For the past year, this blog has been Korea-focussed, tracking my journey in kimchi-land. Now that I’m back in the good old RSA, I’m expanding the focus somewhat. No longer a Korean blog , it will now be the general home for all experiences of wonder, likely to range from travel to arts, everyday and quite possibly (if the current World-cup mania in SA is anything to go by) sports. The Korean information and stories will remain up and can be accessed through the ‘categories’ but future posts will focus on Africa, South Africa and things that happen in this beautiful part of the world. Come along for the ride – it’ll be roller-coaster-fun guaranteed
All posts by Claire
Homeward Bound
I spent my last night in Korea at a Seoul backpackers. The next morning I was on my way by 11am, having left a selection of books, heavy jerseys and other bits and pieces behind for fear that my suitcase would be overweight (not that I couldn’t have made a plan if it was but I have an aversion to airport admin and try to avoid it whenever possible).
I rolled my large, heavy case along the uneven pavement (and road where there was no pavement). Two different taxis gawked at the funny-looking foreigner and drove merrily on by. I grumbled under my breath. The third taxi driver was kinder and dropped me at the subway station, even helping me get the large case onto the pavement.
I crossed under the road via the subway (big suitcase + subway steps = fail, btw). I was taking the Airport Limousine to Incheon Airport, the giant airport in the coastal city of Incheon, which is currently being swallowed whole by the capital. Airport Limousine Buses are a marvellous invention. Although Incheon Airport is connected to Seoul by train and subway, both are a huge mission with luggage. Taxis are an option but are rather expensive. Airport limousine buses run between the airport and most areas of Seoul for a reasonable fee and can handle plane-sized luggage. They also run to all other major cities in Korea (express – no stops in between) so they really are the best way to get to and from Incheon Airport.
I arrived at the airport early and waited for the check-in counters to open. My bag was overweight. Of course. Luckily only a kg or two, so they simply sighed and checked it right through to Joburg. I wasn’t sure they’d be able to do this because my second flight was with SAA but they did – Yay for Cathay Pacific. Sadly, I didn’t get a window seat. I may be alone in this but I deeply resent the new airline policy that allows people to choose seats in advance and links window-seats to ticket-prices. I liked the way it worked before, when I could rock up at the airport early and be guaranteed a window because I was the first person to check in. Window-seats as a reward for being on time – that’s how the world should work! At least I was on the aisle – middle-seats are no fun.
It was lunch time and I was hungry, so I tried to grab lunch before heading through security. The only restaurant that appealed was staffed by a particularly surly Korean who looked me up and down and informed me that they “didn’t seat single diners”. I resisted the urge to punch her in the nose and decided I eat beyond security.
Security check done – and thankfully no taking off of shoes required; next stop immigration. I handed the woman my passport and my Alien Registration Card (ARC) – the card that has been my ID in Korea for the last year. I’d have liked to keep the card as a souvenir but they have to be handed in at departure, I suppose to stop the horrible foreigners coming back. The customs lady asked me if I was returning and warned me in a stern voice that she would have to cancel my visa now. I don’t think she appreciated my broad smile and enthusiastic nod. She scowled and stamped my passport. Filled with joy, I thanked her politely and headed on, into no-mans land and the journey home.
Seoul (Incheon) to Hong Kong
Airhostesses have to be tall. That’s the rule. Or at least it used to be the rule. It’s always seemed arbitrary before. I am more sympathetic to the idea after a tiny, doll-like Cathay Pacific cabin attendant nearly knocked me out trying to stow a suitcase in the overhead compartment above me, while standing on the edge of my seat and swinging it past my head.
The food on Cathay Pacific was fine and the in-flight entertainment was good. It was a short flight – 3 or 4 hours, so not too much time to kill but I find I’m always more restless on a plane when I don’t have a window to look out of. I found some episodes of Glee to watch instead.
In Hong Kong (my 6-hour stop-over) I went through the quick transit security check and set off to explore this sprawling air transportation hub. Hong Kong Airport is one of the busiest in the world. In 2009, over 46 million passengers used the airport. That’s nearly the population of South Africa. Shops, pharmacies, liquor and cigarette duty frees, bars, restaurants, spas and lounges dot the area around the many, many moving walkways. At intervals, electronic signboards show destinations from Paris and Sydney to Beijing and LA. I walked and walked and walked. You hear all the time about people who spend hours and hours travelling and get all sorts of aches and pains from lack of exercise. Do these people not have stops on their flights? Or do they simply not feel the need to wander around the airports where they stop? I like exploring airports. I like airports. This one was spacious and classy, although I did end up having Burger King for dinner, but mostly because I wasn’t sure whether the other restaurants would take the currency I was carrying.
Hong Kong to Johannesburg
I sat down in my aisle seat (again) and waited for the rest of the passengers to board. People came in ones and twos. Eventually, the cabin crew started closing overhead lockers and talking people through safety procedures. There was a window seat next to me. It was empty. I watched and waited and then, before I knew it, they were preparing the doors for take-off. Joy of joys – not only could I claim window but I had two whole seats to spread out across.
I watched a rainy Hong Kong fall away below me and relaxed into the South African accents and languages floating back and forth. In thirteen hours, I would be back in the RSA but already, just being on an SAA flight I was a little bit closer and a little more at home.
The flight to Joburg wasn’t bad. SAA isn’t the world’s best for in-flight entertainment but you can usually find something to watch. My jet-lag kicked in, of course, so I was awake from about 3am SA time. This did mean that I got to watch the sun rise over the stunning clouded edge of Africa. I kept the window blind open for the whole flight and no-one made me shut it, unlike previous east-ward flights, so I was able to watch the whole sky-scape turn from night into dusky-dawn. At one point, a tray of typical SAA breakfast in front of me, I watched the early sun reflecting the SAA colours from the wing-tip across the wing-surface towards me. It could have been an SAA advert.
Joburg. South Africa. ‘My’ airport. I tried to hold back the tears as we dropped, lower and lower, across the highveld but there was no point. As the plane touched down, with the sun slanting through the red winter grass, I cried and cried. I was home. The familiar form of OR Tambo rose before us. The voice, the same voice as always, welcomed us to Joburg with all the words I remember from all those flights.
We disembarked and followed the signs to passport control, which was efficient and organised and clearly very ready for the Soccer World Cup. The whole plane-load must have passed through in about 10 minutes. Baggage claims took a little longer. I suppose that much baggage takes a while to off-load. While we waited a guard, with something like ‘agricultural products control’ on his vest, led a small dog in and out, letting the dog sniff at people’s baggage and clothes. It was unobtrusive and non-invasive and seemed a very efficient way to check things. I loaded my bag onto a trolley and walked out into the circular arrivals area of the new OR Tambo.
The airport was looking great – all sparkly and new and decked out in bright colours for the World Cup. I had several hours to wait for my domestic flight but this wait was more of a home-coming than a delay. I had breakfast at Wimpy and only just managed to avoid crying into my first proper Wimpy coffee. I wandered around a bit to see what they’d done to the place. I found a spot, on the departures level, from where I could comfortably look down on the arrivals circle and people-watch. To my left, a group of police-men stood chatting, interrupting their conversation frequently to give directions or help out lost foreigners. The taxi drivers, the porters, the airport volunteers – everyone was helpful and competent. Down below, a group of Argentineans got into a singing match with some Chile fans. Their hearty singing was complemented by the occasional Vuvuzela blast. Everyone watched and clapped. The atmosphere was fantastic.
Eventually, tired after all the flights, I checked in, went through security (ah, so good to be back at a familiar airport) and spent some quality time in the premier lounge. I was flying 1time but I figured I’d be tired so paid the extra for the lounge – definitely worth it if you want to get work done or have a long wait. Nearly 24 hours after leaving Incheon, I landed in East London, where I was greeted by singing and dancing. The singing and dancing was obviously intended for someone else but it was still pretty awesome. We (my parents and I) stayed in EL for a few hours and did fun things like buying Fest tickets. I should have been exhausted but I was buoyed by the joy and wonder and relief of being home.
I’ve been back for two weeks now. I can’t believe it has been so long. I keep finding things I love about this country and reasons I’m glad to be back. The moment that made me realise just how homesick I was in Korea, the moment I keep coming back to and that I suppose will always be a reminder of why I’m not cut out to be anywhere but Africa, is that joyful, tear-filled moment when the plane touched down in Joburg and the morning rays of sunlight softly touched the winter-red grass.
DMZ
On Tuesday, I was up and ready to leave by 8am. Outrageous, I realise, especially for a non-working day, but worth it for what was to come. I was going on a tour to the DMZ. There are two kinds of DMZ tours. The longer, more expensive option takes you right up to the Joint Security Area, where you can actually enter the room where talks are held, through the middle of which runs the border between North and South Korea. The border never used to be enforced in this UN-controlled area until the axe murder incident between some US soldiers and the North Korean army, after which it was enthusiastically insisted upon (mostly by the North, if reports are to be believed).
I opted for the shorter tour, which takes you to the edge of the DMZ. I was picked up at the backpackers at around 8:15am, just as I took the first sip of a destined-to-be-abandoned cup of coffee. I joined the rest of the group in the small bus and we headed off. There were 6 of us on the tour that day, two New Zealanders, an entertaining American (as opposed to the annoying type) and two possibly-Canadians who didn’t say all that much. I was the only woman, apart from the tour-guide, which bothered me not at all, although the guide seemed a little concerned about it.
Our first stop was Imjingak. This is the site of the second-last station on the North-South line and the closest any civilian can get to the North without being part of a specially arranged, guided tour, complete with military checkpoints and permissions. All the way to Imjin, the road followed the line of the Han River (or Hangang – for some reason generally translated as Hangang River). For most of the way, the pretty area of forest beside the road was separated from the river by a line of barbed wire fencing, dotted with guard posts with armed guards. This line, the guide explained, is the civilian control line. The demilitarized zone stretched for roughly 2km in either direction north and south. On the Southern side of this (and presumably mirrored on the North) is an extremely heavily militarized zone stretching between 5km and 20km (depending on where you are in the country) to the civilian control line in the South.
Imjingak is along the civilian control line. It also has huge symbolic and historical importance. It is here, for example, that ‘freedom bridge‘ stood (stands?). During the Korean War, the bridges that had existed over this river at what, several times, was the front, were destroyed. Once the truce had been signed, the ‘Bridge of Freedom’ was built, theoretically to connect the two Koreas but really for the express purpose of facilitating the exchange of POWs. On that bridge, thousands of Koreans were asked to choose, very finally – they would never get the chance again, whether they wanted to belong to the North or South.
Also at Imjingak are various artefacts from the war, including a locomotive that was shot to pieces as it tried to deliver supplies, as well as a bell dedicated to unification (Peace Bell), a wall dedicated to unification and various other testaments to (some of) the South Korean people’s hope for the reunification of the peninsula. The most poignant, at least for me, was the shrine. The idea and role of ancestors in Korea differs from that in South Africa and is intrinsically tied up with place. So, each Cheosak and New Year, families travel to their ancestral homes to perform the rites that show their respect for or veneration of those who have gone before them. During the Korean war, the front-line between the armies moved back and forth several times and civilian populations scattered before it, trying to avoid the fighting. At the end of the active war, therefore, many were far from their homes. Prior to this conflict, Koreans could move across the peninsula but once the truce was signed, the 38th parallel became a fixed barrier and many Koreans found themselves cut off from their homes and ancestors. This point at Imjingak is the closest they can get and over the years many families began coming here to bow towards their homes and make their sacrifices here. Eventually, the South Korean government built them a shrine – a tiny gesture that is really all the still-technically-at-war nation can do to ease their loss. Just near the shrine is a monument recognising all those nations who fought as part of the UN force on the Southern side. I had a moment of ambivalence about my own country’s involvement.
After half an hour or so, we were all hustled into a larger tour-bus. Because the rest of the places we’d see on the tour are in an area under heavy military control, all small tours are bundled together (with their tour-guides) onto larger buses driven by specially accredited drivers. We were on our way to see the 3rd Infiltration tunnel, also known, according to Wikipedia, as the Third Tunnel of Aggression. Once there, we watched a video that was surprisingly un-anti-DPRK but concertedly, explicitly and emphatically pro-unification. This was followed by a walk through the exhibition hall with our guide – a great chance to ask questions and get a clearer sense of the history.
And then the tunnel. This is one of the bits of the tour I was looking forward to most, perhaps because the infiltration tunnels are less well-known and so less propagandised, perhaps because there is something so classic-war-novel about tunnels underground. Perhaps because allowing people to visit these tunnels is a recognition that hostilities still exist, something that doesn’t seem to happen often in the RoK, particularly in the expat community, where most people dismiss the North as a joke. This tunnel, and the others like it, are clear evidence that the DPRK didn’t just lie down and give up in 1953. It appears that the North Koreans decided in the 1970s that the best way to get around the DMZ was to tunnel under it, all the way to Seoul, so that ground troops could move through the tunnels to back up an air assault (it is assumed). The first tunnel was found in 1974 and the most recent (4th) in 1990. There are probably at least 3 to 5 tunnels as yet undiscovered.
This third tunnel was found in 1978 after a tip-off from a defector. It is estimated that it took roughly 6 years to construct, using dynamite and then (probably) human labour to clear away the rock. It is just over 1600m long, 400m of which are on the South Korean side. In order to get to the tunnel, tourists must don hard-hats and walk down the steep access shaft. The North Koreans are apparently pretty good at tunnels – our guide informed us that they have a subway system up to 100m deep. They must have perfected their skills here – it was a long way down.
Once in the tunnel itself, I found myself wishing – for the first time ever – that I was average Korean height. Scores of Koreans wandered effortlessly past as the Westerners bent and ducked to avoid knocking ourselves out on the solid rock above us. The rock dripped and glistened as we walked. Dynamite holes were ringed in white paint to mark them. On the walls and the roof, if you touch them accidentally, is the black ‘coal’ they were dusted with by the retreating North Korean soldiers, the basis of the North’s later claims that the tunnels were in fact part of a coal-mining operation.
The end of the third tunnel is blocked by three solid concrete walls. Tourists are able to go as far as the Southern side of the first. The space between the first and the second is monitored by CCTV and beyond that second barrier, land-mines protect from any invading force that might successfully overcome the final wall. The area around the first wall is now also monitored by CCTV, too, replacing in the early 2000s, the previous human-plus-dog-plus-canary early warning system.
The tunnel is fascinating, particularly to someone with an interest in history, if only to get a real idea of just how determined the North Koreans were (and possibly still are). It should, however, come with a warning – coming back up to the surface required a hike of nearly half a km up an 11 degree incline.
Our next stop was Dora Observatory – an opportunity to look across the DMZ into North Korean territory, or at least at the Kaesong Industrial complex and the DMZ ‘peace’ villages. You are not allowed to take pictures beyond the ‘photo line’ at the observatory, apparently because they’re scared you will capture on camera images of a South Korean military base in the DMZ, but that makes no sense to perhaps there is another reason. This means that it is impossible (at least without a fairly substantial zoom lens) to capture images of the villages and the border.
The view is awesome, though. We were lucky to be there on a perfectly clear day and so were able to see far across the DMZ, even without the binoculars (500 won per view). The DMZ is, these days, a precious nature preserve in a peninsula where not all that many creatures survive. This provides an even more stark contrast that would exist anyway with the massively deforested hills of the North’s side. On the Southern side, forests blanket the hills with lush green (happily concealing their carpet of deadly landmines). To the North, the hills are bare and huge patches of erosion glaringly scar the landscape. Of course, this area is near the border and it is possible that some of the clearing has been intentional, but there is an awful lot of ground cleared, suggesting that the North’s insatiable and unfulfilled need for energy is a more likely explanation. What little is known of the North suggests that they are anything but a thriving country, struggling to produce sufficient food, power and other goods. A far cry from the North Korea that existed not so long ago, when the North’s standard of living in fact remained higher than that of the South right up until the 1970s and the South’s economic miracle.
From this look-out point, we could also see the two flags, the North’s bigger after they finally won (at least for the moment) the bizarre my-flagpole-is-bigger-than-yours stand-off, building one of the world’s highest. Also visible was the North’s ‘model’ village, often referred to as a ‘fake village’. I was a little sceptical of the story that the North maintains this village that no-one lives in, but looking closely through the binoculars, it does appear that the windows are empty and the buildings are just shells. The South’s own ‘peace village’ has a population of 500, with a maximum of 200 allowed to live in Kaesong-dong, from what I could gather.
The observatory was good but soon it was time to move on to Dorasan station, the last station on the Southern side – or fist station to the North as the information boards and pro-unification propaganda proclaim. This sparkling, modern station complex, complete with customs, cargo storage area and ticket office, has never been used and stands as a symbol of Kim Dae Jung, President’s Sunshine Policy towards North Korea. The train to the North (to Kaesong, not any further) apparently runs past here but this station, situated as it is within the civilian control area, is not uses. At the deserted counter, tourists pick up info pamphlets and use the commemorative stamp to prove they were here or shop at the tiny café. Nothing else happens here and guards walk back and forth, dealing more with tourists than anyone else.
The final stop on the tour was unification village, where we visited a ‘market’ (read: souvenir store) selling products made in the DMZ and North Korea. They sell a variety of goods, from T-shirts and key-rings to roots and herbs grown in the DMZ. They also sell North Korean beer. Once the guide mentioned this, several of the group jumped at the chance to try it. It was very good, actually – rich and refreshing and beating hands-down the South Korea offerings.
And then it was time to return to Seoul. As we drove back, we chatted with the guide about the situation and the history, learning more about the two Koreas. Back in the city, we were dropped in Itaewon and went our separate ways. I had a last lunch in Korea’s foreigner-central and let myself process and think about all that I had seen and learnt in my 4 hour tour to the DMZ.