As with most attempts to kick back for a casual drink or two with some foreign pals here in Korea, this one failed miserably. The gargantuan pitchers of beer and ridiculously cheap bottles of lemon soju seemed to constantly be materializing on the table. Conversation, much like the copious amounts of alcohol, was flowing. Until.... "Shit! I've gotta be up at like 6:00am to tour the DMZ tomorrow!". Of course I hadn't actually forgotten this fact. Just tucked it away comfortably in some compartment of my mind where I could neglect it all night. After a few drunken farewells I made my way back to my friend Jess' (who was my host for this weekend trip to Seoul) place and got right to the task of savoring all three and a half hours of sleep I would have that night.

Maybe it was my peaked interest about seeing the most heavily militarized and hostile border in the world that kept the hangover at bay the next morning. Or perhaps I have finally adapted to the Korean alcohol culture in which marathon drinking sessions followed by brief periods of sleep are common. Whatever it was, the hour subway ride to downtown Seoul where I would rendevouz with my tour group was not nearly as brutal as I had guessed it would be when I went to sleep at 2:30am.

After finding the tour desk and producing my passport I managed to get a glance at the tour attendance sheet. The nationality column on the far left read approximately like this: Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, USA, Japan, Canada, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan, Japan. You get the picture. I have no problem with Japanese people (a fact which separates me from a large number of Koreans), but I thought it would at least be interesting to have a few other people I could converse with. At least there was the one American guy whom the tour guide not so discreetly insisted sit next to me. His name was Webb and he was a technical rectruiter from San Francisco in his sixties. With a little prodding from our English speaking tour guide ("You're both from fairly liberal cities, what do you think of John Kerry's nomination yesterday") we got into a little bit of policital conversation. This killed the time (about an hour) it took our bus to arrive at the entrance to the infamous 'Third Infiltration Tunnel'.

Discovered in 1978, this tunnel is a kilometer and half long. About a third of the length lies on the South Korean side of the military demarcation line which bisects the DMZ. While an armistice was signed between the two Koreas in 1953, it seems the North thought they would get everything ready just incase the uneasy peace came to an end. The tunnel is capable of moving a full North Korean division (weapons included) every hour. Enough with the statistics, what was it actually like to check this thing out? Along with the 40 Japanese tourists, Webb and I hopped on the little monorail that would carry us down the 73 meters underground to where the tunnel rested in solid bedrock. At about the same moment I lost sight of the entrance my claustrophobia set it. It was too late to do anything about that now.

When we reached the bottom the space opened up a bit more, much to my relief. The Japanese contingent with their own guide had already headed down the tunnel while me and Webb were given a few more interesting, although quickly forgotten, facts about the tunnel by our English guide. "Ok guys, go check it out. I'll wait here. And remember no smoking and NO PICTURES!". Once we were far enough down the tunnel not to be noticed we pulled out the cameras and disregarded that warning. We carried on along the tunnel to its eventual end. A pile of barbed wire protecting a solid concrete wall with a tiny door in it. The subterranean border to North Korea. Just as an extra deterrent to anyone thinking of defecting to the North (besides the lack of a good nightlife) the other side of the wall is loaded with dynamite. After snapping off a shot of this eerie portal into a country where the late Kim Il-Sung is still revered as 'Eternal President', we turned around and headed back to our waiting guide and, much to my relief, the wide open parking lot above.


After a quick trip to the souvenir shop where I dropped 15,000 won (about $16.00 Canadian) on a t-shirt, we got back on the bus and made our way up to Dorasan Observatory. Sitting atop a mountain not far from the military demarcation line (the North-South Border which bisect the DMZ) Dorasan observatory offers a vast panoramic view into North Korea. A large, windowed amphitheater leads out onto an adjoining observation platform where a row of coin operated binoculars await the 500 won deposits of curious visitors. The view (sans binoculars) is something to behold. In the distance, the North Korean city of Gaesong is visible. Unlike any mountains I've seen thus far in South Korea, the ones surrounding Gaesong are almost bare, the trees having been uprooted as a source of heat in the winter. Its hard to see much of this city which, if all goes according to plan, will be opened to foreign investment in the near future.

Nearer the border lies the famous Propaganda Village and it's gargantuan flag pole. Erected with the intention of luring South Koreans over into the North, the uninhabited village was apparently not quite as persuasive as might have been hoped. The village is maintained by a few caretakers to appear welcoming and appealing to southerners. Looking at it through a pair of binoculars it appears pretty much as it is, a series of empty (although nicely taken care of) buildings. Atop the 160 meter tall flagpole flies the world's largest flag. We weren't told the dimensions, only that the flags weighs about 600 pounds and requires 20 men to hoist. From a few kilometers away the red, white and blue of North Korea looks enormous (although I imagine it would take a gale force wind to actually unfurl it). The story behind the flag is that it was a response to a 100 meter flag pole erected in Freedom Village, a small farming community lying nearby in the South Korean side of the DMZ. A bit of a strange scene really: two small villages, one home to a few farmers, the other uninhabited, but both striving to build the worlds largest flagpole. Who ever said those communists weren't competitive?

No longer satisfied with the panoramic view, I got out my change and commandeered myself a pair of binoculars. I scanned around the facades of Propaganda Village, the distant apartments of Gaesong, and the bare mountain sides before focusing on a large empty field where a few North Korean farmers were going about their work. It was mesmerizing in a way. I stared at them until the tell tale clunk of my coin in the binoculars told me time was up. Though I regretted not bringing my new zoom lens I still figured I could snap off a few good shots with the digital camera. As I pulled out my camera I was approached by a South Korean soldier who explained all photos were to be taken from the behind the photo line. He indicated the yellow line inconveniently located about 10 feet back from the edge of the platform. Rather than leaning over the edge and getting a nice unobstructed shot, I would have to contend with the row of visitors and binoculars blocking the view. I realized the only way to overcome this obstacle was to either be born extremely tall (no luck there) or to stand on tip toes with your camera extended at arms length above your head and hope to take a nice picture. Luckily digital cameras allow you to see the results instantly so I could experiment with my tip toe reaching technique a little. In my own silent protest to the photo line I tried to stand near the edge unnoticed and snap a few shots with the camera protruding slightly from my sleeve. The close proximity of the soldiers and the resulting apprehension I felt caused me to take a couple of pictures of the sky. As I walked back to the bus I was glad I at least made an attempt even though the results were blurs of blue and white.

Our next destination was Dora Station. A few minutes away by bus, this is the last train station in South Korea. Optimistically, the rails leading out of this station will soon be reconnected with those in the North from which they were severed over 50 years ago. Our guide didn't explain what sort of political reunification or co-operation would have to precede the railway being reconnected, but by the appearance of the station, it seems to be an inevitability. Everything from the platform and rails outside to the waiting benches and ticket counter inside has a just finished, ready to go feel. For now however it is simply a tourist attraction and perhaps a glimpse of things to come on the Korean Peninsula. Remnants from a 2002 visit by George W. Bush take up one corner of the station. The speech he delivered is on display in both English and Korean with a few photos of the event. A glass case nearby holds a railway tie signed 'The President of the United States of America'. I stood infront of the display for the five minutes it took to read the speech.

Before getting back on the bus I snapped a couple of shots of the 'next stop: Pyeong-yang' sign (a little surreal) and got a novelty Dora Station stamp in my passport (half of which smeared off from using too much ink).The tour winding down, we made our way to the last stop, a restaurant over looking Imjin River and Freedom Bridge which crosses it into the DMZ. In a nearby guard tower two South Korean soldiers could be seen reclining with their guns. There was not much for them to observe except the coming and going of tour buses and their passengers. The meal, which was a buffet of Korean fare, was included in the price of the tour. The beers, of course, were not. The seating arrangements (Webb and I across from a young, affectionate Japanese couple) were a little awkward but shortlived as we were soon ushered back to the bus for the return trip to Seoul.

It wasn't quite 1:00pm (only seven hours into my day), but last night's alcohol consumption combined with a morning of being bussed around in the middle of a humid Korean summer had finally caught up with me. I spent the hour long ride back to Seoul with my face pressed uncomfortably against the window and the edge of my seat. Not having the foresight to draw the curtain closed, I arrived back at the tour office with a sunburn covering half of my face. I mused at how, divided down the center, one side significantly more 'red' than the other, my face had become an uncomfortable symbol for the Korean peninsula.