The Demilitarized Zone

Did you know that the world’s most heavily militarized, armed, and fortified border is also a major tourist attraction?  It may sound crazy, but it’s true.

Last weekend, I had the opportunity to tour the somewhat ironically named ‘demilitarized zone’ (DMZ) that separates North and South Korea.  I’ll tell you all about it shortly.  But first, a little history lesson….

Koreans have a very complex and peculiar relationship with their past.  This is one of the world’s oldest living civilizations; records go back thousands of years, and throughout this time span, the Koreans have remained a solidly unique people, with a cultural heritage that distinguishes them from their more well-known neighbors.  This is pretty remarkable considering Korea has always been in the shadow giants – more powerful nations like China, Japan, and Russia (not to mention the good ol’ US of A) – that have repeatedly battered, abused, and exploited this poor, vulnerable peninsula over the centuries. Yet, Koreans do not really go out of their way to celebrate their incredible history – precisely because it is filled with so much pain.  In the 20^th century alone, these people suffered under a shockingly brutal occupation by the Japanese, the horrors of war, communism, a dictatorship, political violence, and national division.  As an outside observer, it saddens me that Koreans, when looking back at their past, don’t find much to be proud of.  Instead, looking backwards usually brings to the surface very deeply rooted feelings of sadness and anger.

The result is that the Koreans are a very forward-looking people.  Rather than thinking of themselves as an ancient people, they rather prefer to think of themselves as a nation reborn.  In a single generation, South Korea industrialized and made a historic shift from dictatorship to democracy.  Today, it boasts the world’s 11^th largest economy – incredible, given that the population is only around 50 million, it has less land area than Ohio, and is pretty lacking when it comes to natural resources.  Even more incredible when one considers the rampant poverty that characterized the country only half a century ago.  South Korea’s rise out of poverty is truly one of the modern world’s greatest success stories. 

But it’s only the lower half of the peninsula that is thriving.  North Korea, on the other hand, exists in darkness and isolation, cut off from the world and modern conveniences  by a delusional despot of a leader that allows his people to go hungry while living an opulent lifestyle and financing a massive army.  It has one of the lowest human rights records on the planet.  The contrast between the northern and southern halves of the Korean peninsula are therefore unbelievably stark. 

So, how did it come to be this way?  Well, it began with the annexation of Korea by Japan in the early 20^th century.  Japan’s occupation was atrociously brutal, and many Koreans still haven’t forgiven the Japanese for the horrors the country suffered during those years (1910-1945).  An inherent distrust, and in some cases a distinct hatred, of the Japanese still lingers in the Korean psyche over six decades later.  The occupation ended with Japan’s surrender at the end of World War II.  The fate of the Korean peninsula was then placed in the hands of the victorious allies. 

The escalating Cold War between the US and the Soviet Union resulted in the two superpowers splitting the peninsula into its two halves and creating separate governments:  a democratic US-backed south, and a communist Soviet-backed North.  Both sides claimed sovereignty over the whole peninsula, which led to the Korean War in 1950.  The war claimed millions of lives (exactly how many is disputed…most reports claim anywhere from 3 to 6 million) and divided Korea along ideological lines.

The war ended in a ceasefire agreement in 1953, but no peace treaty was ever signed.  So the two countries are technically still at war, though hostilities are sporadic and uncommon these days.  The armistice agreement resulted in a line being drawn across the peninsula at the 38^th parallel.  Each side agreed to pull its troops back to at least 2 km from the line, resulting in a 4-km-wide no man’s land of landmines and barbed-wire that exists to this day:  the demilitarized zone. 

Fences and barbed wire enclose Imjingak Reunification Park

A South Korean guard tower along the Imjin River

As I mentioned before, the Koreans are a very forward-looking people.  Never has this been more apparent to me than while visiting the DMZ.  I expected to encounter a lot of pro-south propaganda.  Instead, everywhere I went, there were monuments of peace, with the emphasis always being on the hope for reunification.  The division of the peninsula severed families and keeps them apart, an especially devastating circumstance for a society that values unity and family ties above all things.  This is still a very painful reality for most Korean families. 

"Let the Iron Horse run again"

The first stop on my DMZ tour was at Imjingak – a peace park in Paju that was built to console those unable to return to their hometowns, friends, and families because of the division.   From here I was able to view the Bridge of Freedom over the Imjin River– so named because this is where American and Korean POWs entered the South at the “end” of the Korean War.  Obviously, it can no longer be crossed, the way being blocked by a barricade of steel and barbed-wire.  The bridge, the barrier, and a nearby fence were festooned with an array of colorful flags and ribbons featuring hand-written messages.  I sincerely wish I was able to tell you what the messages said, but I cannot.  Also at Imjingak was the rusting remains of an old locomotive that now serves as a symbolic monument.  The train once crossed the Imjin bridge into the North, and was even in service during the war, amidst the rain of bombs and gunfire.  Now it sits stationary, it’s deterioration a testament to the many long years that have passed since the war, awaiting the day when it can finally complete its journey.  A nearby plaque is inscribed with the words, “Let the Iron Horse run again!.”  There was also a shop here – one of the few places where one can buy North Korean goods,  mostly things like ginseng, soju and other spirits, and stamps.  I bought some authentic North Korean currency as a souvenir.

The Bridge of Freedom over the Imjin River

The barricade blocking pedestrians from crossing
the Bridge of Freedom on foot.

Authentic North
Korean currency

After lunch, we made another interesting stop at what is known as the 3^rd tunnel.  In the 1970s and 80s, the South discovered several underground tunnels that the North Korean military had burrowed underneath the DMZ into South Korea.  They know of four such tunnels, but it is suspected that there may be more that are yet undiscovered.  One of the tunnels is large enough for vehicles and artillery to pass through, as well as an estimated 30,000 troops.  It is said that, had the South been unaware of the tunnels, it would have been possible for multiple divisions of North Korean troops to invade the South within an hour.  From there, it would’ve been a quick, easy march to Seoul. 

Fortunately, the South DID discover the tunnels, and the invasion never occurred.  The North maintains that the tunnels were dug for mining purposes, though no traces of coal have been found.  And now tourists can go into them.  So I donned a hard hat, walked down a long, slanted entrance way, and soon found myself in a crude tunnel about 2m wide and 2 m high.  Deep beneath the DMZ, I was allowed to walk several hundred meters into the tunnel before finding the way blocked by the first of three concrete barricades built by the South to seal the way.  Along the way, one can still see the holes drilled into the granite for dynamite – all of them pointing in a southward direction.

Visitors attempting to take
pictures from behind the
clearly marked 'no photo'
line

Guards keeping a close
watch, making sure no one
takes a photo on the
wrong side of the line

Our next stop was a viewing platform, prominently perched on a hillside, where on a clear day one can take a gander at North Korea across the DMZ.  Unfortunately for us, this was not a clear day, so our view was very limited.  The platform is equipped with dozens of those coin-operated binoculars for enhanced viewing, which made little difference on a day like this.  We were able to make out some buildings far off in the hazy distance, perhaps some kind of industrial complex. Not much else was visible.  Even if we’d had a good view, we wouldn’t have been allowed to take pictures.  The South Korean authorities were very serious about this – so much so that they had two military guards stationed on the platform, patrolling through the crowd of tourists ensuring no one broke the ‘no photo’ rule.  Some brave souls still in snuck a few clandestine shots while the guards backs were turned, but I wasn’t willing to risk having my camera confiscated – not for a nondescript photo of misty hillsides and trees.  The amusing thing was that there was a bright yellow line painted straight across the platform marking off the ‘no photo zone.’  Of course, from behind the line it was impossible to get a good shot of anything, but that didn’t stop people (including myself) from trying.  So people queued up, toes on the line, and stood on their tiptoes with their cameras held high above their heads, snapping shots at random.  Some people were even lifting each other up to get a more clear shot.  Seeing the contrast of such silly tourist activity in a place so militarized and politically charged was bemusing.  It’s hard to remember exactly where you are amid such antics. 

The last stop of the DMZ tour was, of all places, a train station.  Not some old station with some kind of historic significance, but a brand-spanking-new one.  Why?  Because Dorasan Station was built purely on the faith and hope that the two Koreas will inevitably be reconciled and reunited – sooner rather than later.  It’s a huge, modern, state-of-the-art train station located just a few hundred meters from the southern edge of the DMZ – it’s shiny and spotless, because, despite being fully functional, there’s really no reason for anyone to use it….yet.  Instead, it is frequented by tourists like yours truly.  It was almost eerie, being in a station that was so quiet and empty, without the hustle bustle of travelers and commuters hurrying around, or the sounds of the departure/arrival announcements.  The station’s existence, at least for the time being, seems to be largely symbolic, though when the border opens and the station becomes functional, it’ll serve an important purpose for customs, processing travelers arriving from China, Russia, and of course, North Korea.  Once this happens, South Korea’s rail network will be connected to the rest of the expansive Trans-Eurasian network; one will be able to take the train all the way from Busan to Western Europe.  But until then, Dorasan Station, the last stop from the South, stands empty, awaiting the day it can become the first stop to the North.

The interior of Dorasan Station

One day, travelers will be able to
reach the North Korean capital
by train from here.

When the line is completed,
South Korea will cease to be cut
off from the rest of the continent's
transportation network.

This was the extent of our DMZ tour.  There are other tour companies that, for a higher fee than we paid, will take you more places – such as a joint security area where diplomats from North and South meet, and a “peace village” that is actually located within the DMZ.  I will admit that a day spent touring the DMZ won’t be the most exciting day of your life, but it definitely makes for an interesting and educational experience, especially if you’re interested in modern Asian history.  It’s also a day best spent with friends.  I wouldn’t have enjoyed the trip as much were it not for the company – friends keeping the atmosphere light with their skeptical mocking of propaganda and propensity for turning serious monuments into ridiculous photo props.  Ultimately, this is an experience one can only have on the Korean peninsula, for there is no other place on earth quite like the Korean Demilitarized Zone. 

"Wow...I'm really in Asia." -- A mountain temple, a traditional folk village, a national hero's elaborate shrine.

So, it occurred to me, upon reviewing my previous blog posts, that I hadn’t really put a lot of effort into interacting with Korean culture in those first few weeks.  I mean, drinking with other foreigners and watching rugby isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘immersion.’  At any rate, since then I’ve begun to have what I consider to be more authentic experiences.   But the truth is, it’s hard.  Korea is a tough nut to crack.  The culture is hard to pin down and difficult to access without help.  Since it’s impossible for me to be anything other than an outsider, I need to be befriended by Koreans who can bring me into the fold and really show me what this country is all about.  So far, that hasn’t happened.  The closest I’ve gotten is a few dinners with some of my Korean co-teachers, which were nice and all, but I know there must be more to this millennia-old culture than food and dining etiquette. 

Still, I’ve managed to learn some things about Korean history and see some interesting sights on my own.  My first noteworthy solo adventure came a few weeks ago when I decided to sample some of this country’s outdoor offerings. 

Korea is a very mountainous land, and if you know me at all, you know that mountains make me extraordinarily happy.  I don’t think I’ve yet stood in a spot in this country without being able to see peaks somewhere within the span of the horizon.  I knew about this before coming here, but I had for some inexplicable reason deluded myself into thinking that Korea’s mountains would be smaller and somehow less impressive than what I had grown used to in Washington.  I am pleased to report that this is simply not true.  The mountains here are every bit as dramatic and beautiful as any I’ve seen.  There is one regrettable difference though.  In Washington, when you stand on a summit, you are often granted a view that takes in only more wild, uninhabited peaks and ridges.  No such wilderness seems to exist in Korea; at least, I’ve not found it yet.  The population density doesn’t permit such luxuries, I guess.  From the top of Mt. Gyeryongsan, where I went for my first major hike, I was treated to some truly gorgeous views, but I had to make a conscious effort to ignore the high-rises visible in the distance.

I woke up early on a Saturday and caught a KTX train to Daejeon.  From there, I hopped on a bus, and an hour later I was disembarking at the base of Mt. Gyeryongsan National Park, one of Korea’s oldest national parks.  I was greeted by a sight that made me groan with disappointment:  a massive hoard of people, decked out in fancy, brightly-colored hiking gear.  I usually try to seek out places where I can find solitude, but I think that may prove difficult to do here.  Fortunately, my disappointment soon faded as I escaped the crowd and began to walk around the little village at the base of the mountain.  It was still morning, my favorite time of day, and the weather was absolutely perfect.  This little village was bustling with activity.  It was the first place I’d been in Korea that didn’t feel totally commercial and touristy.  It felt more genuine.  It’s hard to explain why.  I was the only white person around, for one thing, but that isn’t actually all that unusual.  There were small shops and restaurants, and a picturesque little stream running along the main road.  Old women were selling their farm fresh produce on the sidewalk.  Old men lounged lazily smoking and eyeing this odd waygook in their midst.  I bought a coffee and just sat for half an hour content to people watch. 

Eventually I roused myself and entered the national park.  I soon came upon my first temple – Donghaksa.  It was a sight to behold – a beautifully colorful and complex cluster of old buildings with curving slopes nestled in a verdant forest at the base of towering mountains.  This is what Asia is supposed to look like – the cliché postcard version that I didn’t even realize I’d been looking for.  It was one of those moments where I found myself suddenly looking around, thinking “Wow…I’m really in Asia.”

Donghaksa Temple

I’d never been to a real Buddhist temple before, so I found everything about the experience interesting.  I didn’t have many preconceived notions…except for maybe one.  I never expected to see female monks.  But they were there – heads shaved, clothed in loose grey garments, wearing the stereotypical conical hats.  In fact, ALL the monks I saw were women.  I’d never heard of such a thing, so I was baffled.  It wasn’t until that evening when I had time to do some research online that I learned that Donghaksa Temple is the oldest existing temple of it’s kind – for hundreds of years it has served as an academic institution for the education of female monks of the Jogye order, a sect that only exists in Korea, and the only one of its kind in the world. 

A photo that attempts to
capture the "steepness" of
the trail

The rough and rocky trail

After poking about the temple for a bit, I moved on, and the really punishing part of the ascent up the mountain began shortly thereafter.  I think it’s safe to say that I underestimated the difficulty of this hike.  On a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being the most difficult, this one was rated a 4.  Since I’m a pretty experienced hiker, I didn’t expect to have any trouble.  Well, this trail was not like the ones back home.  The pathway was constructed of broken boulders and stones that lay about in uneven jumbles – not very kind on the feet.  Another thing that became painfully clear was that Koreans apparently don’t believe in switchbacks.  The path continued in a more of less linear fashion, adhering to the contours of the mountain.  Some places were incredibly steep.  When the trail became too steep for normal hiking, there were stairs – sometimes hewn directly from the rock, and in other places with metal steps and railing.  Some spots were even so steep that the stairs ceased to be stairs and essentially became ladders.  I think I’m in pretty good shape, but the climb humbled me.  My hiking experience hadn’t really prepared me for this kind of trail.  Koreans, on the other hand, seem to be used to this type of thing.  As I neared the top, sweating and panting with extremely sore leg muscles, I actually got PASSED by a pair of middle-aged Korean women.  That was a bit of a blow to the old ego.

All this was forgotten when I reached the top.  The view from the summit was marvelous – jagged peaks jutting up out of the hazy valley into a clear blue autumn sky.  It was around this time that my stomach started growling and I realized that in my haste to leave in the morning, I’d forgotten to pack a lunch. I still had a lot of ground to cover, so I didn’t linger long.  I still had to reach an additional peak before I could start descending.

The next 2km of the hike were the best part, because I was able to follow the ridge and keep an open view of the surrounding landscape, which kept changing as I hiked.  By the time I reached the junction of the spur trail that led to the second peak, I hesitated.  I was exhausted and hungry and so I contemplated skipping the spur trail and the summit in favor of continuing on and reaching the bottom sooner.  As I stood there trying to make up my mind, a solitary woman passed me and continued up the spur trail without stopping.  She wasn’t even sweating.  At that point, my ego kicked in and I pushed myself up to the summit in spite of the sounds of protest that were issuing from my empty stomach.

My descent down the mountain was not graceful – more like a boulder rolling downhill.  I let my momentum carry me, driven by the thought of the bubbling bowl of haejangguk and the hot odeng-on-a-stick that was waiting for me in the village at the bottom.  My heavy plodding combined with the rocky, uneven terrain caused some pain to flare up in my right foot, which had just barely recovered from a recent injury.  By the time I reached the village, I was a little worse for the wear, but alive nonetheless. 

So that was my first Korean mountain hike.  Number two is coming up this weekend – Seoraksan National Park in Gangwon Province.  I’m sure I’ll be writing about it soon.  I went into a bit more detail about the hike than I had intended and now my brain is tired, and I haven’t saved much energy for writing about all the other experiences I intended to tell you about.  But just as I forced myself up that second summit, I’m going to push on now for the fear that, if I don’t write about these things now, I never will. 

In addition to Donghaksa Temple, I’ve had two other cultural experiences that I’d like to share.  The first one was the International Dance Festival which was held right here in Cheonan.  To be honest, I hadn’t really planned on attending.  But in the end, I didn’t really have a choice.  I was attempting to take the bus into the city to meet up with some friends at a hookah bar for a couple of drinks and a smoke, when the bus suddenly came up against a wall of people and had to reroute.  It was the first night of the festival and there was a parade going on.  The road the bus needed to take to reach my destination was closed off, so the bus driver abruptly stopped a block away from Cheonan Station and made everyone get off the bus.  By total luck, I soon ran into one of the people I was supposed to be meeting – she hadn’t been able to make it all the way downtown either.  At that point, we resolved to walk the remaining distance.  So we basically walked along the same road as the parade and got to see some of the action.  Since I can’t understand Korean and can’t read it very well either, I was unable to tell what countries, provinces, etc. each of the performance groups was from.  I did get to hear some cool traditional music, see some crazy dance styles that I can’t even begin to describe, and a giant mechanical dragon that breathed fire.  The hookah bar was closed when we finally got there, but the night was in no way a loss. 

The following week I got to spend my Friday accompanying my first-year students on a field trip.  It was a beautiful fall day, and I was glad to spend it with my students outside of the classroom.  The trip was supposed to be educating for them, but they took it upon themselves to educate me about the things we were seeing.  These places were apparently nothing new for them.

The view from the folk village

A traditional Korean folk village

The first part of the day was spent in a traditional folk village.  I’m a little hazy on the origins of the place – some of the buildings appeared to be originals while others were clearly reconstructions.  The weird thing was that people seemed to actually be living there.  I hadn’t expected this; I was anticipating some kind of touristy model village.  The backyard gardens were productive and carefully cultivated, and there was clothing hanging on the lines.  I had the sense that this wasn’t just a show for the visitors.  It was easy to tell the upper-class homes from the lower by the styles of the roofs.  The former were constructed of rounded, overlapping wooden shingles, while the latter were made of thatched grasses.  It was a very picturesque scene with ancient looking stone walls along the walkways covered in vines reddening with the season. 

The second part of the field trip took us to an old Confucian school.  I don’t really have much to say about this place, and the students seemed pretty bored with the whole thing.

The last part of the day was spent visiting the shrine of a national hero – Admiral Yi Sun-sin, a 16^th century naval commander.  By complete coincidence, I just discovered a Stuff You Missed in History Class podcast about him, and it’s enable me to shed some light on who this man was.  History remembers him for his seemingly miraculous victories against the Japanese during the Imjin War in the Joseon Dynasty (1592-1598). also known as the Seven Year War.  His visionary and ingenious ship designs gave the Koreans a huge advantage over their opponents, but he is best known as a brilliant tactician.  The most exciting story tells of how he, when outnumbered 133 ships to 12, managed to route the Japanese fleet by luring them into a raging strait where they became trapped, and bombarding the ships with heavy cannon fire.  This stunning victory essentially saved Seoul from invasion.  Though little known outside of Korea and Japan, many history and naval experts consider this to be among the greatest naval defeats of all time.  Despite a lack of formal military training, Yi Sun-sin went to his grave having never been defeated in battle.  He was mortally wounded by a stray bullet in 1598 at a point when the Japanese military, which only a few years earlier had seemed invincible, was on the verge of withdrawing from the Korean peninsula and the war was all but over (Hollywood couldn't write a story this tragic).  His dying words have become a very inspiring and colorful part of Korean folklore:  “The battle is at it’s height.  Beat my war drums.  Do not announce my death.”

Students ascending the steps to the shrine 

Such a venerated hero deserves a shrine that appropriately honors his legend and what he has come to represent for the Korean people.  The shrine I visited seems more than adequate in this regard.  The shrine itself is in an elaborate and impressive temple-like building that sits on a high point surrounded by a massive park overlooking the plains of Asan and the distant mountains.  The place had a very sacred feel, enhanced by the demeanor of my students which, after being characterized by rowdy rambunctiousness all day, suddenly became serious, solemn, and respectful. 

The view looking out from the shrine

After the experiences detailed above, I feel that I’ve begun to get a little closer to the heart of Korea.  But I still have a long way to go in understanding these people and their culture.  Perhaps the most educational and enlightening day of my South Korea adventure will be detailed in my next blog post, which is already nearly complete.  Look for it to be posted in the next couple of days.

Me posing with some students at the shrine