Playing hide-and-seek with Pyongyang minder

I haven't played hide-and-seek since I was a little girl, but I had plenty of opportunity to do so during my brief visit to Pyongyang…

I haven't played hide-and-seek since I was a little girl, but I had plenty of opportunity to do so during my brief visit to Pyongyang in North Korea.

My playmates were Hanyong, my official North Korean "escort" for the 36 hours I was in the country, and a lady in a purple two-piece suit whose name I never did find out.

Hanyong is a handsome, 25year-old languages lecturer who teaches students Thai in the foreign college in Pyongyang. At least that is what he told me.

This cheerful, extremely likeable individual was one of 25 men assigned to "escort" the 75 journalists covering the visit of an EU delegation to this reclusive state last week. Each "minder", all dressed in dark suits and crisp white shirts, was responsible for three journalists.

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Hanyong had good English and made it clear that I was never to leave the hotel without him. The Koryo is one of three hotels that Western visitors are confined to in Pyongyang. "Go to your room now for a rest. I will be in the lobby at all times just in case you need anything", he said.

North Korea is one of the last remaining Stalinist regimes and is ruled by the Kim dynasty. The founder dictator was Kim il-Sung, who was succeeded on his death in 1996 by his son, Kim Jong-il. (Kim il-Sung is still described as the president and is spoken of in the present tense by his devoted followers, which is everyone in North Korea.)

Journalists are rarely allowed into the country, which is in an economic mess and which has been gripped by famine since the mid-1990s, a food crisis that has gone largely unreported.

I told Hanyong I was going for lunch to the third-floor restaurant. I hopped into the lift, went to the third floor and immediately pressed the ground floor button again. I walked out of the lift to the hotel entrance and turned right.

I hadn't a clue where I was going. Ignoring the dark-suited men wearing sunglasses dotted every 20 yards or so along the street I made my way into a department store.

The shop was virtually empty. Scores of assistants were standing around surrounded by ancient stock. In the footwear department there were hundreds of children's shoes, all plastic and all in the same size, lined up on racks. But no one to buy them.

The scene was the same on each floor, and I ventured out again. I could see Hanyong rushing towards me in the distance and I ran and turned left, happy I had given him the slip again. I found myself outside a railway station, but the gates were shut and all the trains were stationary. Scores of people were sitting on their hunkers in little groups, playing cards, smoking cigarettes, just staring blankly around them.

A sweating Hanyong eventually caught up with me. "Please, you must come back now," he said. Like a stubborn schoolgirl, I pleaded that I only wanted fresh air. We compromised, and he agreed to walk me back to the hotel the long way and act as my "guide" en route.

It was enough to see that this was a ghost town, despite the beautiful wide streets and green park areas. There was hardly any traffic, and few people going about their business. I went into several small grocer shops that had empty shelves. When I asked Hanyong why there was no fruit, bread or fresh produce, he said people bought all that in the markets. And the state supplied rice.

Hanyong told me he was engaged to a beautiful woman and planned to marry next year. The state would supply him with an apartment. "We are looked after in every way by our President," he said.

I had an appetite to see more and the next morning I got up at 6.30 to have another wander. The lobby was quiet, no Hanyong waiting for me. This time I took the left turn when I walked out the hotel door.

What a contrast to the previous afternoon. The streets were more alive with hundreds of people, all dressed in dark brown or black clothes, like an army of ants making their way on foot to work. No Hanyong but I noticed a woman who slipped into a doorway every time I turned round. I was being followed.

When I ran on, she rushed after me. After about 10 minutes of cat-and-mouse, I suddenly doubled back and approached her, with a smile. "Good morning", I said. She kept a straight face and stuck with me for the remainder of my unofficial tour.

Many other colleagues also played hide-and-seek with their minders in Pyongyang. Before leaving the hotel on Thursday evening I said a warm goodbye to Hanyong and told him I respected the fact that he had a job to do. "You Irish woman, you were trouble!" he said, with a glint in his eye.

Arriving home to Beijing I felt I was back in the free world.

miriamd@163bj.com