BEIJING -- There are 63 athletes from the Democratic People's Republic of Korea staying in a private compound inside the Olympic Village.

Literally.

Staying.

Inside.

The athletes get to go outside when they practice, or when they compete in the 11 sports they've come here to win medals in. But that's about it. And I know this because I went to the Water Cube on Tuesday and talked with North Korean synchronized swimmers Kim Yong Mi and Wang Ok Gyong.

Well, I talked with an interpreter who spoke English and Mandarin. And he talked with a second interpreter who spoke Mandarin and Korean. And the five of us huddled at one end of the swim complex, against a steel rail that blocked off the back door, understanding each other, one clumsy sentence at a time.

Kim and Wang finished 15th in the preliminaries and didn't qualify for today's finals, which means they'll probably be back in communist North Korea by the time you read this. There will be no trip to the Great Wall. No shopping excursion to the Silk Market. There will be no tours, or temples, or taking the subway.

The Forbidden City?

Forbidden.

Said Wang: "We're not allowed to see places of interest."

North Korea's government is a dictatorship. The nation follows the Juche ideology of self reliance, developed by Kim Il Sung, the country's former leader and father of current president, Kim Jong Il. Under this philosophy, it aims to be self-sustaining, self-reliant and independent. It also requires complete loyalty and devotion to the leader.

As a result, North Korean athletes are not allowed to mingle with athletes from other nations inside the village. And they refused to talk with reporters after their performance on Tuesday until their coach -- a woman named Jong Ae Ryu -- gave her blessing. It's protocol, and the whole contingent hurried off after a few minutes and polite explanation that they didn't come to Beijing to be tourists or make friends.

"No mixing with others," Jong said.

The Chinese government took a beating leading up to Beijing for its restrictive policies, and curious behavior. We've been critical of China for the careful orchestration of the opening ceremony, and for acting paranoid, and for being politically heavy-handed and controlling. But it's probably worth pointing out that North Korea makes China look easygoing.

After U.S. athletes finish competition in Beijing many decide to stick around and become tourists. You can see dozens of U.S. athletes and their families at the Great Wall or Temple of Heaven or eating in restaurants or buying cheap knockoffs in one of the popular markets here.

Maybe North Korea was paying attention when seven members of the Cuban under-23 soccer team fled from a Florida hotel while competing in the Olympic qualifying tournament. Or maybe it was paying attention when four gold medalists from Cuba's 2004 Athens Olympic team defected. Or maybe North Korea knows that the entire Ethiopian soccer team disappeared while in Rome for a match in 1997 .

Hey, relax, this is Beijing, the defection-proof Olympics, yeah?

Leading up to Beijing, we heard North Korea declare that its competing athletes would, "enhance the fatherland's honor." And also, "display the honor of the (North) with high scores by applying the Korean-style competing principles and methods." But what I really want to hear from North Korea is that it's prepared to have some confidence in itself and let its athletes share in the wonderful experience of global competition.

Michael Phelps said this week, after winning his eighth gold medal, that Beijing would always be a special place for him. And you understand why. Even athletes who win nothing in competition talk about going home with new friendships, amazing memories and a rich Olympic experience.

I fear North Korea, six medals won in Beijing, is missing the point.

Those synchronized swimmers will tell you that they're happy. And they love their country. And that they came to China to compete for medals, nothing more. But it all feels so hollow when they walk out dripping wet, with nothing to show for it.

I'm conflicted here, because on one hand, none of us has a right to insist someone be unhappy with the circumstances of their life and the restrictions of their country. But on the other hand, if the athletes from a nation such as North Korea know nothing different, can they really understand what the rest of us do?

It's why I'd love to see the hope in the eyes of those two synchronized swimmers as they gazed upon the Great Wall or looked at the Temple of Heaven. I would have enjoyed hearing from them, post-competition, about the new friendships they forged in the Olympic Village. And I would have enjoyed hearing them talk about how they understand there's so much more to an Olympics than winning medals.

Instead, the two women just nodded at me, and talked about going home. And I asked questions, and tried to understand how they kept from leaping over that rail, bolting through the back doors, and running for their freedom.

I had a digital camera with me at the Water Cube, too, by the way. On it were photos of the Beijing's breathtaking temples, museums, and the Great Wall, and the beautiful, ornate architecture inside the Forbidden City.

I wanted to pull the camera out, pull the synchronized swimmers aside and show them the photographs, one picture at a time.

I wanted to.

I just didn't have the heart.

-- John Canzano: 503-294-5065; JohnCanzano@aol.com