Tigers, drinking, skiing and North Korea

The complete series is finished! In this blog entry we have placed the whole series, beginning with our first escapade through Haerbin. The second movie includes skiing in Yabuli. The last and final segment to our slavepiece is our adventure along North Korea. Also, please check out the article that follows the third segment. It details our experiences along the North Korean frontier.

Enjoy and leave comments and feedback. Although we're in a nation of 1.3 billion people, we get lonely.


Part I





Part II





Part III





Epilogue

In the distance, North Korea

Our first look: Tumen

The Tumen River was frozen all the way across which meant Seabass and I could walk straight into North Korea. Unlike the impenetrable Korean Demilitarized Zone, where hundreds of thousands of South Korean and U.S. troops face hundreds of thousands of North Korean troops in a half-century stare down, the North Korean border with China is porous.

Our pipe dream was to cross the river and take a tour of a ghost town called Namyang, North Korea. But we didn’t have legal permission, and, being U.S. citizens, we weren’t going to get permission either, at least not from Tumen, China, a city on the eastern end of the approximately 900-mile long border. Unless we wanted to risk our freedom, or who knows what else, we could only spy North Korea from a distance.



Admittedly, North Korea struck fear in us. It was this fear that made us so eager to visit the nation. We wanted to confirm for ourselves all the negative press that surrounds the most isolated country in the world. We wanted to know about a place where information is so controlled, according to reports we’ve read, the North Koreans think everywhere else in the world is far worse off than they are. A place where people are supposedly unaware man landed on the moon. A place where, if someone tries to escape, up to three generations of the person’s family could land in prison.

We also wanted to confirm something else. We wanted to prove our belief that concealed behind all the negative press about the government and its brainwashed society, the nation, like any nation, consists of good people living as normally as possible under their circumstances. That when greeted face to face on a mutual level, the propaganda engrained in our minds as well as in theirs would wither away and become meaningless.

These thoughts in mind, we paced up and down the boardwalk and scoped what seemed to be a deserted city. We felt caged even though we had the world at our backs while the North Koreans had at theirs only, well, North Korea.











It was a frigid day on both sides of the border. Yet, hardly any smoke rose from the smokestacks in Namyang. On the Chinese side, the locals’ coal stoves polluted the air generously. After an hour, finally we saw movement in Korea. A man dressed in a black coat ran out of a gray building and down an empty street. This mundane incident was fascinating only because he was the first sighting of life; that is, until two brown clad soldiers appeared amongst the high winter grass along the North Korean riverbank, rifles over their shoulders.


Later, Seabass and I watched a group of men cross the bridge between Tumen and Namyang. This may sound strange to many, but I assure you we were jealous. Like I said, we felt caged. We wanted to know about the lives there in the distance. We wanted to know what those men saw and who they had talked to.

But, we could only venture across the river vicariously through a Chaoxianzu (Chinese Korean) woman. She sold North Korean money and rented binoculars and telescopes to tourists.

I asked her if we could cross to North Korea and she laughed the proposal away. I asked her if she had crossed.

“Once a year,” she said as she stared across the frontier. “I bring them food and clothes because they don’t have anything over there.”


She invited us to peek through her binoculars. Across the bridge stood a large billboard of Kim Jung-il’s father, Kim-Il-sung, to welcome any one privileged enough to visit the third world ‘rouge’ nation. The woman then encouraged us to step off the boardwalk and onto the black mud and brown grass that led to the river. We were unsure, but she said it was fine if we walked out to the riverbank for a closer look.

We stepped lightly through the marsh and reached the rocky edge of the Tumen River. Hands on our sides, we shook our heads and pondered — the river was solid ice and we could easily walk to the other side. There was no need for the bridge during the winter. We were equivalent to standing on the fifty-yard line with no defensive line between us and a touchdown. The guards were gone. They had marched farther up the river and out of sight. However, our better judgment prevented us from crossing the line of scrimmage.


In one last symbolic gesture before we left Tumen, we picked up stones from the Chinese riverbank and flung two Hail Marys across to North Korea. We figured those rocks were the closest we would ever get to the mysterious nation, but we also intended to keep poking around.




Changbaishan

The next opportunity was further west along the border at the Changbaishan Nature Reserve. There rises Changbai Mountain which holds Heaven Lake in its crater. The spectacular crater alone takes one’s breath away. But the fact that it is split in two, one part in China, the other in North Korea makes the park extraordinary.

Moreover, I had also read a story about a British man who skied the crater and accidentally crossed the border into North Korea. I’ve never confirmed this tale, but it was said that the DPRK held the man for a month before they released him. Knowledge of this added fuel to our imagination.


Though not a designated ski area, we brought our skis along for our attempt to skirt the icy North Korean border. We assumed we could hike the mountain until we learned walking up there on our own in the dead of winter was discouraged. Now that we were at the foot of the mountain looking skyward to the peaks, we had to admit we underestimated it.

The simplest option to get up to the crater was if we paid $25 dollars a piece and rode up in a Sno-Cat. A friend, we met him and his sister in the nearby town of Baihe, explained that the catch was we could only stay at the peak for 30 minutes, then everybody, no exceptions, had to ride down in the Sno-Cat. The drivers offered to take us part way up the mountain if we wanted to ski, but skiing from the top was ‘bu keyi’ or ‘not okay.’

Seabass and I toiled over the prices. For China, it was expensive. Also, after the purchase we wouldn’t have any money unless we got back to the hotel which was an hour away. We looked at each other straight in the eyes and came to a nonverbal agreement. Again, the Sno-Cat drivers offered us a ride halfway.

We declined and said we wanted to go the distance.

“Fine,” said one of the drivers, a husky man built of principle and rules. Then he explained the rule that most applied to us, “You can’t bring your skis.” Another Changbaishan employee, a young guy who was eager to befriend us, explained in broken English what we already just understood in Chinese. Then the brother and sister we met in Baihe also reiterated the point: no skis.






“Our skis are expensive and they stay with us,” Seabass held our ground. “We already bought our tickets. Let’s go. Let’s put the skis in the vehicle.”

The next thing we knew our skis were in the Sno-Cat. The first of our bluffs worked.

On our way up we eyed potential ski runs. The snow coverage was spotty, but much better than anywhere else we had seen in China. It seemed the snowfall accumulation was enough to ski, but we had limited runs due to strong winds that blasted the snow completely off many of the convex slopes above tree line. The snow only stayed in the volcanic runnels that snaked down the mountainside.

After a 30-minute climb we viewed, mouths agape, the massive crater lake and 8,000 foot peaks around it.







The weather was phenomenal except for the strong gusts. Seabass and I gave each other high-fives and acted like giddy fools. North Korea was just there in the distance and many of the peaks offered excellent ski runs. One thing we had to decide was how to enter the crater, as the side we were on consisted mostly of cliffs. To get a better look, we toe-kicked up to a peak farther away from the other tourists. This displeased the Sno-Cat drivers. We could hear them yelling for us to return. Strategically, we ignored them.


On our way back all of the Chinese were in the Sno-Cat and the husky driver looked upset. Our friend ran out and said it was time to go, the half-hour was up.

“We’ll stay here,” Seabass and I both said.

“You can’t.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You can’t. It’s not okay.”

“No,” I said. “We’ll stay here.” Seabass and I would be damned if we were going to travel all this way, actually find snow coverage in China on challenging slopes, and then ride down in a Sno-Cat. Especially, since we were potentially on the brink of infiltrating North Korea.

Our friend passed the refusal on to the driver as we stood defiantly on the plowed road. We made sure to stay far away from our ski gear though, as we didn’t want that to enter into the dispute.

The big driver stepped out of the Sno-Cat, walked toward us and told us to get in. We shook our heads trying to act cool. Finally, he relented. He threw his arms up knowing this was against principle, against the rules. Perhaps we were in the wrong from a cultural standpoint. After all, we were in China, not the other way around. But, there seemed a higher principle to us: we should enjoy a worthwhile amount of time at one of the most beautiful places on earth. From our side of the story, there was no harm in us staying on the peak, nor any harm in us skiing down it. In China, things are often not allowed only because they are unfamiliar. Sure, you can drive on the wrong side of the road against traffic on a major highway, or dump oil and garbage straight into the ocean, but stay on a beautiful peak to enjoy the view more than the allotted 30-minutes, well, according to the Changbaishan organization, that just shouldn’t be done.

The Sno-Cat rounded the bend and down the mountain. We sighed in relief. It would have made us sick if we had to ride down. We had won.

Or so we thought until we heard the grinding tracks one minute later. Now we were putting on our ski gear and the driver was looking straight at us through is impenetrable sunglasses. The gig was up.


Our friend again jumped out of the Sno-Cat and ran toward me. Seabass stayed in the background.

“Bu keyi,” he said.

“Ah, come on!” I yelled, not meaning to direct my frustration at him, but I did.

He tolerated it. “You have to come with us now.”

“No.”

The driver, along with our friend’s sister and several others, now stood around me as if they were talking me down from the windowsill of a skyscraper. I decided to stand firm. I was going to jump.


“I just talked to my bosses at the base and they said I can’t leave you here,” the driver said. He wasn’t intimidating, but he could have been. In fact, he was soothing and really cared.

“No,” I repeated. “We’re not coming with you. We’ll walk down.”

The driver saw our ski gear and shook his head. “You can’t ski down. It’s too dangerous.”

“Dangerous! Dangerous?” I blurted. “We’ll stay on the road. Look, I’m standing here on the road now. Is it dangerous? Look, I’m walking on the road right now,” I executed my words down the road and back. “Is it dangerous? Is it?” I repeated my example, but performed more of a goofy prance this time.

The driver cracked a smile and I knew I had him.

“I promise we’ll stay on the road,” I said, winded after my act. “We’ll walk down on the road.”

“You can ski down on the road,” he suddenly offered.

“No,” I said with a smile. “We’ll walk down.” It was a boldfaced LIE, which is against my principles. But there was no turning back now. Our series of deceptions were going to get us fresh tracks. He probably didn’t believe me anyway.

I hugged everyone involved in the intervention. Basically, we came to an understanding that I was going to jump from a lower floor, and so, from their perspective, at least I had a chance, and that was good enough for them.


The Sno-Cat vanished and I walked toward Seabass, big grins across both our faces. We were almost a hundred percent certain we had won. And what a victory! We had the whole mountain to ourselves. It was immense — even more special knowing Manchurian tigers were in the forest that stretched out across China as far as we could see and North Korea foreboded just beyond the tips of our pointing ski poles.


Then we started to argue. Seabass was unsure if we should try to enter the crater as it looked, of all things, dangerous. We cautiously stepped inside the crater to an outcropping cliff. We agreed it was possible to enter, although it wouldn’t be easy. If we entered the crater, we could ski to the border, take a picture near the approximate area the line would be, as its not marked necessarily, and hike out.

Suddenly, a new problem arose from the North Korean peaks across the lake. Towering thunderclouds splashed against them and spilled over like a storm wave bashing an ocean breakwater. We had read the weather here was fickle and the proof was before our disappointed eyes.

What could we do but wave at North Korea and swear a swift reunion. Although we were bummed, we consoled ourselves with the knowledge we could ski the outside of the crater.

On our way to the snow path that twisted down the mountain, we ran into a Chinese soldier dressed in olive winter garb, a red star on his winter hat. The three of us were the only human presences.

We explained where we were from and he seemed comfortable that we two Americans were on the peak, unlike the Changbaishan employees. We asked him about North Korea but he didn’t seem comfortable to talk about that topic. He saw we had skis and recommended we ski down. He said he thought that was a clever idea. His opinion, we told ourselves, redeemed us from any guilt we should feel for having lied to the others.


We skied a great run. The windblown snow was great to carve and we devoured several thousand vertical feet. We met the road again and saw a Sno-Cat passing with a bundle of Chinese tourists. We tried to thumb a ride but the driver ignored us.

A moment later, we ran into a few Chinese snowboarders. They were locals astute in catching snowmobile rides partway up the mountain. They guided us down a difficult tree glade. One turn would carve on solid snow, the next would break through it up to the knees. However, in the shadows existed pockets of thick powder.










At the bottom of the run, the snowmobiler tried something stupid and got stuck. We pushed him out and he gave us a free ride back up. We skied the glade again, hiked up one more time, then called it a day.

That night we had to catch a train at 4:30 a.m. The skiing was an unforgettable experience, but the nagging fact that we hadn’t reached North Korea left us unfulfilled.



Dandong and The Great Wall

Our best and last hope of actually entering North Korea was at the final stop on our border journey: Dandong, China. The large border city lies on the far western end of the Sino-Korean frontier and serves as the main thoroughfare for trade between the two nations. Yet, only every three to five minutes did we see a truck cross the Sino-Korean Friendship Bridge. The bridge crosses the Yalu River and links Dandong with Sinuiju, North Korea.

During the day, a pleasant boardwalk follows the Yalu River on the Chinese side. Foot and vehicle traffic flows constantly before a backdrop of 10 to 15 story buildings. Meanwhile, on the Korean side, traffic and people are almost nonexistent in front of one to five story buildings.


At night, the difference between the two riverbanks is starker. Dandong glows brightly and the Friendship Bridge is a rainbow of lights halfway across. However, at the point the bridge reaches North Korea’s territory the lights stop due to the country’s energy crisis. It was so dark across the Yalu River it was like looking out to open sea at night.


Next to the Friendship Bridge extends another called the Broken Bridge. The Chinese declare it was the only target bombed by the U.S. on Chinese territory during the Korean War, or what China calls the War to Resist U.S. Aggression and Aid Korea. Seabass and I are unfamiliar with the official position of the U.S. on the bridge bombing, but the Chinese say the U.S. declared it an accident. Obviously, it was not. Also, obviously, the bridge was a main supply line for China to support the war effort, so it made for a logical target. Now, the remains stand as a memorial.


In the afternoon, we bought boat tickets for 10 yuan each and joined a group of Chinese to motor past the Broken Bridge and along the North Korean border. We saw a few fishermen on the riverbank pulling nets from the river. Also, a gentleman and two children stood on a moored boat. One of the children, holding a stick, waved. I waved back.











A few other men and women stood on Sinuiju’s boardwalk and watched emotionlessly as the gaggle of Chinese tourists, Seabass and I used binoculars to ogle at them. Other boats along the river did the same. The experience was comparable to tourists riding in jeeps to see lions on the African Serengeti. I use this comparison to undermine others I’ve read that compare it to a zoo. As dehumanizing as my own image may be, I argue the experience isn’t like a zoo because the North Koreans are in their natural habitat.


“Maybe there is envy,” said Guo Hepeng, a Beijing public affairs specialist for China Customs. We met him on the Broken Bridge. “They see Dandong with big buildings and over there it’s not like that. The Koreans must look at that and it makes them think.”

“We spoke to a woman in Tumen and she said once a year she brings North Koreans clothes and food — is that common?” I asked.

“People aren’t supposed to bring stuff into North Korea,” answered Guo. “It’s very restricted. China’s border rules are tight. It’s hard to bring or receive goods. It’s likely the things were smuggled in. The border is very big.”

Guo explained although China is the DPRK’s closest friend, the nation has isolated itself and alienated others so much that even China wasn’t particularly happy. Seabass and I guessed and Guo confirmed that’s why trade was so minimal across the Friendship Bridge.

From what we could tell from Guo and other Chinese, China waits patiently for North Korea to snap out of its isolation. Everyone we talked to showed confidence in the inevitable change.

“(North Korea) is what China looked like 70 years ago,” said Guo. Memory of China’s own dark age maybe explains why so many Chinese tourists are fascinated by the lonely nation across the river.


While the Chinese are fascinated, Seabass and I became obsessed. North Korea was our white whale. Our dwindling hope lay in the idea we could ask the China International Travel Service to acquire us North Korean tourist visas.

We met Li Ping, an employee at CITS, and he confirmed what all Chinese had been warning us: “Americans can’t go to North Korea.”

“But we know two Americans that went in October,” I said.

“Yes, that’s because North Korea allowed U.S. citizens to travel to North Korea for two months last fall, but now it’s not allowed,” he answered.

Our hearts sank. We were stupid and didn’t do all of the proper research. The one hope he could give us was North Korea may again allow Americans to visit next fall.* If that happened, he said we should contact him and he could definitely help.

Seabass opened his travel book. We had one last, desperate chance at North Korea. This one definitely could get us into trouble.



The book explained North Korea sat just on the other side of Tiger Mountain, a hill along the Yalu River 12 miles outside Dandong. On Tiger Mountain extends the farthest eastern portion of the Great Wall. We paid the $1 it cost to enter the park and walked atop the wall replica rebuilt in 1992, the real structure having disintegrated long ago.


The Great Wall rises almost vertically up the north flank of the hill. Several hundred feet below our noses we saw a thin tentacle of the Yalu River. The stream separated China from Yuchi Island, North Korea. On our side of the waterway, red lanterns swayed outside brick huts in the winter breeze. Across the stream sprawled vacant farmland with thick wheel ruts cutting into the mud. A lone Korean dog lapped the Yalu. Farther in the distance stood a village populated with two farmers working the unreachable soil.

According to other writings about Tiger Mountain, DPRK guards defend the border and will become aggressive if anyone dares set a foot on the land. However, we didn’t see a soldierly soul this day. The tire tracks were from military vehicles that patrolled the border, but we didn’t see any. Perhaps, due to the low tourism season, the guards were pulled from the border. We didn’t waste time in case guards suddenly returned to duty.

We peeled our eyes for the best place to cross the border. We noticed at one point the Yalu tributary was no more than a bold leap to reach the farther bank. It was our last shot.

We descended Tiger Mountain to the stream quickly. Along the way, we picked up a Chinese couple who wanted to follow along. As we neared the wet borderline, a sign in red Chinese characters ordered us not to tread further.


We ignored it.

A Chinese guard appeared from a booth we passed along the road. He had realized where we were heading. “Stop!” he yelled.

We ignored him.

With a leap of determination, we jumped into North Korea and took a deep breath. By the time the guard reached us we were exhaling back in China. We seized North Korean rocks to mark the occasion.

We had made it! We reached North Korea — albeit not under ideal circumstances.

We would have preferred to share a meal and a drink with a few North Korean citizens. Why was lunch with the farmers in the distance too much to ask? Something so simple and good was impossible for too many historical and political reasons.

We began the awful descent down the anticlimax of our adventure. To mark the occasion, we ate some North Korean cuisine along the Yalu River and stared across at the impossible. The dishes, a freshwater fish from the Yalu River and sweet pork ribs, were both mild and tender: delicious. How ironic and sad that our meal couldn’t be shared with the people who had invented it.

China Deep signing off...for now.












* It turns out North Korea is also allowing Americans into Pyongyang, North Korea this spring during the Arirang Mass Games. Americans are only allowed to visit during the games and this year the DPRK decided to hold them twice, once in the spring and once in the fall. However, a tour runs about $2,000 after you pay to come to China. The trip only lasts three days and is very restricted. Our silly version, though obviously not as good, was much cheaper.

Part II: Skiing, dog eating

Part III coming soon! Imagine two American buffoons tempting fate in North Korea. Again, the last segment of the movie and a detailed story are on the way.