Millions of prayer ribbons hang from the DMZ fence. Photo / 123RF
Millions of prayer ribbons hang from the DMZ fence. Photo / 123RF
Donna McIntyre is by turns saddened, unnerved, educated and fascinated on a visit to South Korea's side of the demilitarised zone.
Foremost on my mind on a visit to South Korea is that it wasn't always part of a land divided into north and south.
A visit to the Museum of National Treasures in Seoul expands that basic knowledge with an overview of the events that have shaped and defined - and ultimately split - Korea. From early centuries measured in dynasties, through to war, Japanese rule and later the country's division into geographical fractions, labelled North and South Korea.
But our guides often talk of two Koreas rather than of North and South. To the youngest generations this division is all they have known. Older folk still dare to dream of unification but then admit they doubt it will happen in their lifetime as North Korea's dictators have tasted - and come to love - supreme power. For some of the older people it is decades since they have seen brothers and sisters, the wrench made crueller by the ban on mail or internet communication.
I have visited other divided countries. I crossed through Checkpoint Charlie, between East and West Germany, well before the Berlin Wall came down. In Northern Belfast, we felt distrustful eyes peering into the backs of our heads even though it was well after the Troubles. But the difference here is the border of North Korea is closed to practically all visitors. Instead, the closest most people get to the north is the DMZ or Demilitarised Zone, cutting the Korean peninsula roughly in half and signifying the geographical and cultural divide between the Republic of Korea (ROK, informally South Korea) and the Democratic People's Republic of Korea (DPRK or North Korea).
On the day we visit the DMZ, there is heightened tension between North and South. A work crew is dismantling a television platform erected for news broadcasts as we arrive at the start of the tour. Days earlier, two South Korean soldiers lost legs stepping on mines the South says were newly planted by the North. The mines were found just outside a South Korean guard post, 438m south of the military demarcation line, the official border that bisects the DMZ. They exploded as the soldiers opened the gate of a barbed wire fence to begin a routine morning patrol.
South Korea's Peace Bell Pavilion is right on the border. Photo / 123RF
Tension grew days later as North Korea officials threatened to launch military counteraction if the South did not cease propaganda broadcasts at the zone.
That awareness of enmity at the border starts as we travel the Freedom Road from Seoul to the DMZ. Barbed wire swirls sit atop riverside fences and the landscape is broken by military guard towers becoming more frequent as we near the area where waters from North Korea flow into the south's Han River.
Our emotions are heightened to the volatility of the armistice, tempered by the surreal feeling of being a tourist in a military area separating people bound by blood and race. Passports must be shown to military personnel before we can enter the zone.
At Imjingak, the most northern village in Korea open to all South Korean civilians, a peace park is dedicated to families separated when the peninsula was divided after World War II. The Freedom Bridge, connecting North and South, is where 13,000 prisoners of war were liberated in 1953. Coloured ribbons flutter in the breeze, tied to the fence by South Koreans to remember family members still living in the North, and honouring those who have died. It feels somewhat incongruous for smiling tourists to take selfies with the backdrop of these poignant symbols of a divided land.
The Bridge of Freedom. Photo / 123RF
We observe the newness of the Dorason train station, built optimistically to play a vital role when South and North are reunited. And we learn how workers from North Korea work alongside South Korean staff in the 130 factories at Kaesong Industrial Park, 10km north of the DMZ, a collaborative economic development making clothing, shoes, textiles and electronic parts to earn United States dollars. All finished goods are sent back to South Korea.
At the Dora viewing platforms we squint or peer through coin-operated binoculars at North Korea in the distance. (I'm sure they are looking straight back).
Our guide points out the "propaganda village" where no one lives but lights turn off and on at the same time each day.
And then it is time to enter "Infiltration tunnel No 3". South Korea has discovered four tunnels the North had built to invade the South. (The North claims they were coal mines.) South Korean military authorities believe there are at least 16 more tunnels. With a diameter up to 2m, tunnel No 3 had the capacity to move 30,000 troops each hour.
Above ground, signs on fenced-off areas warn of mines. Underground at 73m, the tunnel seems longer than 1635m, as the slowest walkers dictate the pace for the rest of the crowd in this confined space, some stopping to catch their breath on the challenging ascent shaft to the southern entrance. Visitors do need the hard hats that are issued to avoid hitting their heads in the narrowest stretches.
It's not a place for the claustrophobic or unfit. It's reassuring to return to daylight, especially given our awareness of the tunnel's original violent purpose.
It is an incredible once-in-a-lifetime experience. Visiting the DMZ is fascinating, at times made almost nonsensical by being surrounded by smiling tourists taking photos and buying souvenirs against the forlornness of this no-man's land and its military background. It's also amazing how quickly you acclimatise to the tension. Entering the zone, senses are heightened, you are intensely aware of the military presence, the rift and tension between North and South, the looping coils of barbed wire on fences, the fence signs warning of mines, the guard towers, the soldiers and military police.
As we leave the DMZ hours later we have accepted it as our temporary norm. For the people of the two Koreas it is an enduring divide.
