In December 2008 North Korea opened Kaesong city to tourists, and because we’re oh so close to the border, we just couldn’t resist a little trip up north. So Saturday we boarded a bus with 38 other people and set off for the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.

We weren’t nervous about going into a communist country, but it quickly became surreal and a little upsetting. It’s hard to fathom a place stuck in time, where the government monitors every move and choice you make, but there we were, riding a South Korean bus through one of its cities.

Kaesong Industrial Complex

We traveled from Seoul to the Demilitarized Zone where we had to pass through South Korean and North Korean immigration checkpoints. On the way we caught sight of a large, tree-less mountain. Our tour guide said it was bare to make it easier to watch for spies and refugees.

We rode over the reunification bridge that was constructed with the help of a former Hyundai CEO. (The story goes that the CEO had escaped from North Korea during the war, and on his way out, he stole a cow. He felt guilty about the theft his entire life, and when he had made his money, he decided to repay his debt. He sent 100 cows over the bridge he had built into North Korea, along with the trucks that carried the animals.)

(Another side note: Our tour guide said Hyundai continues to make efforts for reunification, including sending business to the Kaesong Industrial Complex. Dozens of South Korean companies have entered this agreement to build factories in the North, and they are all ready employing 100,000 North Koreans. Kaesong’s population has swelled to 400,000.)

The DPRK opened its doors to tourists for the same reason it is allowing the complex to be constructed: The country needs money. (And while signs leading into North Korea warn of the evil and ultimate enemy – the United States – they gladly accept U.S. currency).

Immigration

At the South Korean immigration office we were given large badges that we were to wear at all times. We got back on our bus and left the office only to be stopped on the road with dozens of other buses (about 400 people visit Kaesong daily).

We had to wait for a convoy of North Koreans to lead us to our destinations. We waited for an hour. Just sitting in the bus. And that leads me to our first lesson on communism: The government controls ev-ery-thing.

C is for control (and communism)

Rule number 1: NO PICTURES! This is the first and most important rule we learn. As we drove through the countryside, our tour guide adamantly reminded us that we were not allowed to take any pictures out of the bus windows. We would be told when we could take photographs.

It’s a shame, too, because North Korea is beautiful. Crops and grass looked like velvet blowing the wind, and everything was a gorgeous emerald green. The mountains, looking practically untouched, stand behind little villages that look just as old.

But among the scenery, every few hundred feet, a soldier clad in an olive green uniform stood at the roadside with his red flag, ready to wave it should he see a wayward tourist raising a camera to the bus window. If a soldier waves a flag, every bus on the road must stop.

Rule number 2: No cell phones, laptops, communication devices, extra cell phone batteries, chargers, printed materials, including books related to North and South Korea, newspapers and magazines.

No kidding. These were the rules. It felt strange to be without a cell phone, or anything for that matter that would allow us some contact with the outside world. But contact is exactly what they don’t want.

Rule number 3: It is taboo in North Korea to point at, lean on or damage monuments of Kim Il-sung/Kim Jong-Il or other monuments created by the government. (Doing any of these things could result in a fine). Do not refer to Kim Jong-Il by his name. He is “the leader” or “Mr. Kim.” (We decided that we prefer Mr. Kim).

I accidentally pointed to a picture of Mr. Kim in the bookstore. I meant no disrespect and was just trying to point out the high-heeled shoes that Mr. Kim was rocking. One of the proprietors gave me a dirty look, so we left before my talking with my hands got us into trouble.

Before running out, we scanned through books that Mr. Kim and his late father wrote. Wow. These propaganda books (or at least that’s what they were to us) were written in English, but we weren’t allowed to bring them back into the South, unfortunately.

Here’s a little taste of their contents: Kim Jung-Il’s Art of the Cinema; Kim Il-sung’s The Greatest 50 Years; America’s Distortion and Propaganda of the Korean War; The DPRK’s Plans for Korean Unification.

Rule number 4: You may speak to the North Korean people that you meet, but you may not take random pictures of them. Be careful of conversation topics. Do not talk about politics, diplomatic relations, economics and other such topics. (So, uh, how about this weather we’re having?)

The North Koreans we saw walking around the streets and riding their bikes seemed friendly enough. Many of them waved at us as we drove by (especially the kids). We were never allowed close enough to any of them to have a conversation, though.

At one point a bunch of us stood on one side of the street, watching the other side like it was behind glass. The street was lined with drab buildings, most of them about four or five stories, some of them falling apart. We didn’t see a single store, not even a grocery store, the entire time we drove around the city.

The streets were eerily quiet. We couldn’t figure out where this population of 400,00 was hiding (though we’re sure many were tending to the rice crops). There was no traffic or music. Voices were hushed.

We watched the women walk up and down the street in their pencil skirts and blouses and the men ride their bikes in their work uniforms or blue dress shirts and pants. Children poked their heads up over a cement wall, scared to come out, but too curious to look away. Others looked on from windows, peeking out behind curtains.

They watched us watch them, and it was at that moment we realized we were both putting on a little propaganda. We were the friendly tourists, smiling, waving and letting them know that it was ok to let us in. They were going about their business, showing us what a wonderful little city they have there.