Stalin was a genius

Next up, North Korea from May 1997….

Ever keen to provoke the “why on earth do you want to go there?” response (Alaska in winter, anyone?), the idea of a visit to the perennially popular Club Med destination that is North Korea was hit upon. What follows is an attempt to supply the incredulous questioner with some incredulous answers.

After visiting Seoul earlier in the year, and having difficulty at times working out whether I’d actually left Tokyo, a compare and contrast visit to the north was even more in order.

The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) is not the easiest of places to get to, despite being one of Japan’s closest neighbours. In fact, many Japanese people were of the impression that it was impossible to go. This of course only strengthened my resolve. Written material is almost non-existent but after some serious surfing, I managed to collect enough information to book a tour with VNC Travel in Holland. An early net find was Paul and Rick Bakker‘s highly entertaining travelogue.

However, this being Japan nothing is quite that simple. On hearing of our intended trip, my office displayed the ugly chip on its shoulder regarding all things Korean and banned us outright from going, on the following grounds:

• Japan has no diplomatic relations with the DPRK;
• It is dangerous; and
• Japanese civil servants voluntarily undertake not to go to the DPRK.

The fact that we were neither Japanese nationals nor civil servants was irrelevant. The decision had been made and they weren’t about to change a decision and lose face. In fact, the prospect of our just going anyway was greeted with implicit threats of dismissal. After consulting with the Ministry of Education, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the British and Canadian embassies, the Foreign Office in London and sundry other officials, they were told in no uncertain terms that they couldn’t stop us. Again, the decision had been made and so the only option left for them was the traditional Japanese head in the sand response.

Pyongyang international airport is only connected to Beijing, Berlin, Moscow, Macau and Bangkok, so it was back to Beijing for the second time in a month. A day was spent picking up our Korean visas and flight tickets, together with the odd bit of sightseeing. A visit to Beihei park was noteworthy for a couple of English signs:

• “Individuals should not hold any dancing party inside the park without permission. Decadent songs and behaviours that go against decency are forbidden here”.

and the poetic:

• “The lake water was retarded by silt and the garden’s face became rusty”.

The next day we headed back to the airport for our luxury Air Koryo flight to Pyongyang. An indication of things to come was the way the check-in desk was separated from all the others and their use of pen and carbon paper rather than computers to check us in. In the waiting lounge there were a large number of sharply dressed businessmen carrying flowers and sporting unusual lapel pins. There were a handful of other foreigners, who all later turned out to be working for aid organisations, with the exception of one other tourist from Sweden. Interestingly, Sweden is one of the very few non-pariah countries to have any kind of diplomatic presence in NK.

After driving for what seemed like 25 miles down the runway we eventually came to our antiquated Ilyushin in a secluded corner of the airport. On boarding we were greeted with our first barrage of the uplifting patriotic songs that we were to hear everywhere.

Partaking of the Pyongyang Times handed out on the plane gave us our first glimpse of the current state of affairs. Naturally enough there were no stories of starving children, nuclear arms build-ups or the kidnapping of Japanese schoolgirls. In fact, it was exactly the opposite of the hysterical mud slinging and rumour mongering to be found in the Japanese press. From a technical point of view, the paper was a masterpiece – the English was beautiful (no Japlish here) but the content was slightly suspect:

• “The Juche idea formed by him [President Kim Il Sung] is the guiding ideology in the revolution and construction which reflects the independent demands and aspirations of the working masses. It now serves as an ideological banner of invincibility.”
• “He experienced all trials and ordeals in his lifetime and overcame manifold hardships in the revolutionary struggle with an indomitable determination.”
• “That was why it became a main leverage in the hands of the people with which to struggle against imperialism and reactionaries, exploitation by the imperialists and neo-colonialism and for social justice, democracy, vital rights and peace.”

One has to wonder who this paper is produced for, given the extremely small number of English-speaking visitors. Also, the subjects are not exactly what you get in the standard Berlitz phrasebook. Where do they learn these things?

On arrival at Pyongyang, our guide was nowhere to be seen. Our Swedish travelling companion’s guide informed us that our guide was expecting us to arrive by train and was waiting for us at the station. This would have been an ideal opportunity to escape the clutches of our tour but we probably wouldn’t have got very far.

All visitors to NK must go on a package tour and be accompanied by a guide, just in case you get lost or feel the urge to meet the locals. Our specially arranged tour consisted of two people – myself and my colleague Jeff from Canada. In addition to this we had two guides (Mr. Li and Mr. Kim), a driver (Mr. La) and our own Volvo. Our man from Sweden, who we were to dub Sven, also had two guides, a driver and a Volvo (which must have made him feel at home). Nothing like a bit of job creation. Mind you, with less than 5 western visitors per week, a shortage of guides is never going to be an issue.

Like all foreigners, we were put up in the deluxe grade Koryo hotel, a “twin tower style tall building” where we could marvel at the 45^th floor “revolving restaurant with a wide prospect”. Our room was equipped with a TV with 10 channel buttons to press. I may have been doing something wrong, but they all seemed to be tuned to the same channel – revolutionary songs followed by a woman literally shouting the news and extolling the virtues of the Great Leader.

After dinner, the guides somehow got the idea that we were alcoholics who’d only come for the cheap beer and so we had little difficulty in persuading them to take us to a couple of local bars (the option of going shooting somehow became “unavailable”). Getting the guides drunk and separating them from each other and the Party line provided few revelations, other than an admission that the food situation is very bad and a strong denial that anyone had died. Too strong a denial.

the unfinished 100-storey pyramid-shaped hotel can be seen in the background

The next day, after a brief tour of Pyongyang (including Kim Il Sung square, complete with posters of Marx and Lenin, and Kim Il Sung stadium, capacity 100000), we hit the road in our Volvo for the 38^th parallel and the border with the puppet stooges in the south.

The Reunification Highway was almost deserted. With only 2% of the population owning their own cars, we had the thing almost to ourselves and so it was easy to put the foot down. The long straights were ideal for Mr. La’s driving style of maximum coasting and minimum gear changing. When asked about the speed limit, our trusty guide informed us that no cars meant no speed limit. What cars there were, drove on the right; however, depending on the car’s country of origin, there were both left and right-hand drive cars. Questions on the possibility of renting a car were met with quizzical looks, as if to say “What a quaint concept. Don’t think it’ll take off here though”.

Pyongyang is blessed with a metro and buses (for which people form such orderly queues). However, the main form of transport elsewhere seemed to be the shoe. At all times of the day, many people could be seen walking along the roadside and the Reunification Highway was no exception. Apparently, bikes were “not popular” before and these days pricing them at $300 is a very effective way of ensuring that NK doesn’t become terribly unsightly à la China. Our guides informed us that the typical North Korean spends 8 hours a day working, 8 hours sleeping and 8 hours studying. Not entirely sure where eating and all that walking fits in.

In the towns the sparse traffic is directed by uniformed people (usually women) with a baton. Their directing is customised to the traffic present – if a car approaches she will wave it through. In the rare event that two or more cars are present at the same time, some kind of decision has to be made. This involves signalling to one car, swivelling around and signalling to the others. This swivelling was a crisply mechanical process involving goose-stepping knees and jerky baton movements. Extremely entertaining to behold.

Before reaching Panmunjon and the demilitarised zone (DMZ), we stopped in Kaeson for lunch. Our tourist-only restaurant served up a traditional Korean meal consisting of 15 saucer-sized dishes each containing a different delicacy, washed down with Ginseng wine/unrefined meths.

Passing the “Seoul 70km” sign and entering the DMZ is one of the more surreal experiences that anyone can hope to encounter. We passed through fields full of dutiful workers toiling to the sound of martial music being blasted from massive speakers. Interestingly, these fields actually had some crops in them, unlike the ones we had passed on the journey from Pyongyang, which only seemed to offer mud for cultivation. We were stopped at a checkpoint and given a presentation on the DMZ. The room had a scale model of the border and, of course, pictures of the Great and Dear Leaders. There was also a map of the Korean peninsula, showing a virgin white north and a missile and tank infested south.

Then it was through some more barbed wire fences to the border itself. We were taken to the hut where the armistice agreement was signed, complete with the “original” flags in glass cases. However, the oxidising qualities of the two cases seemed to be somewhat different, since the UN flag was extremely tattered and the DPRK flag looked brand new.

As we stepped out of the building nearest the border, several south Korean soldiers on the other side rushed out to look at us through binoculars and take our photos. We then went into one of the huts straddling the border. Walking around the hut we could actually cross the border. The duty free shop didn’t seem to be open yet. Meanwhile the South Korean boneheads were staring through the windows at us, trying to look intimidating. Outside the hut we were treated to a show of imperialist aggression in the form of an American helicopter flying right up to the border and taking yet more pictures of us. It seems a pity that island nations are robbed of the opportunity to put on such shows for visitors.

The next day was May Day. We were hoping for a parade with tanks, missiles, red flags and thousands of children doing gymnastics. However, it wasn’t to be. No one knew of any events, with the exception of possible “dance parties”. We were, of course, extremely keen to go to such scenes of decadent songs and behaviours but the guides were somehow unable to track any down. In the event, we had a tour of Pyongyang and its many monuments.

First off, it was the Great Monument on Mansu hill. This is one of the most sacred places in NK and we were instructed to act in accordance with this fact. It consists of a massive bronze statue of the Great Leader in classic Lenin-hailing-a-taxi pose. We were firmly requested to buy some flowers to lay at the foot of the monument and bow reverently. Also, we were told that we were only allowed to take photos of the complete statue. Cutting off the great man’s legs or, heaven forbid, his head were definite no-nos. In fact, when I tried to take a photo from close range, they couldn’t believe that I could get the whole thing in my shot and asked to look through the viewfinder to make sure.

In lieu of massed parades, we went to the funfair. Being May Day, the joyous masses were out in force. From this sample, and from those people we saw later, it was impossible to tell if the country was on the verge of starvation. Certainly, there were large numbers of grubby looking kids, but then you get them in any country. Also, this would have been a good opportunity to actually meet some of the locals. However, after they’d got over their initial shock of seeing a foreigner, they would either gawp incredulously (Japanese and even Chinese starers have a lot to learn) or run away. Most of them seemed too scared to talk to us and I’m not sure I want to contemplate the consequences of starting a conversation with one of them would be. The only exception was the occasional small child who would say “hello” back to us.

After the wonders of the funfair, it was destination metro. Just like Moscow, each station is exquisitely decorated with marble columns, chandeliers and murals. Extra Korean touches include the mandatory revolutionary piped music and, of course, pictures of the Great and Dear Leaders in each carriage. At least that’s what it looked like, as the carriages were so dim that it was impossible to read a newspaper.

Next was the Great Leader’s birthplace in Mangyongdae. Again, the masses were out in force. What better way to spend your May Day than by visiting an old house with thousands of other soldiers. Being VIP foreigners, we were rushed to the front of the queue and given a special tour, while everyone else was herded through like cattle.

It was around this time that the guides started to give out some curious answers to our questions:

On Stalin

“Stalin was a genius. He led Russia to victory in the war and so was a great man. Some foreigners have told us that he did some bad things but we cannot really be sure of this.” It was interesting to see the different responses that resulted from different questioning techniques. For example, the above response came from the very open “what do you think of Stalin?”, whereas Sven’s “Stalin was really a nasty piece of work and how can you associate with such a brute?” produced a much more defensive response along the lines of “how can you really be sure that he killed a million people?”

On missiles

“Of course we don’t have any nuclear of chemical weapons. However, we do have some very powerful conventional weapons, capable of reaching the US. If you want war, come and get it – we’re ready.”

On Japan

“The Japanese government has recognised its mistakes and has apologised.”

On South Korea

“The South Korean government wants the US troops to stay because of the threat of attack but the US wants to leave.”

On Hwang Jang Yop

“Traitors are free to leave any time they want.”

“Many people defect from the south to the north.”

On German reunification

“That’s what we want but not in the same way i.e. the absorption of East Germany.”

In general, we were able to ask them anything. Their English was excellent, especially in the area of phrases like “imperialist aggression”, “anti-Japanese armed struggle” and “South Korean puppet stooges”. In fact, given the bombardment of questions, their answering was very impressive. I only have to think of all the strange questions that Japanese people ask me to be amazed. Mr. Li had a disquieting way of replying “of course, why not?” when asked questions such as “are you a member of the party?” or “do you tell Japanese people the same things?”

After lunch, the architectural showpieces, the Tower of the Juche Idea and the Arch of Triumph were ours to inspect. At the Juche tower we inquired about the system of Juche. It is usually translated as “self-reliance” in English, which leads to the impression that NK is an isolationist country, striving to survive without outside interference. However, the availability of foreign cars and products set us wondering. The guides informed us that it actually means “self-determination i.e. everyone is free to do what they want”. Within certain limits, of course…..

Our evening’s entertainment was a visit to the world-famous Pyongyang circus, complete with a real live orchestra, trapeze artistes and fighting cocks. There were also performing bears, which were either small people in bearsuits or extremely well trained/tortured animals – their actions were incredibly human-like.

After dinner, we managed to head out on our own for a stroll around Pyongyang by night. The eerily quiet (and dark) streets didn’t proffer any dancing parties but the aforementioned monuments were floodlit for our enjoyment. The lights in Kim Il Sung square were particularly impressive. We walked up to Mansu hill to pay our respects to the Great Leader again (although we didn’t have any flowers this time). The place was deserted with the exception of some cleaners and the sombre music. We thought it best to bow, just in case our guides should hear of any disrespectful behaviour on our part.

The next day found us driving north towards mount Myohyang and the International Friendship Exhibition (IFE). This is the building used to house the presents that the Great Leader (and to a lesser extent, the Dear Leader) have received from various people around the world. The place is organised by country – there were two rooms of presents from Japan, two cases from Britain and a paltry half a case from Canada. The presents from “western” countries were mainly from trading companies and individuals with the occasional communist party contribution and generally they were the likes of plates and other sundry ornaments. According to Sven the labels on the Swedish presents were full of spelling mistakes. Some things are important in life, after all…..

However, the presents from Japan and elsewhere were a bit of an eye-opener. Apparently it wasn’t OK for “civil servants” like Jeff and myself to visit NK but it was OK for prime ministers, cabinet ministers and politicians. Needless to say, we were completely blown away by the presence of gifts from the mayor of Nagano city and the governor of Nagano prefecture. But then who are we to question the whys and wherefores of Japanese bureaucracy?

The presents from “nasty” countries included bullet-proof limos from Stalin, a bullet-proof train carriage from Mao, a bear shot by Ceaucescu (presumably not bullet-proof), machine guns from countries such as Syria, Cuba and Iraq (but, surprisingly, none from Angola). Everyone’s favourite despot was represented, from Gaddafi to Honecker to Khomeni to Che to Castro. Some of the exhibits were slightly less than PC – ivory from Africa and rhino horns from Somalia being particular examples.

The exhibition also had a marble statue of the Great Leader sitting in a large armchair, in a similar style to Lincoln and Mao in their respective memorials. What is it about these people that makes them like this pose so much? I suppose you might need a rest after hailing a taxi all day. Of course, we were required to bow to the armchair. Also, in an extra special room, there was a life-size waxwork of the man himself, presented by the Chinese on the second anniversary of his death. Respect, sombre music and deep bowing were the order of the day.

Lunch in the Hyangsan hotel was followed by some souvenir shopping in the hotel shop. Aside from the usual postcards and collected works of the Great Leader, they did a fine line in badges and stamps. We were keen to buy the GL badges we had first seen at Beijing airport and subsequently on every jacket in the land. However, we were informed that these badges were very special and are only given to people with a genuine interest in the Juche system. Furthermore, this privilege could only be granted after applying in writing to the government, stating your case and getting it approved. Not feeling capable of fulfilling these requirements, we settled for some peace and NK flag badges.

The stamps were even more bizarre. There were the predictable socialist realism type, depicting red tractors, victorious soldiers and belching factories. Then there were the ones marking DPRK events such as the international seminar on the Juche idea, the month of anti-US joint struggle, the 50^th anniversary of the founding of the Korean People’s Army, and the world conference of journalists against imperialism and for friendship and peace. Then again there were the ones commemorating international events that would appear to have very little to do with Korea. For example, its connection to the royal wedding, princess Di’s 21^st birthday and the 150^th anniversary of the founding of the Liverpool to Manchester railway escapes me for the present.

The level of connection to the real world seemed to be very selective. The above events had filtered through but other invasions of self-determination such as McDonald’s (or any other form of fast food, for that matter), Dickens or even the Beatles had yet to materialise. Yes, incredibly, when I asked about the Beatles and had to explain, all I got was blank looks, similar to those that greeted the car hire concept. Even the clichéd international reference point that is Bobby Charlton made no impression. Shakespeare had somehow made it but revolutionary thinkers such as Thomas Payne and David Hulme somehow hadn’t.

Upon arrival we had asked to be taken to a school, with the hope of seeing some foreign language instruction in action (we were keen to see how they learnt how to pronounce “imperialist aggressor” so well). Also, there might have been a chance of actually meeting some real people. However, in the end we were taken to the Children’s Palace in Pyongyang. We had read about this place in the Bakker report and knew what to expect i.e. not a real school. This is the place where children can go after normal school to “practice things they are interested in” (read: “where they are forced to go to perform for hoards of Chinese tourists”).

We were to witness small children playing accordions and mandolins with forced smiles on their faces and calligraphy classes where the students practised writing “the leader is always with us”. We also had a tour of the computer room, where they were programming in BASIC. Actually, the equipment wasn’t all that primitive – DOS and colour screens were prevalent. I had begun to wonder at the level of computer literacy when I was asked “how did you communicate with the travel agent in Holland?” I responded “by e-mail” to which the response was “oh, I see, by mail”. This image was further reinforced when I asked about the internet. The guide said that, of course (why not), they had the internet in NK but “it is not for individual use” – only government officials can get access.

After touring some classrooms (unfortunately, the students studying English weren’t being publicly tortured that day), we watched a play put on by the kids. There were boys dressed as soldiers toting guns and plenty of revolutionary metaphors and imagery. The off-duty students were also watching. They were forced to clap at apt moments by vigilant teachers. Interestingly, the two guides that were with us that day displayed very different levels of enthusiasm – one of them clapped vigorously at every opportunity while the other made token gestures every now and then.

Our last day was supposed to be a visit to the Pyongyang film studio, where they make all their best anti-Japanese films. However, it was closed because of the May Day holiday. Instead, we were taken to the revolutionary martyrs’ cemetery. This is the resting-place of 118 martyrs who died in the anti-Japanese armed struggle (with space for more as they die off). On the way back, I casually asked “what’s that building over there?”, only to be told that it was the Kum Su San Memorial Palace, where the Great Leader is lying in state. Apparently special permission is required to visit it but we were devastated to find out just as we were leaving. Looks like I’ll have to go back to complete my collection of pickled oppressors.

For the return to Beijing, we opted for the 25-hour train journey. For some reason we were upgraded from hard sleeper to soft sleeper. Our compartment was also occupied by some Chinese businessmen intent on smoking despite being in a no smoking compartment with no ashtray and being requested to stop several times. Their response to this was to invite their friends for a card session. A trip to the dining car took us through hard seat and all its attendant masses, discarded food and phlegm.

At one station there was another train going in the other direction. It was one of the most amazing sights I’ve ever seen and not one I’ll easily forget. Basically it was packed beyond all comprehension – there were no windows so there were people hanging out of the holes, there were people on the roof (this was an electric train!), between the carriages, in the doorways and even under the doors (on the steps). It was raining so the people on the roof and at the windows had covered themselves with plastic sheeting, although it wasn’t doing much good as everyone was really grimy. Spotting two weirdo foreigners in the adjacent train, some of them started to wave at us. In the midst of all this depravation and hardship there was one girl with an ivory white smile and shining eyes truly happy to see us. A very special moment.

After 3 1/2 hours at the border we were back in China. As with entering the DPRK, our luggage wasn’t even opened. The contrast between the mud fields south of the border and the green fields of China was very apparent. One aid worker that we met told us that the NK system of farming is more to blame than the floods for the food situation. Apparently, they want two crops a year and the system isn’t flexible enough to cope with unexpected flooding. All of the people working in the DPRK (aid workers and embassy staff) said that it was extremely difficult to get to see affected areas or even to talk to the locals about it.

A final day in Beijing was spent shopping and sightseeing. A quick stop in the Australian kebab restaurant in Tiananmen square yielded yet another priceless piece of English – upon receiving my food, I was instructed “please like”! On the return flight we were upgraded to business – Champagne and Chablis all round. The ginseng wine seemed to be out of stock. Of course, why not?

A camel for hire

Next up, we have China from 1997…

“On holiday again??” I hear you shout. However, this time it was actually a “cultural investigation tour” (at least that’s what my supervisor told me to write on my travel form). To this end I headed to China for 10 days in order to investigate the culture, just so that I could report the findings to your good selves.

Twenty of us met for the first time at Narita and headed for Beijing. This being Japan, we were booked into fancy hotels and supplied with guides with flags so that we would feel like we hadn’t left Japan. Us being gaijin, we soon wandered off on our own to backstreet markets and indulged in patently dangerous activities such as speaking to the locals.

Before departure I had 2 images of China – one of the “old-style” China with millions of Mao jacket-sporting cyclists toiling in the fields and the other of the “new-style” China with millions of designer label-sporting cyclists toiling in the markets as part of the great leap forward into capitalism. As it happened, I was to encounter both. In fact, in Beijing, there were a surprising number of mountain bikes (albeit looking just as old and decrepit as the classic model).

Our first day was taken up with a trip to the Great Wall and Tiananmen Square. The Wall was pretty spectacular – stretching as far as the eye could see in both directions and swarming with tourists. However, if you walked for about half an hour you got the whole thing to yourself. We also had the great luck to meet a whole bunch of Japanese high school kids on a school trip. Naturally they were in full uniform. Meanwhile, Chinese people were trying to persuade us to buy all manner of junk (“I climbed the Great Wall” certificates and t-shirts inter alia) as well as trying to entice us to have our photo taken on a real live camel. Deng Xiaoping is to be thanked heartily for opening China up to such delights.

Then it was back to Tiananmen Square for some kite-flying lessons from the locals and a look at the Hong Kong countdown clock (snapshot: 107 days/5165143 seconds). On the subject of HK, I saw a guy wearing a jacket emblazoned with “Hong Kong Return Motherland 1997.7.1”. Also, most museums had an unusual pricing policy – one price for Chinese and “compatriots” (whatever one of them is) from HK, Macau and Taiwan, one price for “overseas Chinese” and another price for foreign devils. The whole Taiwan issue was quite interesting – the news portrayed it as just another part of China and everything was carefully worded to reinforce this impression. Staying in the aforementioned fancy hotels, we could experience the joy of the BBC, NHK, CNN and other sundry satellite stations. However, the local stuff was fascinating. In particular, the revolutionary karaoke programmes. Quite often there would be a video of police/army types marching/looking starry-eyed/torturing dissidents (only joking) to the accompaniment of patriotic songs for the masses to learn and cherish when the camel photo trade is slack.

Having had the requisite amount of patriotism instilled in us, we were judged solemn enough for the trip to see Mao’s mausoleum. As a connoisseur of mausoleums, you’ll be interested to hear of a couple of the finer points perhaps missed by the casual visitor. Firstly, this one offered flowers for sale to visitors (I suppose the camel was otherwise engaged). Now, being the standard in-the-front-door-and-out-the-back design, this proffers an opportunity for a bit of entrepreneurial recycling i.e. deposit your flowers at the statue of Mao in the lobby (which looks for all the world like the Lincoln memorial) and have your flowers sold to someone else while you tour the sarcophagus. Also, being a recent entrant in the formaldehyde stakes, our Mao looks rather more sprightly than Lenin. It should also be noted that the locals haven’t adopted the cosy “uncle” moniker in the same way as Ho Chi Minh is referred to as “uncle Ho”. So, having now visited Lenin, uncle Ho and Mao, it only remains for a trip to the Philippines to see Ferdinand Marcos and a return to Pyongyang to see Kim Il Sung to complete the set.

The rest of the day was taken up with a stroll around the Forbidden City and a trip to Beijing’s most celebrated Peking Duck eatery. In the window, they proudly display pictures of past patrons, including such luminaries as George Bush and Maggie Thatcher. On the strength of their enthusiastic recommendations, we subsequently enjoyed the duck and its trimmings, with the possible exception of the duck soup, which tasted like cold dishwater.

That night it was off to the acrobatics show. We were treated to the likes of people jumping through hoops, a large number of people on a single bicycle and contortionist women twisting their bodies into weird shapes, all the while balancing candelabra on the heads, feet and hands. The highlight though was boy in a panda outfit with a cheeky face, subsequently dubbed “panda boy”, who performed all manner of acrobatics with metal tubing and planks of wood.

The next morning witnessed our first pre-dawn appearance in the lobby. This time it was for a visit to Tiantan Park to see the early morning taichi. There were loads of old folk doing taichi, aerobics, playing badminton and making weird squawking noises. Highly entertaining. I even had a game of badminton (with table tennis bats) with an old guy. He had obviously been practising for years and I was soon shamed into submission. We managed a quick look around the Temple of Heaven just after it opened and just before the herds of Taiwanese compatriots spoiled the early morning idyll.

It was around this time that we developed our fascination for tacky junk markets. Delights such as Mao’s little red book, Mao alarm clocks and even Mao lighters that play revolutionary songs when opened (just in case your memory isn’t so good) were just waiting to be haggled for. This also gave us a good opportunity to put our newly developed Chinese skills into practice. It is always useful to learn “too expensive” in any language and Chinese is no exception (“taiquaila” in case you were wondering). After a morning of frenetic bargaining, a nap in the hotel was called for.

The afternoon brought a trip to the foreign languages bookstore. This place would appear to be one of the few places in China with a noticeable Soviet influence. Indeed, they were selling posters of Marx and Stalin! Also, they employed the classic Soviet buying system whereby you browse the shelves, take what you want to one counter, get a bill, take it to another counter, pay, return to the original counter and finally make off with your purchase. On the way back, I went passed Beijing station. The outside was crowded with people from the four corners of China, carrying massive packages, shouting incomprehensibly and milling around aimlessly. The inside was almost deserted – there were guards checking tickets and x-raying luggage at the entrances.

The night brought another opportunity for cultural investigation, in the form of a trip to the opera. As far as I could gather, this was the historical story of the monkey god who stole the peach elixir and ended up fighting various people in brightly hued costumes. I say this because the plot was written on big display boards at the side of the stage. However, the narration was in fluent Chinglish and would occasionally disappear at crucial moments.

Being fluent in Japlish of course afforded me some insight into the narration. Having studied some Japanese was also useful in some situations in China. For example, after failing to communicate “where is the book department?” in English (nothing like a bit of cultural imperialism) and sign language, I resorted to writing the kanji, which produced instant comprehension. I also spotted a couple of interesting kanji compounds. Firstly, the meaning of the kanji for pepsi cola is “hundred thing tasty drink”. Secondly, the kanji for the USA is not “rice country” as it is in Japan but in fact “beautiful country”. Hmmm.

The next day, we were back in the lobby at some ungodly hour for the flight to Xi’an, home to the terracotta warriors. We were met at the airport by our local guide, Hiu. He proudly told us that his English name was Spencer, as in Spencer Tracy. It was Frank Spencer that came to my mind. His pet phrases were “I read it in a book” and “there are 3 things to remember about ~”. He knew everything there is to know about Xi’an and, in the way of an experienced presenter, he would tell us the 3 points, recap them and later test us on them. And he had a flag. Also, because we were a young group, he took it upon himself to regale us with his jokes. Luckily space doesn’t permit their reproduction.

At the terracotta warriors, you could meet the last remaining farmer that discovered the underground army back in the seventies. Legend has it that 3 farmers were digging a well and happened on 6000 warriors and horses dating from Qin dynasty (200BC). Then they got a job for life signing postcards for tourists. Having been the only person in Scotland not to have seen the warriors when they came to Edinburgh in the eighties, it was good to see them in the clay, so to speak.

Xi’an is also home to a large Muslim population. The sights and smells of the old Muslim quarter are very intriguing. The less said about Chinese toilets the better. The food market contains the usual array of intestines, snakes and turtles, as well as many other unidentifiable articles that would please any haggis producer (old Chinese maxim: we’ll eat anything with 4 legs, apart from tables and chairs). Dinner in Xi’an’s premier Muslim restaurant consisted of dumplings and mutton soup with a piece of flat bread crumbled into it. Intriguing (there’s that word again).

On our second day in Xi’an we visited the Big Goose Pagoda, which the ever trusty Spencer informed us was the starting point for the famous “Journey to the West” saga, as popularised by the (Japanese) TV series “Monkey”. It was with great disappointment that he told us that Pigsy was actually a fictional creation. On our way back to the hotel after dinner we were passing some kind of park when we heard disco music. A quick peek over the fence revealed none other than an open-air disco. After parting with 5 yuan (about 40 pence) we entered to the sight of couples young and old ballroom and line dancing to 2 Unlimited! The sight of 6 weirdo foreigners dancing was just too much of a curiosity for the locals, who immediately formed a circle around us and gaped incredulously. Despite our pleas for them to join us they just continued to stare unbelievingly. Resorting to divide and conquer tactics we split up and managed to slightly diffuse the crowd. Eventually they got used to the concept and started dancing again. Some of them were even brave enough to try out their English on us. Priceless.

Next it was off to Guilin. After hearing many horror stories about internal Chinese flights à la Aeroflot, we were pleasantly surprised by China North West. They even handed out a questionnaire about their service and asked us to nominate any particularly good or bad flight attendants. Whatever next?

Guilin is famed for being the most beautiful place in the world and is the site of the famous limestone karst peaks, as depicted in classical Chinese painting. Incidentally, Ha Long Bay is known as the Guilin of Vietnam. The prospect of a return to Ha Long Bay was weighing heavily on me. Thankfully, the near death experience of my previous visit was not to be repeated. Actually, Guilin city is quite similar to Hanoi – there are a couple of picturesque shady lakes and the place has a sub-tropical feel to it. Also like Hanoi there are many people who are keen to try out their English. However, unlike Hanoi, there are strings attached to these conversations. They usually end up along the lines of “would you like to come and see my gallery?” As a result of being the most beautiful place in the world, the locals are ever keen to rip off the tourists any which way they can. This ranges from arbitrary pricing (you should always confirm the price and exactly what you’re going to get for it beforehand) to having to haggle for the toilet admission price!

The next day was taken up with a boat trip down the Li river to Yanshou. Being a captive audience for half a day offered a prime opportunity to fleece the Japanese tourist of his/her yuan, in the form of overpriced food on the boat. However, being sly westerners we had of course liberated large quantities of croissants and sticky buns from our deluxe hotel breakfast. On arrival in Yanshou we were greeted by innumerable market stalls selling our favourite tacky junk. The stall-holders had mastered the perennial “hello, postcard” greeting (even if they weren’t selling any postcards) and they even had a camel.

Finally, we headed for Shanghai and all its colonial ambience. According to the 1989 census, Shanghai is the fourth largest city in the world after Mexico city, New York and Tokyo. Back in 1989 they were claiming 13 million souls. It’s no doubt a lot higher these days and it certainly felt like every last one of them was out shopping the day we were there. Crossing the road was a major logistical exercise. Shanghai is a shining example of the aforementioned new China (considerably more so than Beijing). Walking along Nanjing Street, past all the designer shops, you could quite easily be in Tokyo. The shiny new metro certainly highlights the tattiness of the one in Beijing.

Another feature of the new China is the introduction of wedding shops. In these, prospective couples go and get dressed up in tails and wedding dresses (you can choose blue or yellow ones, if you so desire) and have their photos taken. Nothing much unusual in that. Except for the fact that crowds of curious passers-by come and stare at the opulence of it all, no doubt making the couples feel like performing goldfish.

After searching unsuccessfully for “hello, postcard” people, I ventured into the old French quarter for an eye-opening tale of two cities. Compared to the glitzy department stores, the dilapidated colonial buildings from the twenties and thirties were positively Dickensian. Everyone’s washing hanging in the street, old people playing mah-jong, haircuts on the street corner, cobblers, children playing.

By this point, the group had disassembled into several smaller groups. However, for our last night we decided to have a group night out. So it was off to the restaurant across the road for some crispy fried snake (quite possibly the least tasty thing I’ve tried in a long time) followed by a trip to the disco. The disco was standard western fare (no 5 yuan bargains here) with a foreign DJ and platforms for dancing on (how could we resist those?). However, it’s most impressive feature was the retractable roof – at the designated moment the DJ opened the roof to reveal a beautiful night sky, complete with brightly shining moon. Awesome.

So there you have it – 10 days, 4 cities, one snake and several camels. On my return to Japan, I couldn’t help noticing how clean, tidy (boring) and, in particular, quiet everything was. Coming from the country where effective honking is a mandatory component of any driving test and where drivers have to practice every few seconds to retain their license to the country where a honk and a bow are used as an apology for pulling out in front of you was certainly a jolt to the system.

Travels with my thermals

Looking through some old CDs I came across some travel tales that I’d written as a boy. They were previously on my other website but since that got zapped the reading public has been unable to obtain these literary gems. You’ll probably be glad to hear that I’m going to spare you “How Long to Ha Long?”, the tale of my little Vietnamese hospital visit. So, here is the first in a series of tales of my travails to strange places. First up then, we have … Alaska in winter from 1996. I can’t claim that they’re classics of the genre but they are moderately interesting historical artefacts.

If you haven’t managed to escape Nagano’s winter chills and are becoming increasingly intolerant of JETsetter articles about holidays to warm places then this travelogue is for you. Furthermore, you don’t need to be a member of a clique to be able to understand it – all names used throughout have been unchanged to implicate the guilty.

For those of you lucky enough to be acquainted with my previous travel tales, you’ll be pleased (surprised?) to hear that I managed to return with all my limbs intact this time (there are certain limits to my intrepidness, and they tend to exclude hospitals).

The author of Lonely Planet Alaska informs us that he can think of a lot better places to be going in winter and then proceeds to say no more about Alaska in winter. What do Lonely Planet know about anything anyway? Being an old hand at travel in frigid climes (Iceland, winter in Moscow, Siberia, …), I packed my thermals, brushed up on polar bears and headed for Alaska.

Well, I got off to a flying start when I changed planes in Seattle to go to Vancouver. I was sitting on the plane, watching them put the luggage on. Watching them not put my luggage on (I could see it on the cart). The next thing I knew, we were taking off. Visions of Alaska sans winter woolies didn’t appeal too much. However, after waiting for a while at Vancouver airport, it finally turned up several planes later.

After this I phoned the youth hostel to see if they had a bed (who else would be travelling at this time of year??) They indeed had many to choose from. I asked them what the best way to get there was and they said that I can either take a taxi for $25 (20 mins) or 3 buses for $1.25 (1.5 hours). Ever keen to reinforce stereotypical views of Scots I of course chose the latter option. It was only then that I discovered that there was a bus strike at Vancouver airport…. After standing in the swealtering heat (only joking) for many hours I eventually got into town.

After a quick look around Vancouver I decided to fit in a quick trip to Banff, “capital of the Rockies”. Having somewhat tired of airports by this point, I booked the 16 hour overnight bus trip. This trip brought home to me the terrible afflictions that the tobacco addict has to endure in order to get his/her fix. Canada is fairly strict on public smoking, which means that the Banff-bound smoker has to stand outside at night in sub-zero temperatures and marvel at the horizontalness of the snow. Needless to say, that wasn’t for me and it was straight into the “Husky” service station for some nourishment.

The overnight bus was chosen specifically because it travels through the “majestic” Rockies by day and affords the traveller “unmatched scenes of natural beauty and other bits of majesticness”. This may well be true in summer. However, I can reliably inform the reader that en hiver it resembles something very white, unmatched anywhere outside of the Dulux world. Disembarking into the -25C of Banff was certainly a shock to the system. Apparantly I’d chanced upon an unseasonal cold snap and the temperatures were expected to go back to normal the following week. It reached -35 at night.

Banff was the site of my first frozen snot experience. Having experienced various temperatures over the period, I can inform you that the freezing point of snot is around -20. This then leads to some problems. Basically your nose is frozen and you are unable to breath through it. Resorting to oral breathing then steams up your glasses. Said steam then freezes onto the glass, producing a nice white haze effect (cf. previous dulux experience) and effective blindness. Scraping the ice off gives you a few minutes’ vision before the search for an indoor oasis becomes imperative.

After Banff, it was back to Vancouver and Seattle for a white Christmas and the worst weather they had had for the past 10 years. I should point out at this point that before I left sundry Vancouverians (hello Garner) had told me that it never snows in Vancouver and it’s always very mild.

Then it was off to Juneau, capital of Alaska, home to a couple of totem poles and a Russian church. I was one of 2 customers at the hostel – the other was a Japanese guy. Ah, there’s nothing like a bit of travel to introduce you to new people and cultures. The Juneau hostel is one of the few remaining “old-style” hostels left in the known world i.e. the 11 o’clock curfew, 9am to 5pm lockout, chore-doing type. Quite what you’re supposed to do in Juneau between 9 and 5 in the middle of winter on a Sunday is anyone’s guess.

After touring the “closed” signs and the nearby Mendenhall glacier (open all year) it was time for the Inland Passage ferry ride. This journey is allegedly one of the best ferry journeys in the world with fjords, glaciers, whales and icebergs a go-go. I took it on the “most scenic part” of the “world’s greatest ferry journey” only to be supremely underawed (I seem to remember being much more awed somewhere in Norway). One noteworthy point was the guy who left his jacket on the boat. Quite how anyone could step off that ice-encrusted vessel and fail to notice that they weren’t wearing their coat is quite beyond me.

Then I took a plane to Skagway (population 700) which, to misquote Mr. Morrissey, is the seaside town that didn’t forget to shut down. I flew Skagway Air with 2 other passengers in a propeller-driven shoebox with wings. At check-in they carefully weighed my bag and then asked how much I weighed! They then placed the bags and the passengers in a particular order to ensure that the plane wouldn’t be lopsided.

The day before I went the weather forecast was predicting -50 (including windchill). I knew that they were right when my hand almost froze to my camera less than 30 seconds after taking my glove off. You will of course be interested to learn that Skagway means “windy place”. However, it does have very low precipitation. Usually. Needless to say, the day after I arrived, they had a massive snowfall and I couldn’t get back to Seattle for the next 3 days.

Ah yes, Seattle. Bill Gates, so much to answer for. On my plane into Seattle (which was supposed to be going south, but was in fact rerouted north via Anchorage), the 2 guys sitting next to me got their laptops out and proceeded to engage in some high-brow business or other. Meanwhile, the rest of the passengers were engaged in nerdy discussions of the myriad wonders that they’d downloaded recently.

Seattle’s third most famous asset (after Bill and some scruffy git with a goatee) is its microbreweries of which there are several. It is interesting to note that the “Scottish ale” style is very popular in these places. I even had one (“auld acquaintance” or somesuch) with a slice of orange in it!!! I don’t recall seeing such things in my Scottish days but then things are moving on in my absence.

To finish with I took in a side trip to Portland to see Aaron and Mary Claire (ex-Nagano JETs) and also to marvel at the world’s smallest park (fact). If I remember correctly the thing is 23 inches in diameter and sits in the middle of a traffic island and contains some extremely withered leaves and a load of mud.

So, there you have it. Rough guide to some more cold places.