It’s a brilliant blue day, and a rugged line of mountains rises in the distance, behind pale buildings, a flag pole and a thin vertical structure. A large panel informs us that it is a statue of Kim Il-Sung, or Supreme Leader. Right now, we are looking over at North Korea, from the Dora Observatory on the South Korean side of the 38th parallel, our hungry eyes seeking out the world’s most notoriously secret state, an enigma wrapped in a mystery.

North Korea is shorthand for so much: propaganda, defection, craziness. It’s no wonder everyone wants to take a peek through a tiny hole in a medium-sized telescope. And I am just one among a million-plus visitors shepherded through here annually, a region with a million-plus troops on both sides.

 

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Zone of hope: The DMZ Is a land where wild animals live in harmony, and where the hope for reunification remains alive forever

 

 

A day trip outside South Korea’s capital Seoul could take you to romantic islands where Korean soap operas, also called K-dramas, have been shot, or historic forts and temples, and yet, nothing seems more tempting than checking out the 250-km-long, officially demilitarised zone (DMZ) — a no man’s land between two nations technically still at war. The three-year-long Korean War began in 1950 as a byproduct of the Cold War, when the north attacked the south. It split a nation, took five million lives, and left a fractured peninsula.

Standing here now, it all feels somewhat undramatic. Though what else did I really expect? Unicorns and nuclear weapons? The observatory’s parking lot has a basketball hoop, unused in all its banal benignity. Nearby is a temple-like structure with a gigantic bell and a plaque for peace. Beside it, on a wall painted in camouflage colours, a large sign cheerfully proclaims: “End of separation, beginning of reunification”.

My colleague then says something that ends up staying with me throughout this visit. “South Koreans get attacked and they still want peace,” he says. “Wow.”

This is truly remarkable. One of the first stops on the half-day tour is at Imjingak, the last village before the DMZ begins. It has a memorial and a peace-themed park with, er, a gigantic theme-park ride. Ok-Kyung Ryu, our tour guide, is sanguine about this aberrant construction in a place where prisoners were once exchanged. “It’s a happy place,” she says. “We look forward to peace.”

Except for the barbed wire, the landscape we move through is mostly ordinary — meadows, trees, a river. We are told at one point that 1,000 cows were sent from here to help the north during a famine. A few fun facts are also trotted out: how it would take 200 years to clear the two million landmines in this region.

In fact, an operation is underway near the Joint Security Area (JSA), closer to the north, on this particular week. At the JSA, where both troops face off, tour spots are limited and booked weeks in advance. Here tourists are advised not to dress shabbily so as to avoid becoming propaganda fodder. Legend has it the north has passed off pictures of visitors in ripped jeans and shorts, as signs of impoverishment outside.

We reach the third infiltration tunnel — ostensibly built by the north to invade the south, and discovered in 1978 — and must all slap on yellow hard hats before proceeding any further. It’s a long walk along a narrow passage leading to the deep underground, and our helmets keep bumping against the rock above. Eventually we reach the end.

“Been there, done that,” says the equally underwhelmed Australian man in front of me as we turn to head back to the surface. Ok-Kyung, though, is more ebullient when we return. “You know you can buy chocolate here,” she tells us. “The world’s only DMZ chocolate!”

Finally, we head to Dorasan Station, the last halt on the train route in South Korea before the track heads north. Everything is shiny and new; the rebuilt station opened in 2002 during a surge of optimism when relations improved, but wasn’t used once they crumbled in 2008. There are a series of panels showcasing handshakes and summits, en route to a ticket counter and a route to the tracks. “To Pyongyang,” the sign reads — less a direction, more a message of hope.

That has been the defining tenor of this tour. The short film they play for us before entering the tunnel begins with a history lesson on how the north attacked the south. It looks awfully in danger of descending into cheap, jingoistic territory. But, at some point, the armies and the arms vapourise and the screen is incongruously filled with fluttering butterflies and scampering deer.

“This is a paradise for moose, goats, wildflowers and rare birds,” says the voiceover jauntily. “DMZ is a land where wild animals live in harmony… the hope for reunification in the DMZ will be alive forever.”

Bhavya Dore is a Mumbai-based journalist