly, there was a problem of displaying Mao because the Chinese didn't quite know how to make a transparent coffin. The Vietnamese taught them how to keep Mao's body from decay, but couldn't teach them how to manufacture the crystal coffin because they didn't have a clue themselves. The coffin they had for their own Ho Chi Min had been shipped directly from the Soviet Union without any production manual enclosed. So the Chinese first attempted to get around the problem by putting the original Sun Yat Sen's coffin - also built by the Soviets back then - to the new use, but it didn't quite work as they thought it would, because the old doctor had been much shorter than the Chairman, so the Chairman would have felt like a basketball player in a three-star hotel bed, i.e. with his feet dangling over the edge. Furthermore, as the Soviets had made only the cover out of crystal, with the sides and the bottom out of steel, visitors would have been forced to look down at Mao's body in a way that was deemed unacceptable by the authorities. So after all attempts to circumvent this difficulty and search for an easy solution, the Chinese were eventually left with no other choice but to try to develop a technology for the production of the crystal coffin themselves. At the end of the day, they made it and so now we could all see Mao the way he was displayed.
Which, were it not for China and Mao - or in other words, if we were in Bhutan or Benin instead of China, it would be close to a waste of time. No offence for Bhutan or Benin intended, of course.
Once out, we headed back across the street to pick up our things. And at the way out from the deposit facility building, on a low wall, right next to the gate, I saw a Chinese lad dressed in this unmistakeable red-and-white checkered jersey of my country's national football team. He was there with a woman, probably his mother, and just about to start having a lunch, as the Chinese so often do. As soon as I saw him, I asked PingPing to ask him for me if he would be so kind to have a picture taken with me. I found it kind of cool to see someone dressed in my country's national football jersey halfway across the world from where I live. Never shy of speaking with people she never knew, PingPing approached the guy and explained him where I was from and what I asked of him. Both he and his mother beamed broadly and he was readily up on his feet posing for pictures both for my and his camera.
"He says that you have a very good football team," PingPing translated for me.
"Yes, I know," I smiled, proud that my country is a world-class player at least at one level of human activities. Even if it's only football. Although, that football thing has long stopped being "only football", and being a world-class team in football was probably as good a PR campaign as any a country can come up with. No other sports could come even remotely close to it.
"Suker!" the guy offered, naming probably the most famous player my national team had in recent history. We parted with a lot of smiles, a couple of thank-yous and thumbs-up.
"He wishes you a good stay in China," PingPing added. I smiled back again, waved to the guy and his mother, they waved back and we left. That was how football tore down language and cultural barriers with no efforts whatsoever.
We decided to see the Olympic Stadium next. The Bird's Nest, as it is colloquially - or not so colloquially - called. Truth to say, I could not be accused of being the biggest fan in town of modern architecture. Moreover, even if I had hardly watched any of the Olympics for years, in the run-up to these last Games here in Bĕijīng you couldn't possibly miss seeing the stadium, one way or another, TV or written media. So, much as I respected and admired the accomplishment on the technological front, and was aware of the overall complexity of the whole project, the whole thing nevertheless left me with a rather flat feeling. However, I was there on the spot. And thousands had flocked to Bĕijīng precisely for the Games. So since I was there, why not see it anyway? And so we hopped aboard the underground train and emerged back on surface up north, at the Beitucheng Station and Beichen Road. That was the closest we could get as so-called Olympic Subway Line, now that the Games were long over, was out of service and not in use any more. Permanently or only temporarily, I had no idea, but to me on this particular day it didn't make much difference.
Walking up north towards the Olympic venues, we first came upon a street seller of sweet potatoes. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I liked those things. I had fallen in love with them in South Korea and I simply felt like having one now. So I asked PingPing if she could ask the guy to sell me one. She duly did and I bought the smallest one for five yuan. The guy had a prehistorically looking, movable oven, on two wheels, complete with a bar to push or pull, and live fire. OK, maybe not exactly fire, but certainly a respectable bunch of red, glaring embers which displayed no sign of going out any time soon. So he roasted the potatoes right on the spot and you could practically at any time devour a freshly roasted one.
The one I bought, the smallest one, was enough to feed at least two people and maybe even three with PingPing's and my eating capacities. PingPing was evidently very entertained with the sight of my attempts to cope with the huge smallest sweet potato I could find. Those I had tried in Korea back then were juniors in every respect next to this one. She helped me along a bit, but not significantly, so basically it was up to me to wrestle with the potato all the way. She suggested I throw away what I couldn't eat, but I've been taught that tossing food away - edible food, at least - is a sin. In the view of so many hungry in the world, I just don't do it. And couldn't do it now. So as we walked on, I bravely and valiantly engaged the potato, eventually subduing the last of the resistance it put up.
By the time I finished it, we emerged onto the 4th Ring Road East, the huge thoroughfare - almost a motorway - next to which both the Bird's Nest and National Aquatics Centre, or Water Cube, were located. Water Cube, of course, being the venue for swimming competitions at the Olympics. You could catch a glimpse of them from the side of the street we were on, but in order to get a better view, and get all the way to them, there was this Beichen Bridge to cross, arching over the Ring Road itself. So we went there and joined a relatively modest crowd, at least by Běijīng's standards. From up there on the bridge we had a lot better view of the Bird's Nest and National Aquatics Centre and that was just about all we could get as access to them was now restricted. I can't say I was particularly distressed for that as I had a feeling that they look better a bit from afar anyway.
I had seen Discovery Channel documentaries on both of them - or where they National Geographic ones? Anyway, I was familiar with the fact that the Bird's Nest was the world's largest steel structure designed by a Swiss architecture firm and that the retractable roof, a part of the original concept, which gave the stadium its moniker, had later been later removed from the design. I also knew that the Water Cube had been designed by Australians and boasted some ridiculously thin, but incredibly resistant outer coating. Moreover, right by the Ring Road there stood the wrench-shaped press-centre building. All three buildings were certainly conspicuous and impressive by any standards, but not nearly something to get me glued to the area for any longer spell. PingPing and I took a few pictures and then started thinking about lunch.
As everywhere in Běijīng, PingPing knew a place to eat in the area. This time she picked an obscure noodle restaurant relatively near which she, naturally, had already visited before and so that was where we were now headed.
After the meal she wouldn't let me pay even if I insisted since it was my birthday. But she wouldn't be budged and so I relented. And then, after the lunch, it was time to go to the Koryo Tours.
As we now knew exactly where I needed to go, we didn't have to search around. Instead, we could use some extra time we had for other things and I insisted on at least buying us some ice-cream in the Baskin Robbins that we'd seen yesterday. Being treated to an ice-cream didn't contravene PingPing's idea of host's hospitality, so in spite of her fictitious belly she seemed happy with my suggestion. Finally, before it was time to part for today, she insisted on driving me to the Koryo Tours or airport, any way I would choose, tomorrow morning. I tried to tell her that it was not necessary, but she was again firm in her decision. So I accepted, promising I would let her know this evening which one and when it would be. Then she went home and I to the Koryo Tours.
And inside, the people I didn't know, but people who would soon become my travelling companions to North Korea were gathering one by one. Without any specific direction form anyone, we all kind of discovered a room where by the looks of it the briefing would take place, if nothing else then by the fact that it contained an unusually large number of chairs. Since some people were already taking their seats, I took one too and then we all waited. When then somebody decided that it was time to start, a tall, bald but rather young guy entered, greeted us all and introduced himself as Simon.
And that's how this thing officially started. He began talking briefly about the country in general outlines, not so much in terms of any lecture, but more so in terms of getting us prepared for what we could expect to see. He informed us that we all got our visas and from that side all the hurdles had been removed. We had all been cleared by the North Koreans and could now freely go in. Except it would not be that free, of course.
"You would have three people with you at all times," he said. "They would be your guides and interpreters. And probably minders even if officially they are not that. But it is their duty to watch over you and clearly tell you what you may and may not do."
We all were familiar with that as whoever had signed up for this trip knew exactly where they were going and probably had already read up a great deal on North Korea. And yet, I would bet that none of us had ever been in a situation where you were watched at all times. But Simon reassured us:
"But don't be too concerned. They are nice people. They are state-appointed, that's for sure, because you can't get such a job in North Korea without an approval from authorities, but you don't need to be alarmed in any way. They are probably more there to keep locals away from you than you from the locals."
He then started reading from the list of things we were not allowed to take into the country. Some of them were common stuff, but some pretty weird like Geiger counters for one. Whatever the reason they made it to the list of banned items for. It caused some general laughs. But soon we settled for more practical matters as, unless someone kept it a secret, we suspected that no one was planning to take along any Geiger counters anyway. The briefing turned to things like books and printed material on the whole, computers and cameras, as well as mobile phones. Simon told us that border officials in North Korea wouldn't let in material potentially compromising or critical of the regime. I had a number of backlog "TIME" magazines on me which I planned to read during my trip. It hadn't quite worked out here in China, but I hoped I'd be able to catch up in North Korea. So I asked:
"Is "TIME" magazine OK?"
Simon nodded:
"Yes, it should be OK," and then he added that whenever he was there, the local guides would ask about English-language magazines and he happily let them have them.
"People there are really eager for the news from abroad," he said. "Or anything in English. So if you have anything, books, magazines, you can part with, they'll be happy to take them."
According to him, there was a lot of paranoia in the west attached to the possible treatment of foreigners by North Korean authorities which was clearly not merited. Whatever printed material we would have on us, even if potentially in sharp contradiction with doctrines of the regime there, no one should be overly worried. Just don't flash out any propaganda and brandish it for everyone to see, he said. That should be enough.
"Also, don't try to convert people to your views. Your guides are educated and polite people. They understand that you have your views and they have theirs. They won't try to educate you, so you don't try to educate them. It'll only make matters worse."
Then he added that on one occasion they'd had someone on a religious mission. Not specifically to North Korea, but life mission of preaching and converting people to whatever religion they belonged to. So once inside the country, they had started selling locals, at least those they had been in contact with, on the path to salvation they were offering. It obviously hadn't gone down all too well in Pyongyang and suburbs.
Then a guy from the group, obviously an Australian by his accent, asked:
"I am a student. I have a number of books on me. Are there any restrictions on what I could bring along?"
Simon told him he could take anything he wanted. And then he turned to the issue of pictures, computers and mobile phones.
"You can't take mobile phones into North Korea. So what we usually do is collect all the phones, put them all together in one bag, seal them on departure and you get them again once you cross the border back into China. If you absolutely need to make phone calls from North Korea, you can do it from the hotel in Pyongyang where you'll be staying. You can also send e-mails from there. But you can't receive them."
Everyone laughed, but Simon assured us it was no joke. That was how it worked there. As far as he knew, it was the only working Internet connection in the country, apart from those which were probably available to foreign diplomatic missions. And presumably to the highest ranking Korean officials. And that's how it was. Except on occasions like earlier this year, in February, when the New York Philharmonic Orchestra had had their historic visit to Pyongyang and miraculously, all the journalists reporting from the tour had been able to use Internet and send their reports in from the hotel without any problems. The moment they had left, the connection had gone up in smoke. Except for that one-way, out-only thing.
"So even if you get your laptop in, you can't use it much."
Somebody asked if laptops could be taken along and Simon said that in theory authorities in North Korea could create problems but they usually don't.
"They never bother me," he said.
About cameras, Simon said that in principle photos should be taken only when specifically told so and every picture taken secretly could theoretically be deleted. The local authorities seem to be very sensitive about the image of North Korea projected abroad and whatever they deem unsuitable, they might scratch. They take great pains to show us only their best and it certainly won't please them to see we caught anything they perceive as less than flattering.
"Also," Simon added "make sure that when you take pictures of Kim Il Sung statues, and they are everywhere, you don't cut them in half. They are very sensitive about that. It's considered rude, an offence really, to have a picture of Kim Il Sung anything else than full figure. If they see it, they'll delete it. But there's no rule, really. You can never know when it'll happen. In many cases they won't bother to check at all, and then it may happen that they just pick you out and you have all the hassle. There was one case when the border officials took the Bradt guide from a tourist just because it contained a Kim Il Sung statue picture cut in half. Even if that same guide entered the country many times before. So you can never know."
But Simon asserted that we shouldn't be worried at all. We just needed to show respect towards the country we were visiting, regardless of whether we agreed with their regime or not. We should remember, he said, that when the tour is over, we'll go back to our own countries and whatever we leave behind in North Korea won't matter much any more.
"Basically, you should always keep one thing in mind. You can't really get into any serious trouble there. No matter what you do, regardless of how outrageous it may be, it won't be you who'll suffer. In the worst case you'll be deported, but that's about all. However, if you do something that authorities there don't like, it'll be your guides who'll suffer a massive loss of face. And bear consequences. Bear in mind that they have a very coveted job. Very few people get to work on jobs which get them in contact with foreigners. That brings along tips and goods from the west which are in huge demand on black market there. It may be a trifle for you, but a few euro go a long way and nobody knows how far they trickle down the family and how many people depend on them. So before you do anything that might cause any trouble there, try to remember that nothing will happen to you, but rather to your guides. And they are decent people who are just trying to feed their families."
It made sense. We all nodded. I guess this all told us more than any other prohibition would have. It basically meant live and let people live, even if you disagree with the way they live. But that's their life, not yours. And if to boot you are a believer in the philosophy that everything happens for a reason, even if sometimes it seems as if it happens for no reason, then there also had to be a reason why in North Korea there was still a regime unlike any other in the world.
Then Simon moved on to the subject of tips. He told us that it was no obligation for any of us, but it was a common practice to give something to our guides at the end of the trip.
"What we usually do," he said "is pool the money together and then give it to one of them, which then they split among themselves."
"And how much should we give?" someone asked.
"It's pretty much up to everyone individually. You can give as much as you want. Or you can give nothing. But twenty five euro per person is something that we usually recommend if you want to tip them."
Simon also suggested that we buy a certain amount of small gifts in the duty free shop on the airport before the take-off tomorrow, like cigarettes, perfumes and so on. He said that those things would serve the purpose of showing gratitude to various guides on the spot in museums, at the sightseeing spots and so on. And, once again, those were things that were nearly priceless in North Korea. Whether the recipients would keep them for themselves or sell them on black market.
Speaking of black market, he said that there was a budding black market in the country, particularly along the border with China where an increasing number of goods and items, common across the border but still a huge rarity in North Korea, could be bought. Obviously, quite a lot of what people procured for their everyday lives came into the households through black market channels.
Then it all inevitably led to foreign currencies and their use there. Of course, there was no widespread use of them, maybe not even an official use. Except for foreigners. And as a foreigner, you could use any currency you please, provided they heard of it and could put them to any use. The best treatment was reserved for euro.
"But they seem to be unaware of the real exchange rates on the world currency markets," Simon said. "So, say, if you're buying an entrance ticket to the Mass Games, and want to pay in euro, you pay forty. And in US dollars it'll cost you only fifty. So whoever can, I'd suggest that at least for the Mass Games you exchange some euro in dollars. It'll cost you less."
Then we came to the issue of visit to Kim Il Sung Mausoleum and the shirt-and-tie affair. Simon appealed that we absolutely wear a collared shirt and tie during that visit. He assured us again that no one would say anything no matter how dressed up - or down - we go, but it is a place of reverence for North Koreans, with almost a religious symbolism there. Everyone is expected to visit it at some point in their lives and when they do, they dress up in their best. By extension, by dressing up for the occasion we should just show our respect to our hosts and guides. Otherwise, again, it would be a massive loss of face for them.
"If you don't have a shirt and tie," Simon said "just round the corner here, there is a clothing shop where you can buy them really cheap. For just a few yuan. Don't splash out on it if you don't want to. It's just for that one visit and you can even throw them away afterwards. So go there after this briefing if that's the best option for you. I'm sure you can find something for yourself."
I felt a bit awkward. As already known, I didn't have any collared shirts and ties on me. And in that e-mail from Nick last week I was promised to be given one for the occasion. Now, however, no one made any mention of it. I didn't have time to go shopping for the shirt and tie now. Maybe tomorrow morning at best, in Xin Jiēkou Beidàjiē, if there'd time before going to the airport. But today I had to go back to the hotel, as soon as this thing was over, and go on with my social obligations. I decided to keep quiet about it and bring it up when we get there. And then see what happens.
There were more things Simon talked about and the atmosphere got pretty relaxed. Of course, right now we were all strangers to each other who would be tossed together in the same boat for the next ten days to navigate uncharted waters of North Korea and it would help if we would get along well. There were a few pairs, some couples, some friends, but maybe half of us were lone shooters, too. A rather motley crew, assembled from all over the world.
"If you absolutely can't go on without fruit and chocolate, then buy them here," Simon went on. "They don't have chocolate there. And what little fruit you have in your hotel shop is rubbish. So such things are best bought before departure. Milk, too. They don't have milk there."
It was a good thing to know. I decided to get stocked a bit on those things. I know I wouldn't buy so much to last me throughout my entire stay, but having a few apples for a few days and a bit of milk for the black tea occasionally would be nice.
We were flying with Air Koryo tomorrow. On board a thirty-year old Ilyushin aircraft. Of course, I knew that Air Koryo was on the list of air carriers banned in the European Union. Which means that, as is the case with every other blacklisted air carrier, Air Koryo aircraft are not allowed into the EU air space. And people are strongly advised against flying it. As the authorised bodies within the Union claim, the list is part of a process to improve safety standards and identify airlines operating below essential safety levels. So if the European Union has decided to ban an airline from European airspace, it means it has been identified as unsafe.
"But I can assure you, even if you are afraid of flying, as I am, that this is a purely political decision," Simon said. "Air Koryo have not had a single incident in their history, which can't be said for some companies which are not on the list. And I don't expect them to start falling off the sky with your flight."
"Are you coming with us?" someone asked.
"Yes, I am. I'll have to return to Bĕijīng earlier, so I won't be able to stay through with you, but I'll be there for the first few days."
The briefing took some two hours. Together with a somewhat late kick-off and some informal chats later. Not that it was too formal at any point, but eventually we didn't sit together in the same room any more. Before we left, each one of us had to sign a written statement whereby we declared that we were not journalists, writers or reporters of any kind and would not write and report on what we would see during the trip in any form except with previous clearance from the Koryo Tours. I knew I planned to write about this and being deprived of a possibility to say what I saw in North Korea wasn't something I looked forward to very much. Not many people went there yet. So if there was one country I could say something about that thousands before me had not already said, it was North Korea. Well, that would be one more thing I'd deal with later.
When it was all over, we were told to gather either at 10:30 next morning at the Koryo Tours or at the airport at 11. And that was it.
I went straight back to the hotel, with the only delay of buying a few apples and some milk in one of small local shops near "Red Lantern House 2". By the time I was back in the hotel, it was dark. Virtually the moment I arrived, Maggie arrived too. She hadn't waited in her office for me to call, as we had said she would. Of course, I didn't mind, but it could have happened that the briefing would take longer.
"It's OK. I would have waited," she said. It seemed she just didn't want to be in the office any more, so she preferred waiting in the "Red Lantern House 2" to waiting at work.
She wished me all the best for my birthday and took out a brown cardboard box from her bag. A present for me. And a rather luxuriously packed one at that. I opened the box and inside found - a Satchi leather belt. Whereas this Satchi brand meant nothing to me - the name sounded very Italian, but I had never heard of it - unless it was one of those knock-off things which abound in China, it could have cost quite a lot. OK, Maggie would not go hungry because of it any time soon, so it was fine. In any case, this birthday made me two belts richer.
"What was the briefing like?" she asked.
"Fine," I said. "They basically gave us dos and don'ts for the trip, as they said they would."
"What about the shirt and tie? Will they give you one?"
"No, they didn't say anything."
"So what will you do?"
"Maybe I'll buy one tomorrow if I have time. If not, I'll go like this."
"You must tell me how it was when you return," she laughed.
She stayed her usual time in the hotel with me and when she left, I stopped by the reception to ask where I could charge my mp3 player. I knew that I'd have no opportunities for it in North Korea, so if I wanted any music there, I'd have to make sure now I'd have it. They freed some USB sockets for me at the PC in use for guests and then gave me two birthday messages I had received during the day. I just wanted to return the calls, when I spotted a guy whom I recognised.
He recognised me, as well. We smiled, nodded to each other and shook hands.
"So you're staying here?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Seems we're staying in the same place."
"Yes, it would seem so. I am Pim," he said.
"I am Damir," I answered. "Where are you from?"
"From Holland."
One could tell by his accent.
"And you?"
"I am from Croatia."
"Oh, OK."
This was a bit bigger surprise than meeting someone from the Netehrlands, I guess.
"When did you arrive here?"
"Today. You?"
"Two weeks ago. I've never been to Bĕijīng before, so since I had to come here anyway, I thought I might as well see the city."
"And now it's North Korea."
"Right. Tell me, will you go straight to the airport tomorrow or first to Koryo Tours?"
"I'll go to Koryo Tours," he said.
"And how did you plan to go there?"
"I would take a taxi, I guess."
"A friend of mine will come here tomorrow morning and get me there by car. If you want, you can come along."
"Oh yes," he nodded. "That'll be fine."
We would meet tomorrow morning after breakfast, around nine, and then PingPing would take us to the Koryo Tours. Knowing her, I knew she wouldn't mind having one of my fellow travellers along. We shook hands and wished each other good night.
One of the messages I had received was from Mei. I called her back, apologising for doing it so late, but she was still up. She wished me a happy birthday and the safe trip. I promised I would call upon my return.
And finally, just before I was going to take a shower, a western girl stopped me and asked me where I was from. I told her and she said she was from Austria. As is usual among travellers, we started talking about our immediate travelling plans. She had just arrived in Bĕijīng and was continuing in a few days with a tour through a part of China. I told her that tomorrow I was off to North Korea.
"Wow! North Korea!" she exclaimed. "Aren't you scared?"
"No," I laughed. "Why would I be scared?"
"The regime, you know."
"No, of course not. I suppose this is one of the safest countries in the world right now for a foreign tourist to go. They will make sure nothing happens to you. It would be a bad propaganda for them if you came home and told people something went wrong there."
It made sense to her.
"The only problem is, you'll have to have local guides along all he time. They are probably minders, too."
She winked:
"Then you'll have to make some rebellion."
I didn't quite get her. So she explained:
"You know. Rebellion. Not much, but little."
Then I got my head around what she meant. Like a little breach of rules and discipline occasionally. To make a statement and stand for human rights and personal freedoms. I nodded. And added what Simon had told us about our not being able to get in trouble at all. About the fact that the only ones who could get in trouble were local guides who made their living like that.
She didn't seem to see it all like that before. Like none of us had.
"Well, then enjoy yourself, at least," she said.
"Same to you," I replied and we wished each other good night.
