'HELL, NO!" came the reply. "Where else in this country can you find a live combat zone?" This was how a young US soldier answered my question about whether life was tough in the demilitarised zone between North and South Korea, writes
BRENDAN Ó SÉ
Korea is a land divided. To the south is a democratic, capitalist state; to the north is the heavily militarised country whose posturing has made world news and heightened tension between the two countries.
This week, in what was seen as a conciliatory gesture, the US journalists Laura Ling and Euna Lee were released after being sentenced to 12 years of hard labour for illegally entering North Korea from China. They were pardoned by the country’s leader, Kim Jong-il, after a meeting with the former US president Bill Clinton.
The divide runs along the lines of the 38th parallel for about 250km. On July 27th, 1953, after three years of civil war, an armistice was signed here, in the area known as Panmunjeom, creating a joint security area. Fifty-six years later a peace accord has not been reached. Technically, the war has not ended, and it is here in the demilitarised zone, or DMZ, 60km from Seoul, that the two sides come face to face each day.
So why would thousands of tourists come to this zone, where you have to release your tour organiser from any liability should you happen to be killed? As the soldier said, where else can you find a live combat zone? And where else can you find one open to tourists?
The tours to the DMZ, operated by the Korean Tourist Bureau, leave from hotels in Seoul 365 days a year. The tourists are mainly Japanese. South Koreans need to be granted government permission to visit. The tour, including lunch, costs 77,000 Korean won (€44) and can be taken as a full or half day.
My full-day tour took in Ganghwa Peace Observatory in the morning. This museum allows the visitor to learn about the history of the Korean War and to catch a glimpse of North Korea through binoculars. After lunch we were entertained by a North Korean defector, who played a medley of traditional tunes.
The remaining part of the journey was short. Michelle, our South Korean guide, drew our attention to the hills that dominate the Korean peninsula. She told us that while in the south the hills are forested, in the north they are bare, the timber cut to help combat the desperate fuel shortages that North Korea has been enduring.
She also pointed out that the approach to the DMZ is dotted with camouflaged bunkers. Seoul was captured in four days at the start of the war. Conscious of this, the South Koreans have built antitank bridges along the road leading to the DMZ. Should there be a ground assault, the bridges will be blown up, in the hope of delaying an onslaught.
When we arrived at the entrance to the DMZ we waited for our military guide. A young South Korean soldier inspected our passports and accompanied us as we entered the zone. South Korean men have to complete two years of national service; many of them are posted to the DMZ. North Korean men serve from four to 10 years.
We were escorted to a briefing room in Camp Bonifas. There are some rules to adhere to when you visit the DMZ. You cannot wear shorts or torn jeans, for example. We were told that the North Koreans will take photographs if they see you in such clothes, to use in propaganda as proof that those outside North Korea live in poverty. Footwear is also important, this time in case, as Michelle explained, we needed to run away. No flip-flops allowed.
The DMZ allows limited opportunities for photography – most certainly not of North Korean soldiers. “And do not wave at them, even they wave at you,” Michelle warned.
After our briefing she led us to the conference room where the armistice was signed, in 1953. This and other conference rooms are still used for meetings between the two Koreas. The room has an entrance at either end. At its centre is the line between South and North Korea. A soldier stood guard in the centre of the room, with another positioned at the door, to prevent any would-be defectors to the north. We milled around, photographing the statue-like soldiers and marvelling that with one step you could enter and leave North or South Korea.
I snapped out of this when a North Korean soldier appeared at the window and peered in at me. I remembered not to wave.
Next stop was a pagoda. We had a good view of the conference rooms and the North Korean building that faces them. Much as I wanted to, my camera could not zoom in enough to take a close-up of a North Korean soldier who was photographing us.
From there we boarded the bus and drove towards the Bridge of No Return. As its name suggests, it was the final crossing point for Koreans choosing to live in North or South Korea after the war. Once they crossed the border, there was no turning back.
We did not disembark, as it is considered too risky for tourists. Being uninhabited by humans for so long has turned the area into a flourishing nature refuge. Storks are everywhere, and apparently the best Korean ginseng grows here.
The journey back to the centre of Seoul took less than an hour. The city was alive with people finishing work. The city may be less than 60km from a live combat zone, but as the rush-hour traffic edged forward in this modern metropolis, it felt as if it were a million miles away.