Tour between Koreas offers new viewpoint
by Coral Russell
Chart Reporter

Tourists visit blue houses, a traditional area for negotiations, in Panmunjon

We were taking a bus tour to the Demilitarized Zone, heading north from Seoul toward the land-mined, barricaded and patrolled corridor of no man's land that has divided the Korean peninsula for 50 years. We were going to cross the most heavily guarded border in the world. When President George W. Bush visited the DMZ in 2002, he called the narrow strip of land separating North and South Korea the "most dangerous place on earth." I had made a similar, memorable trip previously, and I wanted to see if things had changed. Our tour would take us about 40 miles north of South Korea's capital city, through the countryside along the Han River, to the DMZ. Inside the DMZ, we would visit one of the U.N. military bases that guards the South Korean side, observation points and war memorials, the only town that still exists on the south side of the DMZ, the new railroad station that has just been built to open if relations between the two Koreas ever allowed train service, and Panmunjom, the famous site of more than 50 years of still ongoing-peace talks.

Our bus went under a concrete bridge that was rigged with flashing lights. It was explained that in case of a North Korean invasion, the bridge would be blown up to prevent enemy tanks from using it. Travelers would get some kind of warning, though. Next we noticed miles of barbed-wire-topped, chain-link fencing with guard posts every so often. The road ran beside the Han River, and the river was edged with this fencing the whole way in case there was an invasion by water. We passed through the border of the DMZ. The first line of defense stretching 130 miles from coast to coast across Korea was an anti-tank wall, then a mile-wide mine field and finally two rows of barbed-wire-topped, chain-link fence.

We traveled along through the south side of the zone and were able to visit places that I did not see 10 years ago. The Koreas recently celebrated the "uniting of their two countries by rail." The South has completed all 15 kilometers of track, but the North had only finished 2 kilometers of its 12-kilometer share of the track. No passenger train ran on the unfinished rail line, but it was interesting that both Koreas still celebrated the mere idea of completing a railroad as a milestone in relations between the North and the South. We visited the shiny new glass-and-steel railway station on the Southern side — complete with waiting room refreshment stands, tourist kiosks and station signs that say "Pyongyang," and point ineffectually toward the capital of North Korea.

We went to an observation point where you could look out over the entire area. This was a new observation point; 10 years ago I couldn't get a feel for where everything was. Now it was evident just how narrow the corridor separating the North and South is, only a stone's throw wide in some areas. It was hazy that day, but you could see where the other side had been stripped of all trees. The south side looked lush with greenery. The northern side has been clear-cut, either because the North Koreans wanted an unobstructed view into the South or because they desperately needed to use all available wood for fuel. You could use telescopes to get a closer look, but you had to move back 15 feet behind a wall in order to take a picture, and by that point, you could only see the tips of the mountains in the North.

One major change I noticed was that propaganda signs and loudspeakers in the North had become tamer after the historic 2000 Summit. Ten years ago, loudspeakers blared messages telling people of the South to revolt or defect to the North. There were also huge propaganda signs.

The two villages that face off from their respective sides of the DMZ do not engage in that sort of propaganda game now. The North instead plays traditional Korean folk music and has changed or removed the signs. Ten years ago the population in the northern village was zero; now about 90 people live there. The South Korean village holds about 230 farmers and their families.

The North has tried to build tunnels under the Panmunjon Demarcation Line into the southern side of the DMZ. South Korean troops have found four, but there are suspected to be others. We actually got to go into the third tunnel that was found. All of it had been dug out secretly by hand by North Korean soldiers, and the tunnel had actually reached well across the border when it was discovered by the South. It is estimated that North Korea could have moved 10,000 troops and artillery through that tunnel in a short time. At the tunnel's end there used to be Republic of Korea guards; now there is only a camera that takes everyone's picture for security purposes.

Outside the tunnel, there is a huge sculpture that is shaped like a broken sphere. On the inside is a relief map of Korea. The northern half is tilted to one side and the South to the other. If someone were to close the sphere, Korea would become whole.

We visited a special area for the families that are still separated by the Korean War. We stood before the altar where families can celebrate the Chosok holiday to honor ancestors. This is the farthest north on the Korean peninsula that people from South Korea can travel. In this area there is also a Wall of Peace that has been created. Rocks from different wars and conflicts from all parts of the world have been gathered together and built into the wall. There is a rock from the American Civil War in that wall. Nearby is the "Bridge of No Return," where prisoners of the Korean War were exchanged. When the Armistice Agreement ending hostilities was signed in 1953, about 70,000 North Korean troops decided to remain in the South. Their families live in the North.

We visited the U.N.-U.S. military base, Camp Bonifas. We stopped near a large sign featuring the camp motto "In Front of Them All," where we could have lunch, shop for souvenirs, sign a waiver saying if war broke out we could not hold anyone responsible if we were injured, captured or killed and where I had to exchange my shoes. I had bought a brand new pair of leather slip-on shoes for my trip and was standing outside our bus when the tour guides got excited and started pointing at my shoes. I was walking toward them and expecting a compliment; they looked cool or something like that. Instead, they were agitated because I could not be allowed to wear shoes that did not have a back to them. These were slip-ons and therefore not allowed at Panmunjon. The explanation I was given is that we had to look well-to-do; otherwise, the North would use our appearance as propaganda. They kept a bag of shoes for just this kind of emergency, but none fit me. For a minute I thought I wasn't going to get to see Panmunjon — because I wore the wrong kind of shoes. So they found a pair of men's sport sandals, the kind with Velcro straps. The only thing was, one strap was broken and they were kind of dirty and old looking, but they had a back to them.

I put them on my feet, so now I could go to see Panmunjon. At the base they were also more secretive about where you could take pictures. Before, there was a big sign with the camp logo that everyone could take pictures in front of. The only thing I could take a picture of that had that logo this time was on the front of the mess hall building were we ate lunch.

Riding down the road to Panmunjon was a completely new experience. A great deal had changed. The new Tong-il Bridge leading to the peace talks site was now in place. This modern two-lane bridge replaced the old one-lane bridge that I crossed 10 years ago. Then, there were anti-tank trenches, and on both sides I could see the remains of blown-up bridges. Now everything looked modern and there was a checkpoint where an ROK soldier examined our passports before we could move on.

More surprises were in store. Things at Panmunjon itself had changed. There were still two Peace Houses on either side of the border. The Peace Garden on the South side had been changed; the fountain had been removed. Then there was a new massive building called Freedom House built in the middle, close to the borderline. It blocked the view of the respective Peace Houses and although its name implied something positive, its stature implied something else. It was cold, modern and massive. Ten years ago we were hustled around to several different places to get views of the North Korean side across the Demarcation Line. Always there were North Korean guards looking back at us through binoculars. Now there were only three places to observe from and no North Korean guards in sight. The one North Korean soldier we glimpsed who was standing guard hid behind a pillar as we approached our observation point. We learned that there were at least eight tours a day with approximately 20 people in each tour. The feeling of the place was different now; Panmunjom had become a tourist attraction.

This point was hammered home when we entered the baby-blue buildings that signify the area where any negotiations are supposed to take place between the North and the South. Ten years ago the tension here was palpable and we were only in the buildings for a minute when a North Korean general flanked by two North Korean guards started staring at us through the windows. We were quickly moved out by our American soldier tour guide (guard?) and told later that when this kind of thing happens it means the North wants to start "something."

Now we watched as two South Korean ROK army soldiers did a little synchronized drill and assumed a Tae Kwon Do readiness stance before we were encouraged to take as many pictures as possible. We were allowed to walk freely across the Demarcation Line, across the border into North Korea. I could not believe it. We quickly did, but our soldier guide soon made us move on.

When I tried to talk to an American soldier guard to get his opinion on the differences between now and 10 years ago, he tersely said, "The soldiers are here for your protection, ma'am."

I was feeling pretty optimistic about what I had just seen. Tensions had relaxed; a tourist trip had replaced a serious conflict zone. Prospects for Korean reunification were looking up. On our bus trip back, we passed again through the border of the DMZ. The first line of defense stretching 130 miles from coast to coast across Korea was two rows of barbed-wire-topped, chain-link fence, then a mile-wide mine field and finally an anti-tank wall. My optimism faded: it would take a hundred years just to try and find all the mines.

I talked about it with Bruno, a South Korean friend, after we got back, and he said, "But we have a plan. We will turn that area into a national park and wildlife refuge after unification." They have thought of everything.