Democratic People's Republic of Korea - part 4

I have seven parts planned altogether to tell my mini story of North Korea, and I thought number four would be a good time for a light intermission. At least that’s what I thought this post would be, but after writing it out, I personally found it to be one of the most thought-provoking.

I can remember so clearly one moment on my trip. I was in the back seat of the bus looking out across the countryside and I was thinking about what it meant to be a human being. Rice terracing stretched as far as I could see and hunched bodies with baskets on their backs spotted the landscape. Where the square fields intersected there would be an occasional small structure made of bamboo. Each one was a couple of meters off the ground and just had a flat floor big enough for a farmer to lie down on, and big fresh green palm leaves for a semi-roof. What stroke of luck was it, that I was born exactly where and when I was, instead of where and when that farmer was born. Was it lucky at all? What is her life? When she thinks about humans, what does she think about? When she lies down on her bamboo mat, looking out across her rice fields, is she getting bitten by mosquitoes? In several hours of driving I saw only one tractor, and it was very, very old. There were cows for tilling and horses for transport and there were humans for work. It was all very clear. The sun was setting and as it became difficult to look out across the bright orange sunlit land, my attention turned inwards to the bus. One of our local guides, Mr. Kim (so many men in DPRK are called Kim, can you guess why?) always sat at the back of the bus with a few of us. We enjoyed talking to him about his country and found that after a few days of having treated him with respect, and more importantly, as one of us, he turned out to be a first-rate guy.

Mr. Kim was a very special North Korean who had a life vastly different from the average experience of his fellow citizens. His parents lived in China as business people working the connections between PRC and DPRK, so from a young age he was destined for a job which tiptoed along the border of his country and the rest of the world. Just like all young men in DPRK, he fulfilled his compulsory military duties after leaving school, but after serving he was essentially destined for the Korean International Tourism Company (KITC). The government has complete control over the KITC and is super selective when it comes to staff. Understandably so. These guides work and exist in a limbo land of constant risk – moving between two sets of reality. Two different worlds with competing and contradictory fundamentals. Mr. Kim is very aware of ‘the other side of the story’, and to treat him – or any other guide – otherwise would be an insult.

Gareth told us the story of one man on a previous tour who had taken it upon himself to ‘educate’ the guides about how shit their country ‘really’ was. He sat down with one particular guide and bluntly asked her sensitive questions about the history of the wars, and then made her listen to ‘what actually happened’. He asked about her feelings towards The Great Leader Comrade Kim Il Sun, and when she replied in the same way all North Koreans would (that she loved and admired him as the founder of her nation) he told her about all the horrible things that he did in history, how selfish he was because of his corruption and how stupid he was because of his Juche ideas. He insulted North Korean people by making an example of how terrible their education system was, and told her about the comparative quality-of-life statistics between his country (England) and hers. He spoke about his country as a nirvana land of free speech, free religion and freedom of identity where the people ruled the government and had the internet. He ‘taught’ her about how unhappy she was. He sat down with the intention of trying to make her understand how shit her life really was. I don’t know how long he talked at her for, but I do know that she left crying.

Was she crying due to the revelation that this British man intended to impose on her? No, she wasn’t. She went to Gareth, crying, saying “he treats me like a child.” There was no revelation. She isn’t an idiot. She isn’t a savage that needs to be cultured. She has access to the outside world and of course she has heard the other side of ‘The North Korea’ story. She was crying because she was tired of fuckheads coming to her country and treating her like an imbecile. What was that man trying to achieve? Did he enjoy making her feel like a prisoner? She already knows she is. Did he enjoy making her feel that way with the knowledge that he was leaving after seven days, and she is trapped there for life? What choice does she have? No choice. North Korea is her life, that does not mean she deserves to be treated differently than other human beings. We are born into our lives. More often than we like to admit, they grow around us and we can only watch as things progress.

Hearing this story threw me a pretty big curveball. I looked at our guide Mr. Kim again, in a slightly different light. Somebody was showing him their iPod touch. (Now that is something I will never forget -  watching a North Korean try and learn to play Angry Birds. What a universal moment. Talkabout mindblowing. ) The person had saved a Wikipedia page onto the Touch and managed to sneak the device past the customs entrance checks. I was too far away to see any of the details of the page, other than the Wikipedia format and logo, but what I did see was Mr. Kim reacting to the page in front of him. It was the image of a man truly torn. He was an intelligent and naturally curious individual, he had access to the outside world and knew about the organism of the internet and Wikipedia. He also, very clearly, knew that he shouldn’t be looking at such information. The result was Mr. Kim becoming very subdued, and feigning tiredness, retiring to a different section of the bus up front near the other guides. What I had witnessed was a mild version of the dickhead anecdote. Somebody saved that Wikipedia page intending to either ‘educate’ Mr. Kim, or to use him as some kind of experiment just to ‘see what he would do’. I don’t like to think of these examples of human nature, but some troubling questions about humanity certainly do arise on these kinds of journeys to these kinds of places. Often from the most unexpected places. Who would have thought my notions of such things would be changed from within the tour bus.

That evening one of the nice British tourists in my group told me that at one of our stops to a supermarket, he offered a local man some pieces of chewing gum – the pellet kind. The shop clerk was astonished and so so excited, he thanked the British man profusely and carefully put the two pellets in his pocket.

What do you even begin to think about when you hear that story?

I think about it every time I see chewing gum now. I went on this trip looking for some answers, but as usual, I just got more questions. 

Democratic People's Republic of Korea - part 3

So today I’m going to chat about the overland border between North and South Korea, otherwise known as the Demilitarised Zone – the DMZ. It’s almost as badass as Run DMC. Almost. Actually, I take that back. The North Korean side of the DMZ is SO TOTALLY FUCKING HARDCORE.

Unfortunately it was one of those places with very strict regulations about taking photos. We were further discouraged from taking photos by the numerous heavily armed guards standing by. All the time. Watching us. There were certain official areas where we were allowed unlimited snaps, and for the rest of the time, a sharp whistle would be your only warning if a lens was raised, and if it was not swiftly lowered, then the full might of the fierce and terrible state would sweep down upon you as though hell itself were falling from the fiery skies.

Before I begin with my account of the place, I think you should have a quick scan through this. If the status of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea is something that interests you, you really should look into the DMZ a little deeper than the wiki, but remember, in the same way we criticise the use of propaganda in a country like DPRK, the western world is constantly swallowing a feed of negative propaganda about DPRK. When you read about North Korea you are reading information almost always presented by somebody who already hates the country. Especially pages like Wikipedia. I give links to Wikipedia because it’s an excellent tool for easy self-education, and I presume that anyone wanting true knowledge of a subject would go on to do individual research themselves. In saying all this though, check this out, and I’m sure your opinion on the matter will be firmly cemented.

An appreciation of what the DMZ is (read: what it’s supposed to be) and what it stands for is crucial for an understanding of the current relationship between the two Koreas. This is probably the reason that most residents of DPRK have no idea what the hell is going on. There is a complete stagnation of information. It is impossible for any of us to have any idea what is going on in the mind of an average North Korean citizen. While we were seeing one of the particular negotiations areas, we were shown a room with two desks sitting parallel to each other. This room was used to try and come to an agreement about what should be done regarding violence at the border. One desk presented the flag of DPRK, the other presented the flag of the UN. After being given an evidently ridiculous version of the history of the discussions, our tour group was told by the official DPRK military guide, in closing, that “the US representatives were so embarrassed and ashamed of what they were doing, that in the morning they even forgot their flag and left it at home.”

Apparently the DPRK government believes that they were not in discussion with the UN, but in fact their enemies the US, who were too ashamed of their behaviour to admit that they were acting for themselves?

The room was full of pictures and artifacts from the time of the negotiations, full of almost hilarious captions. I say almost because at first I was laughing, but after about half an hour of seeing the word ‘imperialist’ before every single ‘US’, and hearing about how the whole world ‘revered’ the ‘Great Leader Comrade’, you start to realise the depth of the delusion. The crackly vinyl revolutionary string music playing in the background always begins with a certain feeling of quaintness, even charm, but it doesn’t take too much time to combine that with real-life, real-time propaganda posters in the street, and realise that you aren’t in Kansas any more. Do the people truly believe this version of history they are being told? Yes. Yes, they do. They have no source of information other than their government, and do not realise that they have turned their political leader (who is now dead) into an infallible God. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to try and talk about the brainwashing that goes on in a state like DPRK. But you should definitely be concerned.

The tour of the DMZ painted the exact picture you would imagine a cranky child would create upon not getting what it wants. They alter their memories to suit their desires, they point fingers, they lie, and they dramatise. Without world domination, DPRK will never have what it wants, and so the cranky child simply grows more irritable and hungrier. Literally.

I know the part most people were looking forward to was seeing the actual border. The place where a single cement line separates two countries which are as fundamentally different as countries can be. This line is clear, and three shed-type buildings straddle it. The inside of these three buildings are considered ‘neutral zones’ which belong to neither the North or the South. They are used for rare exchanges, but more commonly, for tourists. Everyone in the group was excited to go in the building and cross the border, but we heard from our DPRK guides that this would be impossible. The reason? The South Koreans had locked all the doors from the inside. The reason? Same as why the broadcast of BBC disappeared and turned to static two days ago on our hotel tv – there had been more missile attacks. The reason? Who knows.

It turns out that while I was there, the two Koreas had yet another altercation at sea, and were officially attacking each other off the coast. Yeah. While I was inside, the missiles were firing. What makes this most interesting, is what happened on the bus as we climbed in to leave the DMZ, dejected that we couldn’t go into those sheds. After much pestering (at this stage we were all in the dark about the real reason we couldn’t go to the border crossing place) our guide, exacerbated, told us this: 

      “I am sorry that you cannot go to that place, but it is not our fault at all. When South Korean   people go in, they lock the door from the inside. Usually we wait until South Korean tourists are finished in the building and then they unlock it and then we can go in but you know today there is some problem. The South, they have locked the doors from the inside because they want to so there is nothing we can do. So as you can see, this is not our fault, but it is the US fault.”

Hang on. WHAT? Where does the US even come in to this particular scenario? Where did that comment come from? I do not think that the guides knew that as they were speaking, missiles were hitting navy vessels off the coast. I do not think that the guides knew why the doors where really locked. What I do think, is that they have been told that absolutely none of this was the fault of the North, and that yet again, DPRK had been violently attacked without provocation by the imperialist puppets, and so were responding in completely understandable self-defense. Why would the guide blame the US for this situation? Does the DPRK still tell their citizens that the US and South Korea are constantly teaming up against them? For example, right now? I have no idea. I really don’t.

I suppose what I really learnt from this trip to the DMZ was that you shouldn’t let children play with barbed wire and heavy artillery. It is so difficult for us to imagine a world where all you know comes from the sole source of the government. This nation is being taught a version of history which has been totally created. I am not naïve enough to think that the rest of the world is taught accurate histories, but freedom of information means that I can understand all versions of the same war. I can see that all sides made mistakes and I can see that my country was not infallible and that my ancestors were not perfect. Most importantly, I can see, and encourage others to see, the differentiation of religion and state.

The worship of Kim Il Sung reveals just as much about humanity as it does about DPRK. To the people of DPRK, Kim Il Sung is a god. This needs no more explanation. The trouble that comes from this situation, is that whilst politicians are usually held accountable as any human being would be, a god as a head of state is infallible. Each policy decision is essentially a divine one, which on no grounds can be contested. There is no need for elections, nobody could be leader other than Him. Most importantly, He is of a different kind of greatness to the rest of the population, despite the fact that the rest of the population live under the harsh equality-based rules of severe communism. Freedom of religion or religious expression is forbidden in DPRK, and any kind of worship can only go ahead with express approval by the government. The irony is too unfortunate. It would appear that the human inclination to create supernatural solutions to unanswerable questions is universal. When the communist mantra (their specific version is called Juche. You can read about it here) dictated no religion, these people made their leader their god.

I digress, although there isn’t much more to say about the DMZ. When I break down the history and the conflict pertinent to the area, I see two opposing groups who are so fundamentally different in their priorities and beliefs, that they might as well be speaking two different languages without a translator. Neither party could, or will ever, truly accept the values of the other, and so remain locked in conflict. And so once again, I find myself understanding a little more about humans, and yet becoming more and more baffled.

Democratic People's Republic of Korea - part 2

I have been incredibly busy since getting back to mainland China (I’ve learned how to make my own noodles, bought some insatiable white Louboutin pumps and fought with three more crooked cabbies) so I haven’t had nearly as much time as I would like to be able to write. I refuse to leave more than two days between posts though, so tonight I’m going to give you the next installment about my trip to the Democratic People’s Republic of North Korea, (even though this is kind of the first real one because that ‘part 1’ was far too vague and therapeutic to be of real informative interest to anyone). So I thought a good thing to write about would be Arirang.

Caught your attention? Haha yeah you bet I did. It’s was fucking amazing.

Didn’t catch your attention? Read this wiki and then come back to me.

Let us continue.

I went to the games on the second night of my stay in DPRK (so no, these recollections are not chronological) and I noticed that for a lot of the people, this was going to be a highlight of the trip. To be honest, it didn’t think it was going to be mine. Perhaps it should have been, as it turned out to be for many others, because I can say without hesitation that the Arirang show puts every single Olympics opening ceremony in the history of humankind to shame. The statistics are crazy in themselves  - 100’000 participants, practicing for years and then performing for months. Children and adults and insanely talented acrobats. There were lasers and fireworks and smoke machines, and an entire wall of children with coloured cards turning them in unison to create massive images. It was 90 minutes of perfection. Each move polished until I could see my gawking face in it. Each costume identical in it’s trillions of sequins. Each song flawlessly executed for maximum accuracy.

The massive wall of Children with coloured cards.

And thus was my problem with Arirang. Why didn’t I think it was going to be the highlight of my trip? Why wasn’t it the highlight of my trip? Because in the most fundamental sense, I appreciate quality over quantity, and when it comes to entertainment and the arts, emotion is key. If the work is not evocative, it is not quality. I can appreciate Arirang in the way I appreciate mathematics. Practice and precision. Arirang surprised me with it’s sheer scale, but I did not come away from the show having been truly touched in any way. I want to learn something about humans, I want to experience the human experience. I want to connect. Perhaps it is not the purpose of a grand show like this to do that kind of thing, but in all other ways Arirang is compared to the Olympics ceremonies, and I am always touched by those. There is so much passion in an opening ceremony. When I watch an Olympics opening ceremony I am touched by the emotions of the people sharing it with me. It is a human experience that we wait four years to share with each other. I don’t even like sports. Not the point. The point is the humanity. The point is always the humanity. It will always be.

What Arirang taught me, was yet another facet of how these ideas of humanity are warped within a country like DPRK. The human emotion is a highly individual concept. In a state completely concerned with utility and efficiency and function and “the whole”, it is understandable that a showcase of their prowess would be lacking in emotive content. Arirang has been designed with those same basic ideas in mind, from which all communist (and therefore DPRK) activities have been designed – encouragement of solidarity of the state, encouragement of achievement and productivity, discouragement of the individual as a concept comparable to the whole, etc etc etc. Arirang is the perfect example from which we can gain an insight into not only DPRK, but all states of the same nature. Essentially, even in times of frivolity (read: their best attempt at a kind of happy entertainment time) there is still constant control. Epic amounts of control. So much control that the uncontrollable nature of humanity, such as emotion and passion, are removed.

Now, it is entirely possible that I am over-thinking this entire thing. It is possible (read: more than likely) that my perceptions of the world are based around a set of criteria which, having been formed by capitalist and free and western ideals, will never be allow me to appreciate what DPRK has to offer. It is also possible that Arirang was in fact an incredibly emotive experience for some other people. But as a naturally self-reflective person, I am coming to the conclusion more and more these days that my perceptions, no matter how much I reflect upon them, are inescapable. I will never know a version of the world separate from what I see with my eyes and filter through my mind. I arrived in DPRK with a damn strong idea of what I thought it would be. Too strong, perhaps. I came away with some things exactly how I expected they would be, and other things surprising. One can only hope that these results indicate an open mind.

There was a big special section near the end of the show celebrating the friendship between DPRK and PRC.
This is troubling on so many different levels. I'll be talking about it later.

Arirang was surprising in an ordinary way (I had never seen that many children simultaneously somersaulting before) and unsurprising in another way (the fundamentals of communism are truly the roots of all their actions). In North Korea, there is no escape from communism, in the same way as you and I have no escape from oxygen.

The Great Leader Comrade Kim Il Sung.

 

I’d like to be more bitter about it, but for what it was trying to be, it was a damn good show.

Democratic People's Republic of Korea - part 1

I’m not entirely sure how to begin the documentation process for my trip to the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. I kept a detailed journal while I was inside (the word ‘inside’ has been deliberately chosen for its numerous connotations and because of the difficulty in getting both ‘in’ and ‘out’ again) because I wanted to avoid the hassle of trying to take a laptop. The border entry searches were laborious and extensive, but I’ll go into that later. My point here is that whilst I have an accurate record of everything that happened around me in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, I am still grappling with the greater significance of each grain of information I was presented with. A purely chronological account of my visit simply would not do, and yet if one is not chronological, where does one begin?

I suppose that yes, I have made lists of moments and people and anecdotes which I intend to process and share over the next few days, but I feel as though no matter how I approach this, I will fail. A very fundamental change has occurred within me, and it is affecting my perceptions of many things. How could I possibly communicate that with any adequacy? Perhaps I should begin with the politics - after having seen and experienced the workings of a communist state, complete with it’s propaganda and fear and poverty and totalitarianism. Or rather with my new perceptions of humanity - now that I have seen what happens to humans in environments so radically different to my own I am no longer sure of what is truly ‘human’ in nature. Or maybe I start with China – because I am looking at this country now with a real understanding of where it came from and how far it has developed within a few short decades.  

I do know for sure that the reason I am struggling is because my brain right now is like a swamp. I’m wading through all the muddy, confusing crap, and it just takes a little while till I break out into the clear river. What a killer metaphor. I digress. I’ve postponed this for nearly two whole days already, and I think I’m gonna have to start wading before I can even imagine what the river might look like.

Contrary to popular belief, if you go with a proper tour group and aren’t some kind of crazy enemy-of-the-state or diplomatic top-dog, getting a visa for DPRK isn’t really problematic right now. American passport holders can have difficulties depending on the (very fragile) state of relations between the two nations, and South Koreans do have to be a little cautious for the same reasons, but for a kid like me, it was all cool. You don’t get anything in your passport unless you are a Chinese passport holder (who knows why), so that’s a little disappointing, but I got in and out without too much hassle, so I really can’t complain.

I went with a company called Young Pioneer Tours, and I really can’t recommend them enough. They’re obviously aimed at a younger demographic, and sell themselves as “a tour company for people who hate tours” so I was pretty keen before I even left. As it turns out, the main man Gareth (who is a damn hilarious smokeslikeachimneyanddrinkslikeafish kind of guy, and a complete genius for all things DRPK) has discovered this great niche of taking people who usually backpack, to places where they can’t really go by backpacking. Their clientele are the epitome of awesomeness, and it really reinvigorated my faith in group travelling. They took us to all the biggest and best places (Arirang, Kim Il Sung’s mausoleum, the DMZ North/South border) but we also went to a whole bunch of super interesting smaller places (bookshops, parks, war museums). Each meal comes with beer, the numbers are capped, and the YPT guides pick only the best of the North Korean guides for their trips. Speaking of which, there were two groups of about 15 people and we had 4 North Korean guides plus a driver per group. A note out to the ladies, too, there were only 5 females on the trip and I was the only one of those five not in a couple – massive sausage-fest. LOL. Apparently females are much less common on trips to highly dangerous political areas. Who’da thunk it? There were people from Australia, Germany, England, Canada and French Canada, America, Austria and perhaps some others I can’t think of right now. I must reiterate, that all of these people were actually really awesome individuals. There must be something special about YPT, because as good as DPRK was, the best times were when I was chilling and drinking with my new pals. Sounds lame. Totally isn’t lame. Is totally cool. I would almost recommend going to DPRK just to meet the other kinds of people who want to go to DPRK.

I suppose I had a pretty good time with the people, but I’ve never been one to be able to separate my surroundings from my internal landscape. DPRK was highly educational, but only because it was challenging. I was exhausted by the end and glad to be back in China, which says a lot.

This next part is hard to explain. I feel as though my brain is a kind of container, almost like a house, I guess. It’s full of rooms and compartments for the different facets of my life, and these places –or rooms– have different interior designs and lighting schemes and playlists and are even filled with different people. I manage the home as any human would, and I clean it and make it dirty and clean it again as part of the process of life. I spend more time in some rooms than others, I even like some rooms more than others, but I am conscious of all of them at all times. In an instance, I can sit in a moment of self reflection and gaze at my mind as though it were the blueprints of the house. I never forget about the study when I’m in the kitchen, my name is my address, I live alone (not even with cats), and at times I find this too consuming. Too laborious. I have so many rooms. I don’t want to be having to think about the damn laundry when I’m in the bedroom. I can barely handle it. In this life, I don’t want to think about the news when I’m with friends. I am tired of thinking about exams when I’m enjoying dinner. But these rooms combine to make this house, and this house is who I am. When I retire I shall move quite literally and also internally, to a smaller house. Something far more manageable with far less rooms, and I long for this house already. At 19 I am just exhausted from having to think about such a stupid goddamned mansion of shit.

Why am I talking about this? Going to North Korea was the beginning of a renovation project to extend the walls and make space for a new room. Why would I want that? I didn’t want it. I still don’t want it. It’s there now, and it’s another place I have to furnish then clean and then spend my time in. Another place physically and internally, to be conscious of for the rest of my life. This room has altered my perceptions of all the others rooms, and has changed the schematics of the house. I haven’t adjusted to the new blueprint yet. I still resent the extra vacuuming. I had to go because it was an opportunity I could not live with myself for passing up. When I think about how bad that country is, it makes me feel so intensely grateful for every single thing that I have in my life right now. It is part of my growth as an informed, responsible individual within this world. It gives me enough badass credits to not have to go do crazy shit for a long time to come. As Hanna would say, I’ve leveled up.

I’m going back to posting everyday now and I’m having some quiet time in Beijing at the moment, so it will be DPRK for several more days. Hopefully by the end we’ll be swimming in a clear river together. Hahahahha, kidding. I promise no more rubbish metaphors.

North Korea

Tomorrow I leave for North Korea, or as it is formally known - "The Democratic People's Republic of Korea". That name is in inverted commas because it's just plain ridiculous.


I'm going to be honest here and say that I know just about nothing about NK. I have a basic understanding of how shit it is, and a working knowledge of how shit China is for being best buddies with such a super-shit country like NK, but other than that, I don't even know which one of those crazy kids is technically ruling the country. Apparently it's the dead one, and that NK is the only remaining necrocracy in the world. At least that's what Christopher Hitchens tells people. Having been to NK, he likens it to a kind of living hell from which the only escape is death. I recommend watching this as a good introduction to the topic. Needless to say, I would much rather spend my thousands on a nice trip to Thailand. 


I must be crazy. Who in their right mind decides to go look at statues of dickheads in the shittiest country in the whole world, instead of riding elephants and drinking cocktails from coconuts. Who. TELL ME WHO. Why do I do these things? 


WHY!?!?!???????????????


So anyway, I cannot take a mobile in with me (it would be confiscated at the border) and laptops are allowed but there is no internet, so starting from tomorrow afternoon, I am essentially Schrodinger's cat. Look it up. Here. Needless to say, my mum is pretty worried. I suppose I am also worried, but I'm trying not to think about it. I also can't take a camera lens bigger than 220mm, and can only take pictures at certain places. I have to wear formal attire for a few of the mausoleums, and under no circumstances may I speak to any non-pre-approved locals. I will not be let out of anyone's sight. Ever. I eat what they want me to eat and go where they tell me to go and probably even pee when they command me to pee. There are no choices about anything. Ever. I must give chocolates and large tips to my guides, and the most widely accepted currency is Euro. I seriously have no idea what the fuck is up with this place, dude. What the hell kind of Asian country uses Euro?


Now that I do think about it, actually, I am quite worried. Anything could happen, and I would be lost forever. No. Seriously. There would be no chance at all to get me back/out. It's not like that shitty 'Taken' movie where the chick gets taken then gets rescued back. It's not like anyone could come look for me. At all. Whatsoever. Nobody would be allowed in to come get me. I can't even text or email anyone. What if they decide to just keep me? They could do that, you know. They could decide to just not let me back out, and I would rot there. Like how a corpse rots in a basement. Rotting. In North Korea. I'm going to die. Tomorrow afternoon is the beginning of my decomposition process.


If it isn't, though, I will see you all in about a week with some interesting stories. Lol.


But not so lol.

The Summer Palace

The Summer Palace is a bit of a drive from our inner-city Beijing apartment, but it was worth the air-conditioned wait in the car in traffic. Not only because we're in hot, muggy, soggy, warm, wet season - but also because it's a damn amazing place. It's almost three square kilometers, and three quarters of that is a completely human-created lake. They literally dug a massive hole in the ground to make a big lake, then put all the dirt together in a big pile to make a mountain. And then they built a gigantic palace on top of the mountain. Classic China.

Got no rain? - Shoot rockets into the clouds to make the water come out!
Got some touchy political issues? - Put the words 'people' and 'republic' in front of your name!
Wanna lake? - Dig it!
Wanna mountain? - Dude, you really can have it all!

Musings aside, it's an incredible national-scale 'can-do' attitude that they've always had, and seeing the Summer Palace reminds you of the wondrous capabilities of the Chinese. I also think that the Summer Palace is the perfect example of China's current attitude towards historical and tourist sites. Most of these kinds of places that I have travelled to share several similar characteristics.

Firstly, because China does everything on such a grand scale, these locations (The Forbidden City, Great Wall and Terracotta Warriors are all perfect examples of this) are extremely high maintenance and difficult to manage. The government could certainly do a much better job, but I can certainly sympathise with the fact that they have a shitload of amazing stuff to keep and eye (and broom) on.

Secondly, and this is a result of the first thing, all of the sites are well maintained in certain areas and left in complete disrepair in others. Most tourists in China are actually Chinese people from all over the massive country going to other areas of their massive country, and this weird thing happens where all of them only ever go to certain sections of the famous places. Of course, they only ever go to the popular and well-presented areas. What this means, is that often in China if you are clever about your destinations, you can often quite easily avoid the crowds...

Which brings me to a third point. The best parts of famous Chinese destinations are never the famous parts. The deserted sections of the Great Wall like Jinshanling have had less restoration and just ooze awesomeness compared to their popular siblings like the Badaling sections. The tiny hutong-like alleys in the Forbidden City open up a whole new world of insight, compared to the classic straight-line-through which most tourists follow along. This brings me back to the Summer Palace.

When you squeeze your way through the customary crowds and make it into the walls of the Summer Palace, you can followed the packed promenade, or you can take a couple of detours amongst the lovely leafy and less-populated higher areas. Almost everyone chooses to walk along the side of the lake, following the designated paths, but my appreciation of the size and complexity of the Summer Palace skyrocketed after I climbed a small stone path and literally got off of the literally beaten track.

 The first thing you notice is, of course, the massive lake and the beautiful panorama is presents. It's an amazingly big expanse of free space considering it's location in China, let alone Beijing. The lake harbours thousand of waterlily plants. Often they are flowering, and are appreciated for their visual appeal. Often they are not flowering, and the lotus roots are harvested for their deliciousness.

This is the lovely walk along the banks of the lake. It is understandably popular and makes for a delightful stroll. I think some people arrive in the morning and treat the Summer Palace almost like a family picnic spot. I have seen parents and children with whole feasts, and I have seen plenty of people snoozing. This place actually has a wonderfully relaxed vibe about it. Ironic considering it was a palace, but hey, it works.

 These stone stairs lead from the water level up to a higher level of almost completely concealed walkways. There is an entire section of empty pagodas and paths in a much leafier and quieter area of the palace grounds. Once we were up these stairs, we were serenaded by beautiful birds and could actually hear our own thoughts. My lungs loved the clear air and my eyes could wander my surroundings without being on constant alert for masses of moving human obstacles.

 In these quieter sections, though, a lot of incredible things had been left to the mercy of time and nature. This fresco painting is a perfect example. Undoubtedly, it was once lovely.

My mother is an incredible artist, and always points out amazing textures to me when we are out together. China is full of fine details. From the paths to the roofs and everything in between, if you stop and look around you will find your are eternally in the presence of interestingness.

 The Summer Palace is actually really massive and so many rooms and so many buildings that I can't even begin to imagine what they might all be for. This place was the royal family's weekend getaway - it wasn't even their proper actual palace!

I know, they were a very indulgent bunch...

Yet another example of old China vs. new China. Like dumplings in Starbucks or plasma advertising screens in ancient city streets, this country sure nails the 'contrast' criteria.

This is the view of the palace itself from a seat on one of the mini barges which will ferry you to the other side of the lake. You can also hire little paddle-boat type things!

The summer palace on Sundays is apparently filled with local makeshift choirs singing out the Chinese classics with grandchildren in tow. We fully intend to return to this great place at least once before leaving Beijing. I cannot recommend it enough. If it interests you, I would also suggest having a look at some of the historical photos of the Summer Palace. It was occupied by different enemies in different wars, and has been through a lot of makeovers. The 1920's was a particularly glamorous time for the Summer Palace and its occupants. Google it!

signs

I suppose when one is enjoying nature at a nature reserve one must expect that others at the nature reserve will also be interested in nature. It is also reasonable to presume that the people running the reserve have an interest in the appreciation and preservation of nature, and that they might want to express themselves thusly. I would like to share with you some of the lovely pro-nature messages we encountered in our journey through the aforementioned Changbaishan National Nature Reserve...

CAUTION THE ROLLING STONE,
DON'T STAY HERE!

GIVE LOVE TO VEGETATION
RETURN THE GREEN TO THE GROUND

STEP ON GREEN MOUNTAIN AND
FERTILE EARTH, MIND FOREST SAFETY

THE GREEN CIVILIZATION IS THE
HOPE, LET'S SOW TOGETHER.

FLOWERS MORE BEAUTIFUL WITH MERCY OF YOUR HANDS
GRASS MORE GREEN WITH MERCY OF YOUR FEET.

PROTECT ENVIRONMENT START WITH ME

Changbaishan

Most people travel to Changbaishan National Nature Reserve in Jilin province to see the famous 'Heaven Lake'. The pristine body of water sits within an epic volcano like tea in a cup and is surrounded by acres of protected reserves. The lake is also split down the middle to mark the border between China and North Korea. I have five days left until my foray into the Democratic People's Republic of Korea, but that story comes later.

It's a big task to get to Changbaishan, so when you arrive you feel compelled to make the most out of it. Several days of harrowing bus and train rides led us to the big city of Shenyang, then the tiny town of Baihe, and from there we made our way to the reserve. Like most big attractions in China, the ticket prices are unpredictable if not high, and the crowds are swarming and unavoidable. But like most crowds in China, they all follow the same road. This places blesses the open-eyed, and slight detours will reward you with solitary enjoyment of a space in time which is nothing short of inspirational. We took a right turn from the Changbai waterfall (the longest volcanic waterfall in the world) and found ourselves unaccompanied on a serene boardwalk - totally alone for almost an hour.

When we finally met back up on the stone path with rest of the reserve patrons, we stopped for an impromptu picnic of Oreos and jelly fruit cups and leftover breakfast buns. We stumbled into some crazy-hot hot springs, wandered off the track down to a raging river and simply enjoyed breathing the clean country air all the while. I get the feeling a lot of people go just to see the lake and the DPRK border, but the reserve itself as an entity is a bank of natural wonder - the majority of which continuously goes untapped.

We were exhausted by the time we reached the lake itself, but climbing the crescent, and having that incredible expanse of water virtually materialise in front of us, well, it reinvigorated us. I feel as though looking down the volcano walls was like looking down and back through time. The water sparkled in places for apparently no reason. The rocks were magnificent and came in colours and shapes like nothing from this world. I would not have been surprised if I saw a pterodactyl swoop overhead - or a Nazgul for that matter. Any manner of creature could have surfaced in that unbroken mirror of water, and I would have believed it. The Heaven Lake is almost magical. Standing so far from the water's edge, simply ogling, I sure felt like a muggle.

It was wondrous. Truly wondrous.