This post is over a month overdue, and I am sorry. I can only offer the excuse that the experiences detailed herein took a lot of processing. That and I’m a very important and fully functioning adult with a full time job, and I have to do adult things like buy groceries and play on facebook.

But anyway, you have waited (somewhat) patiently, and you won’t be disappointed. Like so many of the greatest tales, I have decided to split this one into instalments. Like the last Harry Potter novel, I want to do it justice in my retelling. I will leave it up to you to decide who is the Harry and who is the Voldemort in my story though.

And so, without further ado, I shall begin.

I am not especially well informed, for a person who opted to move to a country which is so topical, and often controversial. Many of those who move to China do a good bit of research before they arrive. Such people can be fairly interesting to talk to, I’ve learnt a lot from conversations with these ‘in-the-know’ folk. But I am not one of them, and in many ways, I’m glad of this.

I don’t do research. It’s a fact that made my university assignments much less insightful than they could have been (although I fortunately have always had a very active imagination and an adeptness for forging entirely believable bullshit in the face of a deadline).

As far as my education goes, this can be traced to my laziness. But my choice of wilful ignorance in more recent times I can put down to craving the thrill of the unknown. There is nothing like being caught off your guard. It teaches you how quickly you can think, move and adapt.

So when I found myself faced with another rather unique opportunity, I didn’t go out of my way to sponge up any of the notions held by the rest of the world. The DPRK (or North Korea) is not a place though that many can truly claim to understand. Personally, besides having long enjoyed the memes and pop culture references which have sprung up over the years, I hadn’t had many opportunities to learn about North Korea anyway. It was an enigma, wrapped in a nuclear missile.

The day before we left Chris and I had gone to a briefing, where we were warned of the dos and don’ts. We were told, for instance, that if we received a copy of the Pyongyang Times, which would inevitably have a photograph of the Respected Marshal Kim Jong Un, not to fold it in half, or to allow any harm to come to it whatsoever. Throwing it in the bin would be an absolute travesty, and if it was found that we had done this, we would find ourselves writing extremely heartfelt apology letters.

No one knows what becomes of unwanted newspapers. But I don’t envy whoever’s job it is to deal with them all.

There were plenty of warnings, but in essence it all just came back to one thing. Respect. Affording the same level of respect to North Korea and its past and present leaders, that we would to a person with strong and unwavering religious beliefs was the best way to handle the situation. Don’t deny your own beliefs, but approach any discussion or interaction with diplomacy and tact.

Really the same can be said for any situation.

Flying into Pyongyang, in the depths of winter, is quite a surreal experience. A blur of grey and brown, with none but the occasional grey clad farmer visible as we passed over empty fields.

The airport terminal was a single, giant room, and it was a little nervously that I made my way through immigration and security.

Until very recently foreigners hadn’t been allowed to take mobile phones in at all, but we were amongst one of the first groups to go through with the new rules (which had been relaxed for a high profile visit by someone important from Google). They examined each phone for several minutes and made a record.

Fortunately my phone (which was the epitome of technological style, no doubt, ten years ago) wasn’t considered a threat to national security. In fact the only way it could be a threat is if I threw it at someone. And I’d have to throw it pretty hard.

Not everyone was so lucky though. A couple of members of our party had their smart phones confiscated, for reasons I never found out. I can only assume they had useful wartime tactics stored inside, perhaps in the form of Angry Birds.

The bus ride to the Yanggakdo Hotel was quite eerie. Electricity is in short supply, so unlike any other capital city, my first impressions were formed based on the hulking shadows of the cityscape, rather than glittering lights. And this in turn made the hotel seem all the more impossible, a towering, bright building, set on its own island surrounded by the Taedong River, which was frozen solid. Our own personal Alcatraz (or Azkaban, if you prefer).

We began our first full day in the country at Mangyongdae Native House, the birthplace of Kim Il Sung. There we were regaled with the tale of how ‘The Dear Leader’ left Korea, and subsequently returned to lead the revolution.

It was the first time I’d been told anything about the first (and arguably most beloved) of North Korea’s head honchos.

It was not the last.

President Kim Il Sung was just about the be all and end all for the North Korean people. Just about anything he ever looked at or touched has been put in a glass case. The more times a place can claim to have been visited by him, or by those who have since followed, the taller its locals seem to stand.

Mangtongdae Native House was in every way sacred. It had snowed a few days before we had arrived, but there were volunteers to be seen everywhere, clearing this away. Working, always, to ensure this place remained perpetually beautiful, forever deserving of its status.

We next stopped at Mansudae Art Studio, though only briefly. Lovely though some of the paintings and embroidery works inside were, I found myself more fascinated by the statues outside. Kim Il Sung sat atop a horse, along with the recently added Kim Jong Il. As it was the day before Kim Jong Il’s birthday (the second most important national holiday) there was a crowd, standing in lines before these bronze figures, bowing and laying flowers before them.

Bronze statues very quickly began to lose their novelty though. Over the next few days we visited more of these than I can clearly remember, and almost all of them portrayed Kim Il Sung engaged in some action of revolution or benevolence.

Along with the statues, enormous mosaics can be seen almost anywhere in the city. They depict everything from important speeches to railway station openings, and stand in bright and frivolous contrast to the stark grey of Pyongyang.

Possibly my favourite experience of the entire trip came next. The images of the following few hours have been burned so clearly into my mind that I can’t imagine ever forgetting.

Our tour had been invited to watch a children’s show, a celebration for the Lunar New Year. It took place at the Mangyongdae Schoolchildren’s Palace, an extracurricular centre more elaborately decked out than any I’d ever seen. Having participated heavily in theatre back in school I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous of North Korea at that point.

The theatre had more cutting edge equipment than I could ever have imagined, including a moving stage and rising orchestra pit. I can only imagine at what cost such things have been installed, although I’d imagine money was not the only sacrifice for this country as it sought to fulfil its cultural ambitions.

This aside though, this performance was mind blowing, in so many ways. It opened with a very energetic dance routine. It seemed to emulate the joy of youth, so many colours, smiling faces, and bubbles.

And that’s when a missile roller-skated onto the stage.

Or perhaps I should say ‘a satellite’, since that’s what anyone you speak to will tell you it is. And everyone was so happy, and so was the missile, which had a big smiling face. And we all applauded, casting one another uncomfortable glances, laughing, because that was the best way to respond to the confusion and sadness this most bizarre image brought.

This was not the first time we’d been faced with everyone’s favourite satellite. In the foyer before the performance, we’d come face to face with a jolly looking snowman, one arm wrapped around it like it was an old friend and the other extended to give a cheery thumbs up.

The show went for about an hour and a half. Despite being a little unnerving at times (watching a group of fierce, military uniform clad children, who seemed no older than eight, go from a little army drill themed ‘dance’, to creating a tank with their bodies, firing at and successfully destroying the US, which was symbolised on screen, for example) there was plenty which inspired awe.

The accordion, it seems, is North Korea’s most popular instrument. So of course, a routine was included where three children very athletically pranced about the stage whilst playing some nationalistic song. Because of this I now have a genuine desire to someday learn to play the piano accordion.

All of the singing was lovely too, and any of the instrumental performances were flawless. It was in keeping with the whole show. I wondered how long they had been practicing for, everything was so perfectly synchronised, from the choreography to the super glued smiles.

Children from all over the country had been brought to the capital for this performance. Our guides told us with pride of the mercy given by the Respected Marshall Kim Jong Un. He had allowed even the offspring of those convicted of treason to participate. Or, the exceptionally talented offspring, anyway. One small boy gave an extremely emotional speech of thanks on this topic, which brought a teacher on stage and several of the women seated by us to tears.

There was one other piece which stood out to me. Inspired by on a true story, there was an interpretative dance which told the tale of a young girl who perished in a house fire. She may have escaped with her life of course, but was bravely determined to rescue the pictures of the leaders from the blaze. She is hailed as a national hero, and North Koreans are encouraged to follow her example in defending even the image of the Great President, Great General and Respected Marshall with their lives.

After a lunch of Korean barbecue in which several of the guys were dragged up by waitresses to dance with them, and the power went out once or twice, we journeyed to our next stop.

North Korea likes to have the best of things, or at the very least, the biggest, the most ornate. Pyongyang boasts the deepest metro in the world, at 110 metres below ground. This is one instance where the extravagance seems justified, as at that depth it could certainly double as a bunker, and I think we can all agree now that the way things are going, they might soon be in need of such a thing.

The walls were elaborately decorated with detailed propaganda mosaics, or with pretty landscapes. The platforms themselves were grand also, built from white marble, with multi-coloured chandeliers adorning the ceiling.

The metro itself was like something straight out of the fifties, and we rode six stops down the line with locals, some of whom were suspicious of us, others politely curious. A woman sitting down had a free seat next to her, and invited me to sit by her, perhaps as an act of solidarity (I was one of only three female foreigners with our tour group, including the tour coordinator). She didn’t speak to me, we had no common language after all, but she waved a friendly goodbye and smiled as she left the carriage.

We alighted at the ‘Triumph’ station. There we reascended to street level, which took several minutes and a disproportionate number of hilarious threats to push me back down the steep escalator from Chris.

What we found when we reached the street once again was a great archway. This was North Korea’s version of the Arc de Triomphe, and to pass on the most important fact which was impressed frequently on me, it’s “bigger than the one in Paris”. I have never been to Paris, so am forced to take their word for it. Although it should also be noted that it was constructed in celebration of President Kim Il Sung’s return to Korea and leading the anti-Japanese revolution.

Next we visited a foreign language book shop.

Seeing the collective works of the three leaders, with their titles in a language which we could understand, was quite amusing. They have written on such a range of topics, and I can’t even begin to imagine how they have come to have so much knowledge on such a varied range of subjects.

It was much to my disappointment that there were no copies of ‘Kim Jong Il on the Art of Cinema’ left in English. Having studied film myself in university, I was very eager for his undoubtedly prolific insights. Alas, it was not to be. Instead I bought the very entertaining ‘Anecdotes of Kim Il Sung’s Life’, which reads a little like a very strange bible. Featured true stories include how Kim Il Sung cured a seventy year old man’s impotence, and how he personally recommended alterations to the design of soldier’s footwear.

From there we took a short walk to People’s Square, where rallies and mass gatherings are frequently held (and even more so since I returned to China, it seems). There, of course were the famous portraits which are often seen on the news. I’d never realised before though that they were not unique to this place. Everywhere we visited unfailingly had such portraits on display.

While I doubt that we were watched as closely as many of my friends had warned we would be, I did feel the ever watching eyes of the two first Kims. Although it is true that they were always smiling, so I can only presume they approved of me (or perhaps it was Chris’ puns which amused them so, but I very much doubt it).

Museum of Metro Construction was our next stop. This was the part of the day where I felt like I’d gone back in time to some lame family driving holiday, in which we would end up in a place whose only claim to fame would be that it was the home to some slightly larger than average Australian thing, and would inevitably be dragged into museums of farming machinery or similar.

Or rather, that is how it felt at first.

This museum is dedicated to showing how Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il were involved in the construction of the metro, and is almost as big as the metro itself. A great many of the rooms are empty, of course. But the reason I changed my mind about this place wasn’t the trains, which were proudly on display for having been somehow involved in something to do with one of the leaders, or a relative (impressed though I was by this).

I changed my mind because the ENORMOUS diorama. Having always been a major diorama fan (as some of my friends from high school can attest to – my ‘French Revolution’ model with working guillotine being a personal favourite, along with the ‘Pride and Prejudice and Pokemon’ one that I made as a birthday gift) this room was like a dream. We actually had to stand on a balcony to look at it.

I have to admit though, I was glad that we were skipping the “Museum of the Construction of the Museum of Metro Construction”(yes, that really does exist).

The afternoon concluded with visits to the Monument to Party Foundation and the Juche Tower. Both of these are iconic of Pyongyang. I found the first quite interesting, mainly for the way it deviated from most communist symbolism. The hammer and sickle was present of course, towering over us (a little threateningly I daresay). But there was also a writing brush, the symbol of the intellectual, who is recognised as a vital aspect of the North Korean Communist regime (and perhaps the reason the Kims have put so much time and energy into publishing every amazing thought they’ve ever had).

The Juche Tower is certainly better known. I’ve already mentioned how bitterly cold it was (but it seems that’s all I’ve spoken about for the last several months, so I’m sure you assumed anyway), and our visit to the tower, which stood along the frozen Taedong River, was unbearably so, given that we opted to ascend to the top to take full advantage of the view. We had to very seriously weigh up the pros and cons of removing our gloves to capture a few snaps (the major con being that ten seconds without them seemed to turn my hands purple, and that colour just doesn’t suit me).

But if the first day was a non-stop roller-coaster of North Korean fun, it was as nothing compared to the next day.

February 16 was the birthday of the Great General Kim Jong Il, so it was only right that we began this most auspicious occasion by personally delivering our best birthday wishes. We ‘suited up’ as best we could (especially difficult for me with my limited wardrobe which featured little more than an ill-fitting jumper and a pair of jeans) and made our way to Kumsusan Sun’s Palace (the mausoleum of Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il).

Kim Jong Il’s body has only very recently been put on display, and I am very lucky to be able to say I was among the first hundred foreigners to have seen it. It was also quite momentous on a more personal level, as it was the first dead body I’ve ever seen (and I know how blessed I am to be able to say that at twenty one).

It was another remarkably grand building, although this time perhaps more understandably so. We spent easily twenty minutes standing very solemnly on moving walkways, which moved at an appropriate reverent pace. When we eventually got to the room where he lay, we were required to stand in lines of four, and move around the body, bowing at his feet, and right and left sides, before exiting. It’s fascinating to me that people can be preserved in that way at all, and rather than feeling creeped out, I was quite in awe.

Unfortunately, because of the high number of visitors going to the mausoleum that day, and the knowledge that most were going to pay tribute to the Great General on his birthday, Kim Il Sung’s exhibit was closed off. So my current ‘preserved body tally’ remains at one for now. We did get to see the rooms of Kim Jong Il’s medals and uniforms however, as well as his cars, boat, and the train carriage we he allegedly died in (along with the ‘last documents he ever saw’, his infamous grey tracksuit and his high heeled shoes).

The day held in store many other more upbeat activities too. Before returning to the hotel for lunch (in its very own revolving restaurant on the forty seventh floor) we went to watch the 22nd Paekdusan International Figure Skating Festival. It featured many foreign participants, and had a definite cute factor, a couple of performances involving perpetually smiling and positively tiny children. One routine was even set to a Bjork song, which was definitely unexpected.

Flower shows have never really been my thing. I tend to enjoy them well enough when I find myself at one, but I certainly don’t seek such events out. But that afternoon North Korea well and truly altered my perspective.

You see, what I’ve never liked about flower shows in the past is the variety. There’s far too much variety. It’s exhausting, the colours alone are almost too much, and then you have to deal with DIFFERENT TYPES of flowers on top of that.

But the Kimjongilia Flower Show cut out all of that unnecessary garbage. Instead we were treated to a feast of red. Display after display of the Kimjongilia (a specially engineered type of begonia which was a gift to Kim Jong Il from a Japanese botanist), and we were guided to each and every one by smiling guides.

Most of the displays featured a model of some iconic Pyongyang building, surrounded by the flowers, but there were plenty with lovely little tanks, jets and missiles.

It truly taught me the meaning of red flowers.

Cold though it was, the sun had come out and was smiling down at us. And I’ve never needed much of an excuse to eat ice cream. So when the guides bought a selection of North Korean ice creams for us to try, I just about thought it was MY birthday too.

You will probably notice a theme when I talk about my favourite times in Pyongyang. Amazing though it was to hear about the leaders, and to see the things they had seen, what I most enjoyed were chances to watch or interact with locals.

Going to a mass dance was absolutely one of my top moments. University students had gathered in public, the women in traditional dress looking lovely and colourful, while the men wore smart shirts with ties (red was quite a popular colour here).

It was wonderful. Several circles had formed outside of the indoor stadium, and they were dancing with that trademark North Korean synchronicity to folk songs.

Our presence caused a fair bit of amusement for the students, particularly when some of us joined in. A very patient young man took me on as his partner, and I proceeded to have the circle laughing gleefully at my trademark white girl awkward style (I say ‘I’, but there were plenty of awkward white guys dancing in the same circle, and I was certainly not the worst).

There were about four or five dances, which repeated. I quickly came to find my favourite, the one I know as “the kicky running dance”. I had that one down better than some of the Korean girls, or maybe it’s just that I was dancing more enthusiastically.

Despite the freezing temperature, I was sweating profusely by the time we left the circle. But it put me in such a good mood for the next few hours that I basically skipped to the bar we went to next.

We followed a drink or two (and a little diplomatic and tactful conversation with our guide) with a wander through a department store, and then it was on to an activity I never would have expected in Pyongyang.

The Golden Lane Bowling Alley is a popular hang-out for Pyongyang’s youth. As such, it was Pyongyang’s youth who witnessed my abysmal loss (although I’d had a very promising beginning in the game) but had the good grace to hide their sniggers (unlike Chris, who preferred to mock me openly).

Needless to say, we were exhausted. And this combined with soju had me on the brink of falling asleep in my hotpot at dinner time.

It’s remarkable what you can learn in two days. But it certainly is easier to discover truth and understanding when your mind isn’t clouded with bias and misconceptions.

What I had learnt was that regardless of any political agenda which exists, the DPRK is the home of human beings. And human beings want to be happy, and to take care of their families, and to feel proud, of themselves and of their country. And they should be respected for that.

But like I say, this was two days in. More was discovered over the days which followed. But for the next part of my tale you will simply have to wait, and be grateful I’m not writing any more today than the four thousand words I already have.

-Pauline.