An exhibition room contained the Great Leader’s personal Mercedes 600, and the railway car in which he had travelled as far as East Berlin. (An illuminated map of all his routes adorned one wall.) There were the medals and honorary doctorates he had received from around the world-mostly Eastern Europe’s now defunct Communist states and former Asian Communist countries; he was a “honorary citizen” in pretty much every Peruvian small town controlled by the Sendero Luminoso guerilla movement, and also in a lot of Italian villages whose mayors were Communist. There was even a document of “honorable membership” from a US based International Student Association. This item looked particularly pompous, but on closer inspection revealed a liberal use of correction fluid- obviously the creation of students with a sense of humor. It probably netted them the red carpet treatment in Pyongyang.
We had to use the moving walkways again on the way out, but this time without the instruction to “collect out thoughts”.
Back at the film export office, the final contracts were presented to Nicolas and myself for signing- separately. While Nicolas was signing his shitty legal document, I was given a movie to watch, and vice versa. I had made the decision to take ten features and four short documentaries on my tour through Europe in the spring. Examining the paperwork, however, I saw that there were only nine films listed. I checked through my own notes to see what was missing.
“What’s up?” Mr. Paek asked.
“I had decided on ten films but there’s only nice on the list,” I replied.
“Oh, we took Pulgasari out.”
“Why?”
“Um…” Mr. Paek looked to Miss Choe, who said something in Korean to him. “Ah yes,” Mr. Paek continued, “the negative got destroyed.”
“I don’t want the negative, I just want a print.”
“Sorry, not possible.”
I signed the f**king paper, even though I felt that without Pulgasari – the missing movie- the tour would be severely lacking. Still, I got a whole bunch of over-the-top propaganda pictures and some fairly good action movies that nobody had ever screened in Western Europe before.
The rest of the day was spent shopping for “Korean handicrafts”, which turned out to be the worst tourist kitsch imaginable. Gazing incredulously at an embroidery of the Mona Lisa, Nicolas and I cracked a few jokes. This prompted Mr. Kim to come over and check what we were up to.
“Nothing,” we replied.
Worried, he looked at the European face on the embroidery. “Who is that?” he asked.
“That’s the Mona Lisa – about the most famous painting in the world. You’ve never heard of it before?”
“No.” His response was curt.
We went to a store selling postage stamps, where a true philatelist could easily part with all his money. The North Koreans had stamps that featured pretty much anything and everything: twenty-five years of Lufthansa, an anniversary of Daimler Benz, and so on.
Eventually, we wound up at a department store, in which we were the only customers. Nicolas felt like buying a can of the Chinese orange juice that filled the New York deli-style refrigerators. That was a problem.
“Sorry, we cannot sell that juice,” one of the sales assistants said from behind the counter.
“Why not?”
“Because…”
We bartered like this for some minutes, until a sales lady offered conclusively: “It’s freshly imported. The price is not fixed yet.”
Clearly the orange juice was for decoration and not for sale at all.
“What about a beer?” one of the assistants asked.
Nicolas bought a bottle of Chinese Yanjin beer but didn’t want to drink alone. Half-joking he asked for glasses. No problem. The ladies brought out a set of cognac classes that had been on display, split the bottle of beer between ourselves and our guides and watched us drink at their desk in the empty store.
Over dinner, Nicolas and I talked about just one thing: how great it would be to get the hell out of here. The Yugoslavian couple – here to train basketball players – leaned over and made a few envious comments. Sasha – the alcoholic Russian – failed one last time to get us up to his room for drinks. The video equipment from mine and Nicolas’ rooms had already been removed by a film export technician.
We were driven to the airport in the film export company’s van. Nicolas held a video camera out the window through the entire journey. This didn’t pose any problem with our hosts – all he could see was the road that all important guests of the state use, which was maintained appropriately. When we suddenly encountered a public bus with engine failure and some fifty or so people trying to push it up a hill, Miss Choe clapped her hand over the lens of Nicolas’ camera.
“There is nothing to see,” she said.
The airport was hectic with everyone seemingly in a hurry to leave the country. Most of the faces I had seen on the flight arriving were now here, leaving as well. Like us, they all had the standard eight-day visa.
After checking in our luggage we went upstairs. Although smoking was permitted pretty much everywhere in North Korea, there was no smoking allowed in the airport – excepting a little bar from which I observed Mr. Sok delivering one last admonishment to Nicolas. As I rejoined them, I caught the guide’s last words: “You should always be sure, Mr. Nicolas, that I have eyes in Switzerland, too.”
We arrived at Beijing Airport – which was reason enough to celebrate! I took a bottle of Ryongssang beer from my bag and drank it with Nicolas in front of the airport’s glass doors. Free again! Mr. Sok suddenly seemed no more intimidating than a ludicrous cartoon figure!
Later that day, I made the long walk from the city centre to the China Trade Centre and its internet café. It felt great deciding for myself when and where I should eat, whether or not I should take this road or that…
