The Colour Of Silence In The Axis Of Evil

 

 

I was awoken by the warm breeze that hustled its way into my room through the open balcony door. Thick smog from the burning forest fires of Indonesia had engulfed the tiny island of Singapore for the last few days. Those with breathing difficulties had been advised to stay indoors, and it was very hard to sleep at night. It was mid-October 2006 and I was almost at the end of a 6-week stint, teaching and coaching my guitar student Jonathan, and was heading home in a few days. BBC World news was on the TV and every hour for the last 3 hours, (while I dozed in a semi state of dreamland,) had reported that North Korea had successfully tested its nuclear weapons. It was now 3am and the breeze had awoken me just before the hourly news, so I sat up in a semi conscious state and ‘tuned in’. For days now, the news headlines had focussed on the pollution from Indonesia as it drifted across the region, but now the headlines had changed. North Korea had something to say to the world and the message was very clear. As I watched the news, I became suddenly interested in this isolated nation. I went immediately to Google and found countless websites, web logs, reports and even tour operators that took groups of adventurous tourists to the DPRK. I downloaded countless mp3s of North Korean music and as I dug deeper and deeper I became more and more fascinated.

It was approaching 4am and I didn’t really want to watch the same headlines again, so I turned off the TV, and my laptop, and headed for bed. The air was thick and heavy and it was hard to sleep, and I lay awake for a while thinking about the DPRK and the possibility of having a concert there. What would it be like I thought? Would they appreciate my music somehow? After a few minutes I jumped out of bed, turned on my laptop again and went to the British Government website and found the contact details for the Ambassador to North Korea in Pyongyang. I wrote the following email to him:

Dear John Everard

My name is Jason Carter, I am a British Classical guitarist. I have worked alongside the British Council and Diplomatic Missions in numerous countries including Uzbekistan, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, UAE, Mozambique, and Estonia. I am extremely interested in coming to North Korea and would like to discuss the possibility of some kind of collaboration with N Korean artists. I believe music, especially non-verbal, can build bridges and cross boundaries where sometimes words cease, I have experienced this countless times in other countries on different levels.

If this idea appeals to you and if you would like to discuss this further, please do not hesitate in contacting me.

Yours sincerely

Jason Carter

I sent the email, and to be honest I did not expect a response.

About a week later, I received this from the British Ambassador.

 

Dear Mr Carter

Many thanks for your email.

Due to the situation in North Korea at present (I guessed he meant, since they have tested their nuclear weapons), I am quite busy with my duties, but as soon as this crisis subdues, I will give your request some thought. Public performances are quite tricky to arrange here but I will see what I can do.

Yours sincerely, John Everard

This was a very positive response, I so I replied and thanked him, and left it at that, awaiting further communication.

The smog finally lifted in Singapore, my time was up on the island so after a brief trip to Bintan Island, Indonesia, I headed back home to Finland. I had quite a busy time with concerts in Turkey, and Finland, plus the mastering of my CD the ‘Helsinki Project’, and by Christmas I was ready for a holiday so I headed to Majorca to join my parents for Christmas. There was an Internet café quite close to the hotel and on 24 December 2006, Christmas Eve, I received an email from Richard Vowles, Cultural attaché to the British Embassy Pyongyang.

Dear Mr Carter

I have been forwarded an email from you to our Ambassador in Pyongyang asking about the possibilities of you performing in the DPRK. There is an annual Spring Festival every April and if you are interested, please forward me some publicity, DVD or CD via London, and I will review it for submission. Unfortunately we only have 28k speed Internet at the Embassy so downloading material from your website is impossible.

Please let me know what you think.

Yours sincerely, Richard Vowles

Good news. GREAT news! As soon as I returned home to Finland I forwarded the information as requested and within a month, my participation in the annual spring festival in North Korea was confirmed. The role of the British Government in all this was only to recommend me to the DPRK Government, so I waited for some communication from the N Korean Embassy in London.

It was now February 2007 and I was back in Singapore with my guitar student Jonathan. The smog had lifted and the rains had come. I was running along Orchard Road towards the bus stop, completely drenched and my UK mobile phone rang. I answered and an oriental voice at the other end of the phone asked to speak to ‘Carter Jackson’. That’s me I thought, but the line was terrible, so I asked the gentleman to call me back once I was back in the apartment. I finally got home and he called again. It was Mr Ri Ung Chol, secretary to the North Korean Ambassador in London. He was asking if I could come to the Embassy in London to arrange my Visa for the DPRK visit. We decided that we would stay in contact by email as my schedule was unclear, and I would email him once I knew my plans. I gave him my email address, and the following day I received this email from Mr Ri Ung Chol. I still have no idea how he got hold of my mobile phone number as the British Ambassador in Pyongyang certainly didn’t have it….

Dear Carter,

It was very nice to speak to you yesterday, please inform me when you come to Embassy to collect visa. I looking forward to deepening the intimacy with you.

Ri Ung Chol

\Deepening the intimacy.

I finally was able to arrange a visit to the DPRK Embassy in Mid March. I arrived there by car from Stansted Airport. It was very easy to find, a medium sized house in the suburbs of London, near Ealing Common. Mr Ri Ung Chol was ready to meet me and allowed me to park in the private car park outside the Embassy. The place was clean, organised and a little ‘empty’. Photos of the Dear Leader donned the walls, as did photos of missiles-in-flight. I was left alone in a large room whilst my host went upstairs to find out whether my Visa was ready or not. And it was not. And we were not sure whether it would be ready in time before my flight back to Finland on the following Thursday. Anyway we drank tea and chatted. I asked a few questions about N Korea, and they were answered very clearly and helpfully. He told me not to believe all the propaganda in he western media and told me that I would love his country and have a great time. Then he asked, “So Carter, what other countries will you perform in this year?” I sat and thought for a minute, and replied ‘Saudi Arabia, Canada, Singapore, UAE, Ireland, Finland, Sweden and Iran”. “Aha’! he exclaimed. “Iran! You like to play in Axis of Evil countries yes??” We both laughed and agreed that this year would be my ‘axis of evil’ tour. In fact he was truthfully very happy I was going to his country, in his words, to ‘improve, encourage relations and understanding between the UK and North Korea through art’. “Yes, I hope I can do something to deepen the intimacy between our countries through music” I joked. All in all it was a great meeting and I liked Mr Ri Ung Chol, he seemed to be a very honest and sincere man, although a little disorganised. As I left the Embassy and climbed into my hire car, he shouted, “Carter, you are going to be very famous in North Korea!” It made me smile nervously as I joined the rush-hour traffic on the North Circular ring road. 

My Visa was ready before I left for Finland and I collected it on the morning of my flight to Helsinki. I would have one trip to Germany and a few days rest before heading to North Korea, from Helsinki, via Munich and Beijing. I had to pop to Helsinki (as I live in the Finnish countryside), to get a double transit visa for China, as I would have to clear immigration in Beijing and collect my plane ticket for Air Koryo, the only flight to Pyongyang from Beijing, twice a week.

So on the afternoon of the 8 April 2007, I left the sunny but chilly Finnish landscapes behind for my adventure into what is probably the most isolated country on the planet. I had no idea of the concert schedule, all I knew was that I would depart from Beijing to Pyongyang at 4pm on the 9 April, and return to Beijing on the 21 April. I would then head to Singapore to help my guitar student with his final exams, for a few days. I had received a phone call from a girl called Susanna, an Opera singer from the UK, who had left a message saying that she was also going to the Festival and that as long as her plane was on time, she and her mother would be on the same plane as me from Beijing to Pyongyang, so we exchanged mobile phone numbers in order to make contact in Beijing.

Day 1

I took Lufthansa from Helsinki, changed in Munich and slept all the way to Beijing. It was a grey misty morning and I passed through Chinese customs and immigration easily and swiftly. I found my way to the Air Koryo ticket office but it was closed, so I got the phone number of the airline from the info desk and called the number they gave me. In Chinglish I said “Hello, my name Jason Carter, I want ticket to Pyongyang for 4 O’clock flight”. Within minutes a frantic looking man appeared, handed me a boarding pass with the name ‘Jeison Carter’ on it and whisked me through immigration once more and I found myself to be the last passenger to board the flight bound for Pyongyang. (Which incidentally was not leaving at 4pm, but 1pm). I was hoping for a return ticket but all I received was a boarding pass to Pyongyang. So much for meeting the Susanna in Beijing, she was surely going to miss the flight, as her plane hadn’t even landed yet.  It was a wonderful old plane with red carpets and wooden tables. I noticed that the whole back of the plane was full of people in uniform, and I was informed that this was the National Orchestra of Mongolia. The view from Beijing was wonderful, but I dozed off and woke up as we touched down in Pyongyang.  They played militaristic music almost the whole flight and handed out magazines describing the wonderful life in the DPRK. I was very relaxed and extremely excited, also surprised at the lack of jetlag and tiredness, maybe it was because I had slept the whole way to Beijing. As we landed in noticed rice farmers tending their fields, knee deep in water, with Oxen looking on, people on bicycles cycling down narrow paths in the middle of nowhere.

Pyongyang must be the smallest international airport I have ever been to in my life. Only two flights per week to Beijing. As we disembarked the plane a swarm of photographers and video camera people with equipment dating from the 50s filmed us leaving the plane. An Indian group relished the attention and did a kinda Bollywood dance as they descended the stairs towards the bus. As I wandered aimlessly from the bus towards the ‘terminal’ I was met by Yun Mi, my interpreter. “You must be Jason Carter,” she said. “That’s me!” I answered, secretly happy that they had arranged for someone to meet me, as I wasn’t informed of ANYTHING regarding this trip. Her English was perfect and she whisked me through the formalities of passport control and customs. I had to leave my mobile phones at the airport but everything else including my laptop was allowed through. A huge red sign donned the airport building ‘LET US SING LOUDLY THE SONG OF INDEPENDENCE, PEACE AND FRIENDSHIP’. Bravo I thought. Peace and friendship. This is gunna be a great festival. I am going to make a difference. This is why I am a musician. That’s why I am here.

We met my official guide, who in introduced himself as ‘John’, and the driver, then headed towards the city. It was a public holiday and the roads were quiet. Farmers tended their fields in the evening sun and cyclists waved as I smiled at them through the car window. The first thing that struck me was that it was extremely peaceful. Children ran across the streets in colourful national costumes, pink, green, red, almost every colour was present. As we reached the outskirts of Pyongyang I saw derelict buildings with people hanging out washing. John tried to make conversation to distract me from the poverty but he gave up after a while, as I absorbed the stark images, my first impressions of the DPRK. Decayed buildings that had not been painted since they were built. We finally arrived at the Pyongyang Hotel, opposite the Pyongyang National Theatre, where I was I would be performing this week. The rooms were kitsch and retro, and as I discovered later, room service consisted of changing the toilet roll and making the bed. As time progressed I killed more and more mosquitoes every day, and their carcasses would remain on the walls unnoticed. Every now and again a bottle of water would appear in the afternoon. I collapsed on my bed after unpacking, exactly 24 hours after leaving home.

I woke up at 3am unable to sleep and explored the hotel a little. I tried to find some tea and wandered into a dark corridor and was approached by 2 men shouting at me in Korean so I showed them my room key pretending I was lost, and headed back to my room to watch TV. I glanced out of the window and the whole city was black, no streetlights whatsoever. I was wondering if my hotel had moved since I unpacked, as when I arrived there I had a great view of the city and the river, bustling with activity, now there was absolutely NOBODY on the streets. There was only one TV channel; it was either military victories, footage of recent missile launches or national songs, which sent me to sleep again quite quickly. I am sure this Hotel was the one used in the film ‘The Shining’. Long grey corridors and no pictures on the walls. I briefly fell asleep, had a nightmare about Jack Nicholson hacking my door down with an axe shouting ‘HERE”S JONNY’. I awoke, checked the door for signs of axe intrusion, turned off the TV and descended into a deep deep sleep….only to be woken briefly by a group of marching comrades singing songs of what I presumed were songs of ‘independence, peace and friendship’, in perfect harmony outside my hotel window at about 8am.

DAY 2

I had arranged (through Yun Mi) for a wakeup call at 815M so I could catch breakfast before the quick city tour, and the meeting with the festival director to discuss my participation in the festival. It had been impossible to get any information from my friend at the Embassy in London regarding the program of the festival, as he really no idea what was going on. He never answered my questions on email, which lead to me to fear that I would end up as the British sailors did in Iran, in prison for trespassing in foreign waters without permission. This would be my fame in North Korea I jested to my friends in Finland the night before I left home. They agreed, which lead to nightmares of sharing a cell with Jack Nicholson, axe in hand, in a prison in an undisclosed location in the suburbs of Pyongyang. In the dream I had managed to persuade Jack that his name was in fact not Jonny, but an actor named Jack, and relieved him of the axe, then serenaded him to sleep with my guitar piece ‘The Colour Of Silence’.

Anyway, the wakeup call didn’t come and I was awoken by Yun Mi and John, ringing the bell of my room at 10am. We had planned to have a quick city tour before meeting the theatre director to discuss my participation in the festival, and a quick city tour it was. In the main square there were hundreds of young people dancing in formation in beautiful costumes. Wherever you go there is piped music of some sort, well actually all the same sort, songs of joy and happiness, in true victorious style. The whole morning I had the feeling I was back in Butlins Holiday camp as a 10 year old. A place where you had the feeling that there would be a gate somewhere and that the real world was just around the corner. Even my parents would grow sick of the atmosphere at Butlins and we would escape to the fish ‘n chip shop now and again to meet people from the real world.

We arrived at the National Theatre and met with the director. He asked me which pieces I had prepared for the festival so I told him that I am flexible and it would depend on how long the program was and what other music would be performed the same evening, then I would choose. He wanted something lively. He said that I should go immediately to the stage and play a couple of pieces, talk about the meanings of the pieces and then HE would choose. Fair enough I thought. So I went to the stage, which was well equipped and such a beautiful auditorium. I tuned my guitar and introduced the first piece ‘Shamal’. I told the story of the desert winds on the Island of Bahrain and the journey of Flamenco from Arabic music. I played the piece and waited for a response. They talked frantically in Korean and asked me to play the second piece. So I chose ‘The Colour of Silence’. Told the story of the silence in the desert and in Finland and continued to play.

After I finished I waited for the verdict. Yun Mi, after a long discussion with the ‘panel’, asked if I had anything more lively. And funnily enough, the director had disappeared and had been replaced by a much older looking man with glasses. More lively? The only thing I thought would liven these pieces would be if I ritually burned my guitar on stage after the performance, which I did not want to do.  “This is as lively as it gets” I replied. After more discussion the translator said, “What they mean is, do you have anything more optimistic?”. I suddenly realised that this was a censorship session, to check that what I played would be suitable for the N Korean people. And they wanted me to play ‘happy’ music. “Can you play something more Classical?” they said. “Yes I can but its not very optimistic music, and in my opinion, the ‘Colour of Silence’ is very optimistic, in fact the most optimistic piece I have, so its up to you, either some sad and melancholic Bach, or optimistic ‘Colour of Silence’.”

I walked up and down the stage, wondering would they allow me to play at all. After a few minutes I went to the middle of the auditorium and joined them. I introduced myself to the man with glasses and he was in fact a very warm and sincere man. I presumed that they were deep in discussion about what I should be allowed to play. “It is an honour to be in your country and to take part in this festival, and to share music and friendship with the Korean people” I said, grinning from ear to ear. Via Yun Mi he said “You play beautifully and we are honoured to have you here, and we think that you can play the ‘Colour of Silence’, it is very nice”. A sense of relief followed, although I am sure that the Korean announcement would be something like “We would like to introduce British guitarist Jason Carter, playing his own composition ‘Freedom and Independence, Peace and Friendship’. I was also instructed not to speak to the audience. I strolled back to the hotel with Yun Mi, and she explained that maybe the North Korean people might not understand my music. I told her that I had played for a group of severely mentally and physically disabled children in Estonia, one of whom cried for the first time in 10 years during the ‘Colour of Silence’, so if THEY could understand my music, surely the North Korean people would. But maybe that was the reason after all, that they SHOULDN’T be affected by my music. And maybe the reference to the disabled children was inappropriate, and I apologised, but she had understood my point. “Maybe the North Korean people are not ready for your music” she replied. Feeling a little insulted I said, “So what I am I doing here then? I sent a CD with all my own compositions on, and a DVD with all my own pieces on, what did you expect? This is an International Arts Festival isn’t it?” This whole conversation took place in a very polite and friendly fashion, and before we parted for lunch, we laughed at the situation at hand, because of course none of this was her fault, nor mine. So who had in fact listened to my music and invited me I wondered?

I went for lunch back at the Pyongyang Hotel and then took a stroll with Yun Mi. She was a very nice person, sincere, and had impeccable English. She was an English teacher by profession, but this was holiday week and her job this week was to translate for me, and the 2 other English ladies arriving later in the afternoon, the Susanna and her mother.

After our brisk stroll along the river, I went back and changed for the opening ceremony of the festival. We went by car through the city, hundreds of people waving at us in National Dress, and arrived at the theatre for the ceremony. We were made to walk in a line through a fanfare of national song and dance, and it was quite overwhelming. Hundreds of people in orchestras, dance groups, acrobatic groups and singers, it was a real royal welcome. This reception was only for the participants and delegates of the festival, and we filled what must have been a 1000 seater theatre. I wonder how these people got here I asked myself, seeing as there are only 2 flights per week from Beijing and the planes aren’t that big!

The performance was a welcome ceremony for us, and hosted by N Korean artists and performers. The standard was impeccable and colourful, national song and dance, speeches and video footage of Kim Jong Il, showing his involvement and attendance at previous festivals. Interestingly enough, in the video footage, there was also footage of Kim Il Sung, the father of Kim, and he received rapturous applause, and yet Kim received only a polite and gentle one. Apparently, Kim Il Sung had attended every Festival until his death, as he was also the founder of the event. The atmosphere was very ‘happy’, proudly showing the talents and ‘positive attitude’ of the N Korean people. I still had the ‘Butlins’ feeling, wondering where the ‘real’ people were in this country. And to be honest I was already becoming a bit sick of the military style fanfares, which seemed to pour out of every corner, every megaphone, and every speaker. It was a little hypnotic at times and I found myself humming these victorious melodies by accident when alone. Maybe they will find their way into my music I thought, as most other styles seem to seep into my subconscious one way or another. In the car on the way back to the Hotel, I was advised by Yun Mi to try and perform a N Korean song in one of my performances. A great idea, and I thought about hanging around in the street and learning one of them by ear from the megaphones, it shouldn’t take too long. But she promised to find me some sheet music. But it never arrived. I also asked if I could perform with a traditional North Korean Artist. She said she would ask, and the next day she said it wasn’t possible, and never gave me a reason.The welcome ceremony was followed by an evening banquet for us, almost 700 participants in all. In the meantime, the Opera singer, Susanna Clarke and her mother Sheila had arrived from Beijing, and we shared the same car to the reception. We were sat at the same table with musicians from Germany, Georgia and Russia. The table was laden with Korean beer, wine and some very strong liqueur, (which the Georgians seemed to love). As we ate well and drank, I couldn’t help but think of the waitresses who were serving us, and the people in the streets of Pyongyang and in the countryside of N Korea who would be paying for this somehow. The Government turns off the electricity for days at a time when there are no foreign visitors, to save money, so this festival was costing a fortune in terms of food and electricity. At night when I looked out of my hotel window at different times, the electricity and neon signs would slowly disappear, the last lights to go out were those on the bridge over the river, and by midnight, the whole city would be blacked out. Which answered the question as to why there was nobody on the streets at night. During the dinner I was introduced to the Foreign minister who seemed to be delighted that 3 people were here from the UK. He told me that I was the second person from the UK ever to perform in N Korea, the first being Susanna, who was on her 5th visit. When I arrived back at my Hotel, the receptionist rushed over and handed Susanna and I business cards from Paul Waller, the Third Secretary at the British Embassy. On the front there was the official contact information for the Embassy, and on the back he wrote ‘Jason Carter, if you need any help call this number 193 801 8250’. Did they expect that I would need help at some point? After visiting over 70 countries, the British Embassy have never contacted me first. Or maybe they had nothing to do and seeing as we were the only 3 citizens from the UK in Pyongyang, they wanted to meet and chat about the motherland over a cup of tea? I kept the card in my wallet just in case, safely next to my health insurance card, after all, this was indeed the fatherland. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen my passport since checking in, the Hotel reception had given it back then I had, in a tired state given it to John as he needed to ‘register’ me. Must get that back tomorrow I thought to myself.

Day 3

Seeing as I had already been for my sound-cum-censorship-check the day before, I decided not to visit the theatre as per the schedule, and decided to rest at the hotel. And my passport, where was my passport? That would be my first mission of the day, to get it back. But where was my official guide John? Did this mean that I could actually go out alone? This was contrary to what I had read on the Internet. Every single article I had read about North Korea said that your guide had to be with you at all times. So I decided to check it out and hit the streets of Pyongyang alone, with camera in hand. I had asked the John and Yun Mi if I was allowed to venture out alone and they had said yes, in a very reserved sort of fashion. I cautiously walked down the stairs of the Hotel to the exit, and onto the street. The Hotel was situated opposite the Theatre where I would be performing later, so I walked towards the Theatre. I had just taken one photo of a mural, when I heard a voice shouting “Carter, what are you doing?” It was John, only a few steps behind me. “You MUST rest before the concert, please go back to your room!” “I was just getting some fresh air before taking rest” I replied. He escorted me back to the Hotel and on the way in, spoke to all of the Hotel porters, and pointed at me. I presume he told them that if I leave the hotel alone then they must inform him immediately. So that was that.

At 2pm I went to the theatre for another rehearsal, to run the whole show through for timings. Susanna was suffering from jetlag and found it hard to sing. The theatre was damp and cold, terrible conditions for a singer. Afterwards we took some lunch, and were joined by a guy from New Zealand who had been living in Pyongyang for 3 years, starting his own business. He seemed to be excited that there was now one flight a week to Shenyang in China with China Airlines, on top of the two flights a week to Beijing with Air Koryo. In his words “this place seems to be slowly opening up”, with a huge grin on his face.

I took some rest, and then prepared for the concert, which was scheduled to start at 4pm. For some reason they had put me in the theatre which was showcasing the foreign Opera singers alongside singers form N Korea. I was the only solo instrumentalist in the programme and the only guitar player in the whole festival. I was wondering how the N Koreans would appreciate ‘The Colour Of Silence’. I was soon to find out. Could I be arrested for playing ‘non-happy music’ I wondered? And I must get my passport back I thought to myself whilst in the shower.

I took a stack of biscuits, which I had bought, in the Hotel shop. Everything was extortionately priced, as there was really nowhere else to shop. Backstage before the concert I was munching away and decided to offer them to some of the backstage staff. They gladly accepted. It suddenly dawned on me that things like biscuits are a luxury for these people, and to be honest everybody looked so thin that I wondered if they ate enough food at all. I was also becoming a bit frustrated with John our guide, as he began to cling to me, following my every move. As I was waiting to perform, I went for a quick walk around the backstage of the theatre and found the back door. There were a group of old men playing some kind of board game so I sat with them for a couple of minutes. Soon enough, John appeared at the door and said “Quickly Carter, you have to be backstage”. As I walked up the steps again, feeling like a naughty boy, he pointed to the door and me and spoke to the door lady. I presume he told her not to let me out of the Theatre. We arrived backstage after collecting my guitar, and there was still about 20 minutes until my slot. One thing I noticed backstage was the lack of ego from the N Korean artists. And I repeat, from the N Korean artists. Tickets were free and issued by means of a waiting list.

Eventually, my name was announced, in a kind of military, evangelical, childlike way, as if she were speaking to a room of children about to join the army. Amongst the Korean words I heard ‘Jeison Carter’ then I was ushered onto the stage. There were around 1500 people in the theatre, it was completely full. I greeted them in Korean, which they loved; I took a graceful bow and sat down to start ‘The Colour Of Silence’. The piece starts with only the left hand, ‘hammering’, which gives a gentle but firm sound. I heard whispering in the audience. I imagined comments like ‘this boy is possessed’, or ‘can he not play the guitar properly’. My right hand joined in and the audience began to relax. I saw the Orchestra in the pit smiling at me. The piece lasts around 6 minutes with a few unconventional techniques, and when I started the double handed ‘hammering’ on the neck, I heard mutters and whispers of ‘ooooh’ and ahhhhh’. I drew the piece to a close and finished triumphantly, as they seemed to like that kind of ending. I finished by waving the guitar close to the microphone which produced a kind of ‘wah wah’ effect and the orchestra seemed to like that. The audience clapped enthusiastically and I walked towards the front of the stage and took the final bow, wondering what was going through their minds. Everybody looked the same, dressed the same, and acting the same. They even smiled and clapped the same. I must have looked like someone from another planet to them. These were the same people who, when their Dear Leader tested his Nuclear Missiles last October, crammed the streets in praise of Kim Jong Ill and the Fatherland, North Korea, the saviour of the planet. Tens of thousands of people danced in the streets after the announcement that afternoon. I wanted to tell them that this was the reason I was here, and maybe they would like that. But it wouldn’t sound quite right. But these people were beginning to get under my skin, with their kindness, peaceful ways of being and gentleness. I loved their way of being and felt very comfortable. Far from what I expected. And the fact that I could not check email or use my mobile phone made into a bit of a holiday. A holiday in the ‘axis of evil’. In he dressing room after my performance journalists piled into my dressing room, fascinated by the meaning of my piece ‘The Colour Of The Wind’ (!) and my impressions of N Korea. I told them that it was an honour to in their country and to perform for the N Korean people. They liked that. After they left, Jun Mi again challenged me to play something more lively and ‘technical’. I explained that this was supposed to be an Arts Festival, and mentioned that if Britain had invited foreign artists from N Korea to perform, then the organisers and audience would not question the content of what was presented. We again laughed at the situation, although she was doing her best to persuade me to play something more ‘acceptable’ in meaning to the N Korean audience.

After the concert I had dinner with Susanna and her mother, then we met Jun Mi and John and went for a beer in the bar. Susanna and her mother are active members of the Labour Party in the UK and began, (what seemed to me), to lecture Jun Min and John about how they thought North Korea could change for the better. I sat silently and listened for a while, and at the first opportunity I asked Jun Mi what she thought of this one-way conversation. In fact I felt a little embarrassed. I had experienced something similar at a Guitar Festival in Siberia with my Russian hosts and a drunk Dutch guitarist with regards to Russia and Chechnya. She responded as I thought, and went on to say that unless you live in North Korea, you cannot judge n Korean politics as an outsider. Here we were, 3 members of a ‘democratic’ country, allied to the USA, telling 2 people from the most isolated country on earth how they should live. Very tricky indeed. So I started to make jokes about the UK Government and the N Koreans seemed to like that, and funnily enough, so did Susanna and her mother, at least they laughed rather politely. I also talked about the 15 British sailors that had been detained in Iran recently, and that was new news for the Jun Mi and John, as there is absolutely no international media coverage here. Funnily enough they were very happy to hear that I had an Iranian girlfriend, which I guess made me somehow a partner in the ‘axis of evil’ community, which I quite liked, in a rebellious kind of way. Susanna and Sheila remained silent on the matter.  On that note we left the bar for sleep as I had an early start in the morning, a trip to the tomb of Kim Jong Il’s Father. I was told to remove all metal objects from my person, as I would trip the security x-ray and cause delays. And a wake up call at 7am. At midnight I walked down to reception to buy some bottled water and the two porters who had seemingly been advised to call John if I tried to leave the hotel, quickly scuppered towards the door. But I was wearing slacks, a t-shirt and hotel slippers. Not exactly the attire for secret meetings in a city with no lights and no people on the streets at night. I walked towards them quickly and then did a sharp right turn towards the Hotel kiosk, smiling and saying “I am so thirsty”. They gracefully bowed and smiled, relieved that they didn’t have to cause me any trouble, despite the fact that they didn’t speak a word of English. Whenever you bought anything from the hotel kiosk, you could only pay in dollars or euros. If they didn’t have enough dollars or euros change it would be Chinese Yuan, bubble gum or credit for the next visit. I bought my water and headed back to my room. That night I was awoken several times by huge trucks passing the street outside my room. I just hoped they weren’t carrying missiles of any kind. Especially of the plutonium sort. I went to sleep, disturbed with the thought that my participation in this festival was adding to the Government propaganda. The very fact that I was on stage next to N Koreans would seem to the local people that I accepted everything that their Government stood for. And that was not why I was here at all. And yet just ‘being’ here began to make me feel alive due to the seeming simplicity of life, and the attraction of leading a very simplistic life was extremely appealing. Then again my passport was still in the hands of John, and I had only received a one-way plane ticket so far. Not so appealing.

Day 4

The night before, John told me we were leaving at 730am for the Memorial Palace of Kim Il Sung, the father of Kim Jong Il. So I asked him to wake me at 710am. He called me at 7am and said that I had to be downstairs at 830am. Thanks a lot I thought. John was beginning to get on my nerves. I think he must have been new at the job. He was very tense and followed my every move. We got in the car and were half way to the Palace and he asked me if I had remembered my id. I hadn’t and he shouted at me and asked the driver to return to the Hotel so I could collect it. When we arrived, none of the other artists had any id around their necks and were not dressed smartly at all, as I hade been informed to do, by John the previous evening.

We had to leave everything in the car, and enter the palace with empty pockets. In my wallet I had around 300 euros and 300 dollars. I didn’t feel so comfortable leaving it with the driver, but then again I didn’t believe he would steal anything. Cameras were definitely not allowed. We were scanned and body searched before entering. The Palace receives 1000s of visitors per day and people were lining up in Military uniforms and national dress. The atmosphere was silent and reverent. After the searches we were ushered onto huge red moving walkways and we had to stand still and silently, hands out of pockets and almost to attention. At one point John caught me leaning on the escalator handrail and pulled me upright again. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore him. I am not a morning person. Or a child.

The first moving underground walkway took about 12 minutes, then up a small escalator, and then onto another never ending walkway. After about 20 minutes of walkways, I found myself entering a huge room, bright red lights beamed onto a backdrop, with a statue of Kim Il Sung, which must have been 25-30 metres tall. Victorious military music played in the background, and we were made to line up in rows of 4, and take it in turns to bow to the statue. I felt like I had been captured by a religious cult and was forced to bow to an idol. I did bow out of courtesy and respect to the N Koreans around me, but I wasn’t ready for it at all with no time to think it through. Then we were lead out of that room into an elevator, which took us up to what must have been the top of the memorial tower. The doors opened and we were led into another room, this time, with the dead body of Kim Il Sung, the father of the current leader Kim Jong Il, encased in a glass tomb. The first dead body I had ever seen in my life. Again, in lines of 4 at a time, we had to circumnavigate the coffin, and bow 4 times, once at the head and foot, and each side. I had Koreans either side of me, including John, and there were tears rolling down the face of one of the men, and opposite me there were a group of 4 ladies all in tears. “This is greatest man in the world,” John whispered. I remained silent as my stomach had not been too good the night before and there was a huge build-up of wind ready to be released. Bowing to uncle Kim was tricky, as I didn’t want to let any wind escape in such a room. Especially as this room was absolutely silent and the slightest sound would have echoed around the room. After we had paid our respects we were led back into the elevator and into a room full of war medals and photos of Kim Il Sung with world leaders. I recognised Yasser Arafat, Colonel Gadaffi, General Mugabe, and Fidel Castro. The next room there was a train carriage and a Mercedes Benz, means of Transport that Kim had used for his Diplomatic visits. On the wall there was a huge electronic map, which lit up the routes that Kim had travelled in his lifetime, with the amount of kilometres shown. 306,000 km. I am sure that I had travelled at least that many km in my lifetime already, but then if he had done all of that on the train, then that is really something.

Even though we were not allowed in with cameras, at certain corners the propaganda machine, sorry, the media, were ready to film the foreigners bowing to the statue, or viewing the medals. I wanted them to capture me entering the toilet as my stomach was starting to hurt. And all of this would appear on national television at some point, to show the local people how the foreigners were also bowing to Kim Il Sung. Very clever. And I was beginning to get angry.

We got back to the car and I asked if I could take pictures of the Palace. It was pouring with rain and John obviously didn’t want to get wet. I was hoping he would leave me alone for a while but sure enough he followed me. In the car on the way back to the Hotel he told me that there was plenty of time for rest, which meant, ‘go to your room’. In fact I did as it was raining outside, and I needed the toilet. I was getting frustrated with the fact that it was seemingly impossible to mix with ‘normal’ people, but according to our schedule, we would be visiting public parks an funfairs so maybe there would be a chance. During my rest before lunch I realised that I had just visited the ‘Mecca’ of North Korea. A bizarre thought.

The afternoon concert was the same format as the previous day but the new audience was much more relaxed, and I felt it as soon as I went out in stage. I played the same piece as the day before but was much more relaxed as I became more used to the acoustics. It is very hard to only play one piece in a concert as normally, you gauge your audience and acoustics during the first 10 minutes or so. By the time I reached the stage, the previous performer had really warmed up the audience with a Korean song so they were very excited by the time I appeared. At the end of the whole concert, we had to do a grand finale and a final bow. Whilst I was waiting backstage there were many posters advertising the festival. The posters said in English ‘Let Us Sing Loudly The Song Of Independence, Peace and Friendship’. I felt like changing the words with a big black marker for ‘‘Let Us Sing Loudly The Song Of Propaganda And Oppression’. I was very bored and got fed up with John following me everywhere, so I remained in the dressing room most of the time, taking bizarre photos in the dressing room three-way mirror. No wonder John was nervous about me. He remained outside the dressing room but kept coming in at intervals, I think to see if I had gone insane or not.

The evening passed nicely with Susanna and Sheila, they were great company. Two lovely ladies with Northern accents, great conversation and stories. After I got back to my room, the ‘Butlins feeling’ was wearing off, and the ‘Alcatraz feeling’ was setting in. It was pouring with rain outside. Jun Mi and John had gone to bed, confident that we wouldn’t leave the premises. After all, there are no taxis available to foreigners in N Korea, and no streetlights. And nowhere to go. I began to feel homesick because of the lack of cultural stimulation. Relaxing in a Hotel room is great when you know that tomorrow you can actually do something, but when you know that every move you make is monitored, you feel like a prisoner. I had watched almost all the movies on my laptop, so I began writing what you are reading now, and it was great therapy to get it all out in the form of a story. Hopefully someone will find this interesting I thought to myself. The same time the night before, I was already thinking of coming back next year, but one more week of this I think would be enough N Korea to last me a lifetime. In the car from the airport to the Hotel, Jun Mi had asked me if I would come back next year, a strange question at the time I thought. What delights did I have to look forward to tomorrow? A morning visit to the birthplace of Kim Il Sung, a picnic, then to the Theatre again to play ‘The Colour Of Silence’. Whoopee. We had suggested many times various trips to marketplaces, places where the ‘real’ people were. We never really got straight answers, which was always a ‘no’. Then again, who were the ‘real’ people? What was I doing here? Was I making a difference at all? What did they think of my music? In ‘normal’ situations I mix with the public, partly to get a feel of how my music has affected them, but also to get a feel of who they are as people. Here, if anybody was affected at all they wouldn’t be allowed to tell me, although Jun Mi had informed me that local guitar players had been attending the concerts and ha said that my style was ‘unique’. So I guess I just had to trust in the ‘process’. The Orchestra in the pit seemed to smile at me a lot today, and I smiled back at them. That was nice. Human contact. In ‘normal’ countries I would be able to hang out with them at the bar afterwards, exchange stories, cultural differences, drink beer, be silly, make them laugh, tell stories.

I was just about to fall asleep when I heard groups of men marching past my room chanting in a military fashion. I was on the 3rd floor so I went to the window to check it out. I saw hoards of men in caps in the darkness walking in the torrential rain, with what looked like gardening equipment, as searchlights scanned the river. I hadn’t seen many gardens in Pyongyang, so I had no idea where they were going at 1am. But maybe they didn’t know either and maybe the searchlights were helping them find their way. I got so bored that particular night, I took pictures of myself in my Hotel room mirrors in the bedroom and bathroom. Signs of loneliness and possible insanity I thought. Dreams of ‘The Shining’ inevitable. It was going to be a very long week ahead. Hotel rooms are usually merely a place to sleep. This room was going to be my ‘home’ for the next week. At least it was kitsch and retro.

Day 5

I awoke with a sense of optimism. Jumped out of bed, showered and went to breakfast. No sign of the English ladies as they had overslept, obviously jetlagged. I felt the sense of optimism slowly squeezed out of me as I sat in the restaurant and watched the same propaganda vcd on the huge TV. ‘Over-sentimentality was quite common in British films in the 50s, where you knew ‘everything would be alright’. But this was more like, ‘there has never been anything wrong, and there never will be’. I felt sick. And then the thought of my stressed guide, who called me ‘Carter’, but sounded more like ‘Cutter’. That would be the first thing to address this morning. And then I needed a frank talk with him and Jun Mi about the rules once more. It was time for a very direct discussion.

Luckily I had Jun Mi in the car with me on the trip to the birthplace of Kim Il Sung that morning. We arrived with the throng of the rest of the delegates from the festival. Again, the media were there, filming all the foreigners having a good time. So I decided to avoid the sights and spent my time taking photos of the media, who were filming me.

They didn’t know how to take it and smiled nervously. Journalists asked me if I felt any reverence to Kim Il sung and how did I feel visiting his birthplace. “I respect the feelings and beliefs of the N Korean People, but I am not from here, so although I find it interesting, I have no connection whatsoever with your spiritual beliefs” I replied. At one point I tried to photograph some marching soldiers and they waved their hands frantically in anger before I managed to get a shot. In the car, Yun Mi took my camera from me and checked all the photos for illegal material, and then she asked me, about my own beliefs. “I believe in God and Jesus” I responded. “Love, tolerance and forgiveness is what I believe in”. She laughed at me and said that I did not look like a Christian and she did not believe me. We had a brief discussion about what she thought a Christian would look like. But she did say that I seemed like a ‘spiritual’ person.  In the afternoon, Susanna and Sheila wanted to go to a fabric shop to get a dress made so I tagged along, as it would only be Jun Mi as our guide, John was resting. It was GREAT! 3 floors of a shopping centre, no lights and no heating. I asked Jun Mi f I could walk around alone and she was fine. FREEDOM! I ran around like a little child, explored every floor and even went outside. I bought bottles of ‘snake wine’, with a dead snake inside the bottle. Very exotic I thought. But when I got them back to the Hotel, it looked quite horrific. But hopefully tasty.

The afternoon concert was the same as usual, except the audience were even warmer than the previous night and I really enjoyed the performance, as I was now used to the hall. After the concert the rains had stopped and we walked across the road from the Theatre back to the hotel. The evening sun shone brightly, many children had gathered in the small funfair across the street and we were desperate to get out and meet some ‘real’ people. We told John that we were going for a walk ALONE and that we would see him later. He laughed and said ‘OK”. We rushed upstairs, got changed and ran back to the lobby, to find John waiting for us! Susanna lost it, and marched up to him and said “I HAVE BEEN HERE FIVE TIMES BEFORE AND HAVE NEVER BEEN TREATED LIKE A CHILD IN THIS WAY, WE ARE GOING OUT AND WE WILL SEE YOU LATER!” he laughed and walked away. We stormed out of the Hotel and walked in the direction of the park, wondering what would happen. About 20 metres from the Hotel I turned around and saw him trying to look inconspicuous behind a tree. We didn't care, and enjoyed the temporary freedom granted to us. Kids played football, badminton, cards, and had general fun. The kind of innocent freedom which is non- existent in many parts of the western world. Children of the age of 8 or 10 wandering in groups, laughing and joking on the way home from school. Queuing for rides on the ancient and rusty funfair rides. Most if them curious as to who we were. The younger children who were accompanied by their parents were very curious; they smiled and waved to us. We took countless photos, with permission of course. The older children were more shy and cautious; probably because they either thought we were American or had been told not to talk to foreigners. For me it was heaven. Contact with real people. Which was what this trip was all about. The energy of life rushed into my body and I felt alive again. I loved North Korea once more. Human contact.

We had a phone call from the British Embassy that morning and someone promised to come to the hotel at 8pm to meet us for a chat. I met Richard and his South Korean wife in the lobby and we all went to a bar on the Embassy compound. An 80’s karaoke disco. FANTASTIC! We shared mutual frustrations and had a great time. Richard was very informative about current affairs and we eagerly listened. Rumours had it that the Dear Leader Kim Jong Il had in fact had been under house arrest earlier this year, by the Military. He also spoke of frictions within the Government and that nobody had actually seen Kim Jong Il for months in public. And the explosion on the train track 3 years ago apparently was an attempt on Kim Jong Il’s life. Rumour has it that it was set off by a mobile phone, but too late, as Kim had passed through by train a few hours before. At that time, a few government officials had been issued with mobile phones but they were withdrawn immediately after the explosion. The new British Ambassador apparently had never met him. And all the while, the people were preparing for the birthday of the great leader in 2 days. 1000s of people were again, preparing dances in the square as we drove home that night. And the 25 of April would be the 75th anniversary since the birth of the Military Power and huge celebrations were planned. Surely he would appear then? As we drove home Richard informed us that he had never seen the city so brightly lit, all because of the Arts Festival and the Airang Gymnastic Festival (incidentally the largest in the world), which would open on Sunday. Interesting times. I had the urge to stay until the 25th April. The previous night I had been counting the days until departure! Was I becoming schizophrenic?

Day 6

The plan for the day was the ‘Visit to the International Friendship Exhibition and Historical Ruins in Mount Myohyang’. What a farce. There were no historical ruins, only two huge houses full of gifts that had been given, over the years, to Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il. A huge ego trip. I have never been so bored in all my life. Each bus had its own cameraman, videoing the foreigners having a great time in their country. I was sat at the front of the bus on the outward journey, and the cameraman started to film me. I waved my hands frantically, just as the soldiers did when I had tried to take photos of them marching the previous day. The guy didn’t know what to do so I explained to the guide that I didn’t want any more people filming me, or any more interviews. Jun Mi was surprised, so I told her that I was also placing some restrictions on what the media could film. To my surprise, almost all of the delegates loved the attention and many of the artists relished their fame in North Korea. I wondered if they realised at all why they were here and how they were being used.

Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il each had his own building full of gifts from around the world. The gifts included cars, train carriages, pictures, and gold, almost everything imaginable. And the houses were immaculate.  And of course there were, again, huge statues of each of them in their respective buildings, which we had to bow to. But this time, Susanna, Sheila and I refused to bow. We hadn’t planned this mini demonstration, but we all seemed to feel the same way. The guides and staff looked surprised and John asked us ‘You must bow like this’ and showed us how we should pay our respects, in front of the TV cameras of course. We still refused, and there was not much they could do about it and they left it at that. John began treating me like a child again, pulling me around by the arm, and at one point I firmly resisted his grasp and walked off in my own direction. Around the corner from these 2 houses was an old Buddhist temple which was wonderful. I ran into the grounds with Susanna whilst John was looking the other way and we hid behind some huge pillars. We saw him running off looking for us and for a moment we were free. We burst out laughing, and carried on taking photos, but of course he eventually found us. When we came to leave to take the bus home to Pyongyang, he began pulling my arm again, so I grabbed his arm and said “I am NOT a child, and my name is Jason, NOT Carter. LEAVE ME ALONE!” I headed for the bus myself and this time he sat next to me, so I just went to sleep and slept most of the journey home, waking at odd intervals, to see Oxen pulling carts and people wading through rice fields. People carrying heavy loads for miles on end, but still they were smiling at us as we passed on the bus. I dreamed of jumping out of the bus and running to meet these beautiful people. As we approached the city, we saw 1000s of people in the main square, in beautiful costumes, rehearsing the dance for the next day, April 15, the day of the Sun, Kim Jong Il’s birthday. I excitedly asked Jun Mi if we could go there for a few minutes to watch after the bus had dropped us off. I could tell by her manner that it wasn’t going to be possible and finally she said that we needed permission to go to the square. “You mean I need permission to go and watch people doing a beautiful dance in wonderful costumes? What kind of impression do you want me to give my friends and people in Europe when I get home? Do you want them to watch media images of nuclear missiles being tested, or would you rather people see your beautiful smiling people in wonderful costumes?” I felt I had said too much, but now I was feeling like a bird in a trapped cage and I started to feel very depressed and frustrated. We arrived at the hotel and I went straight to my room like a little boy who had not been allowed to go to the funfair.  Despite my frustrations, I was still trying to be very polite to Jun Mi and John, as it was not really their fault. They also informed us that in fact the plane to Beijing would be on Thursday instead of Saturday, which meant that all three of us would have to try and change our onward tickets, or stay in Beijing for 2 nights, which neither of us wanted to do. This was down to the disorganisation of the N Korea embassy in London and lack of information.

   

The evening passed as per usual, dinner in the hotel and tea and ice cream with Susanna and Sheila in the hotel café. Everything was extortionately priced, as there was no competition.
We spent our time laughing at things that had happened during the day, which helped us all enormously; I don’t know what I would have done without them. I came to my room and looked through the many photos I had taken, and desperately missed the chance to hang out with the rice farmers and the ‘real’ people generally. One day I thought. One day it will be possible. I noticed that I was still wearing my identity tag around my neck. Maybe I was forgetting who I was, just like the other 20 million people here.

Day 7 – The Day Of The Sun.

I slept extremely well that night considering the Koreans in the room next door had been partying all night. After breakfast we headed to a local park for the celebration games and performances by children from the Pyongyang Arts Academy. I had made a decision not to be awkward, but polite to the journalists, and to try and enjoy the day. The sun was shining for the first time this week. The whole delegation was there and we had to split into 2 teams for the games. Only a few of the delegates were invited to be involved in the games and I preferred to be behind the camera to catch the performances of the children. The colours and performances were stunning.

But the journalists still pursued me, especially one particular lady who had interviewed me a lot; she was very sweet and seemed sincerely interested in my opinions. So I agreed to her questions. The first series of questions were again about their Dear Leader and the shrines, and I told them that because I was not my culture, I could not have the same beliefs as them, whilst I respected their way of life and traditions. She seemed suddenly sad that I did not share the same reverence for Kim Jong Il and I suddenly I felt so guilty for disappointing them. So they asked me more general questions about the people and the culture. I told them that I found their people to be amongst the most beautiful and kind that I had ever experienced, and that as human beings it was obvious that we all needed the same things in life, wherever we are in the world. Love, meaning, friendship, relationships, food and shelter, the basic necessities in life. They loved that and the interview finished on that note, and I was satisfied with the session. On the way back to the Hotel, Yun MI pointed out the Peoples Assembly Building and said, “I believe in the Capitalist UK, you call this building Parliament?” After the celebrations were over, we had lunch back at the hotel and they had laid on an all girl pop band for us, including an electric guitarist. I had read that the electric guitar was extremely rare in N Korea, so was surprised to see a girl playing it. They seemed to have made pop arrangements out of traditional songs and it was a great experience! The restaurant was full of Koreans singing along, and they included us in such an open and respectful manner, the best lunch yet, and far better than the VCDs that were usually playing during lunch!

The burning question in my mind was, ‘would Kim Jong Il appear on TV on his birthday?’ At every given opportunity we watched TV and asked the guides, but they said he was quite busy. 20 million people were celebrating his father’s birthday and he might not appear? Where was he?

That afternoon we were taken to a performance given by the children at the Pyongyang Performing Arts Academy. I have never seen such amazing performances given by children. I was totally speechless. If the level of training and precision was given to these children as performing artists, then the army must be one of the most highly trained in the world. Word has it that in a matter of 24 hours, an army of 10 million can be assembled. There was something a little unnatural about the technical abilities of these young children, but it was impressive nonetheless.

   The children’s performance was followed by a banquet for the artists and delegates. I was sat next to some fellow Finns who I had briefly met the day before at Kim Il Sung’s birthplace and they were great company. I was also sat next to the painter who had painted all the portraits of Kim Jong Il and Kim Il Sung. He was accompanied by the master magician of Pyongyang. They were lovely kind old men and spoke fondly and respectfully of the Great Leader and his father.

From the banquet we were then hurried to the main dance in the Pyongyang Square. I had seen the rehearsals from the car window many times, including my first journey into town from the airport. Finally we were allowed to watch! Jun Mi had managed to arrange last minute passes for us and we would be among a handful of foreigners allowed to attend. As we drove through the city I felt so relaxed. I don’t remember being so relaxed whilst travelling whilst enduring such a hectic schedule. In a strange way I felt at home. Maybe it was the simplicity of life here, or the manner of the people, or the fact that this was the quietest, most relaxed and unpolluted capital city I had ever been to. Or maybe all of the above. But I had never felt so safe in a capital city. And little did I know that this next experience I would never ever forget.

We were quite late as this trip was not in the schedule. I think Jun Mi had seen how disappointed I had been the previous day when she had said that I couldn’t watch the rehearsal of the dance. I was feeling terribly guilty at giving John and Jun Mi such a hard time. It was more of a reaction to unexplained situations and secrecy. We were never given explanations as to why we couldn’t do certain things, but I began to see that this is how life is here. Everybody has to just accept what they are told without reason, so for them to treat us like that was completely normal I began to realise. 

Our car pulled up at the VIP entrance to the square. The celebrations had started more than an hour before and there was still a bit of time, but still I was anxious to get there. I opened the car door and the first thing I heard was mass group singing, some of the most beautiful that I have ever heard in my life. Beautiful because of the emotion and sincerity expressed, and in perfect unison. I guessed there must have been more than a thousand voices. As we entered the square and I caught the first glance, an uncontrollable emotion consumed me and tears ran down my cheeks. I saw what must have been 4000 people singing and dancing in unison in traditional costumes. Not only was the main square full, but also the square behind, the Orchestra and huge choir separating the two squares. The reason for my emotion was exactly this. Everybody was doing exactly the same thing at exactly the same time. Farmers, peasants, office workers, the whole spectrum of life in N Korea was there in unison. The message was clear. We are all the same. Nobody is better or greater than anybody else, we are not individuals but a collective on this planet. The happiness expressed was infectious and I smiled as I cried. After taking a few videos and pictures I was asked to dance by Jun MI, and she graciously led me through the dance steps, as the locals smiled and laughed affectionately. Later I reflected on the bizarre collections of emotions, frustrations and feelings that I had experienced in such a short space of just a few days. I then realised that I too was somehow missing this kind of society where everybody is the same and nobody is better or greater than anybody else. My political ideas and anger at the propaganda I had been part of temporarily disappeared. I became lost in an ocean of acceptance by kind, egoless, beautiful, smiling people and it was a taste of Heaven. One of the most humbling experiences I have ever had in my life, and one that I am not likely to experience ever again. A little sadness overcame me as I left, as I saw the huge throng of people suddenly stand to attention in organised groups, responding to loud (and what seemed to be aggressive) announcements from megaphones. I had bumped in to a BBC cameraman whilst dancing. I wondered what the BBC would show and in what context.

          

When I reached my Hotel to catch up on writing and photo editing, I turned on the TV and behold, there were images of Kim Jong Il at the Stadium celebrations, but were they recent images or library footage? He was only shown clapping, but not as part of the event. As I caught up on my diary, the TV played in the background, Victorious and emotional performances from the stadium made me cry again as I wrote and reflected on the evening in the square. The same music that I had been hearing day in, day out, music that was driving me crazy, now made me smile with strong affection. I will never forget that evening as long as I live.

Day 8

There was no particular schedule for the remainder of my stay. Gala performances were being held in the main theatres by ‘chosen’ artists, chosen by the festival committee. Obviously ‘The Colour Of Silence’ was not ‘victorious’ or ‘optimistic’ enough for them, and I was looking forward to relaxing for the last few days. To be honest, everything was becoming quite normal and I wrote less in my diary.

Day 9

Just kidding!

On day 8 we went to visit some monuments, but this time without the throng of the entire delegation. It was bliss. I bought some beautiful embroidered cloth and the sun shone brightly. We went shopping and visited the huge road where the military exhibitions usually took place, the ones we see on TV. I managed to catch a quick shot of some soldiers marching without the guides noticing, and a few more shots of people on the streets.

After lunch we headed for the circus, but it was more of an acrobatic performance including some of the foreign performers. Trapeze, juggling and all associated with this kind of gig. Wherever I went in Pyongyang (especially the theatres) I kept thinking I had been inserted into a time machine instead of an airplane to get here. I was kind of nice. I also had to make some calls to Singapore to rearrange my flights after the wrong information given at the DPRK Embassy in London. The phone calls cost 5 euros per minute and my bill amounted to over 100 euros including the quick calls to family. This was a very expensive city. I still wanted to ride the Pyongyang Metro and jump on the tram, and Jun Mi had said that we could, and I reminded her again today. But when? We stopped by the Koryo Hotel to have a cuppa tea on the way to the Circus, and we noticed many foreigners wandering freely from the Hotel without guides. Why were we so restricted? Maybe it was because we were staying in the same hotel as all the Government officials and they were afraid that we might bring some unwanted people back to the Hotel. Who knows? And never got any answers as usual. The day before, Susanna and Sheila had escaped the Hotel for 30 minutes and taken a walk by the river, and a couple ha followed them from the Hotel, and when they returned, the couple who had followed entered the Hotel by the back door. We had heard that some British Businessmen had been here the year before and somehow some of their video footage had appeared on UK TV in a bad light, so maybe the Government were suspicious of us. Whatever the reason, Susanna said that in the previous years she had visited N Korea, she had been allowed much more freedom to roam around alone without any problems.

Day 9 - Arirang

We had been invited to a new music university that morning, followed by a session by the Symphony Orchestra. The music school was clean and brand new and students gave us as exhibition of their talents as we passed through the classrooms. The Orchestra were astounding. Brilliant. The best Orchestra I have ever seen in my life. Unfortunately cameras were not allowed. Pieces from Russian composers and other pieces entitled ‘General Kim Jong Il on the Galloping White Stallion’ and ‘As Our Country Is Very Beautiful’. My favourite reporter followed me as usual, but this time with no questions, only friendly greetings. I think she realised that there was not much more to be extracted from me and left me alone.

Lunch was then provided for us at the British Embassy and John Everard, the Ambassador was very informative about the situation. Apparently the reason for a no-show of top Government officials at the festival and in public generally was because of fear of assassination. And the 6 party talks were going badly in Beijing as N Korea had flouted the deadline for halting their nuclear activities and things were looking rather gloomy to say the least. South Korea had withheld their aid of land fertilizer because the North had not halted the nuclear programme as promised, and there were only 2 weeks left before the fields could be prepared for the summer, so they were in for a very bad harvest if things didn’t change quickly.

There were only 2 days left and I was feeling quite sad about leaving. Whenever I travel to a place, which is totally different in terms of culture, it’s not the entering of the country which takes adjusting, but leaving. And I was soon heading for Singapore and this would be a big change. I was getting used to the simplicity and way of life, especially with no email and mobile phone. I realised how much time I spend on the Internet and sending sms messages from my mobile phone.

The evening of that day I had another one of those ‘I will never forget this for the rest of my life’ experiences. In the schedule we were to visit the Arirang ‘gymnastics festival’. Not my cuppa tea I thought, gymnastics in a stadium. It was hard to write in the diary when I arrived back at the hotel. A breathtaking show. Spectacular. The first thing I noticed was that the other side of the stadium was also part of the show, 1000s of people in synchronized movements, displaying pictures and letter formations in perfect sync, creating an amazing spectacle. At certain times, the stadium would blackout and within seconds, 100s of performers would assemble themselves with perfect positioning in the darkness, the lights would come back on and a new scene would start. Trapeze artists suspended high above the stadium, jumping into nets miles below in perfect formation. 1000s of performers in perfect sync. Including the dance in the square 2 days before, I had had two incredible memories in such a short space of time. I did not expect anything like this on this trip. I expected to feel far from home and on another planet, and yet I had experienced things which in fact renewed my hope somehow, and that is hard to explain. So many varying experiences and emotions in just a few days. It would take weeks to process.

 That evening I wrote in my diary, just after a power cut which lasted about 10 minutes;

‘As soon as we have left this city, once more there will be darkness at night in Pyongyang. The power will go off for days again, to compensate for the expense for our visit. The tiny cracks in the Iron Curtain that allowed us in, will close again until the next group of voyeurs arrive. I travelled 5000 miles to play ‘The Colour Of Silence’ 3 times for a total of 5000 people. If only one member of the audiences’ view of life has widened, then I guess I have made a difference. But then again, what is it that I really came here to do? Tell people how ‘great’ the world is the other side of the gates? The bottom line is love. Love fellow human beings. Love no matter what. Did I do that? I definitely felt that from the people here. It would be revolutionary for the ‘Christian’ countries in the world to actually practice love and forgiveness, turn the other cheek. Forgive and forget. Is not this the ‘Christian mandate’? Sadly the Christian nations have become capitalist, therefore what hope is there? Why do I hear British and American leaders trying to tell others how they should live and develop, especially in countries they have never visited? Madeline Albright had an eye-opening visit here a few years ago. Maybe a few more should come.’

Each night I would spend a good 2 or 3 hours in my room catching up on my diary. That particular night, I opened the window, and for a while gazed into the darkness of Daitong River and felt a certain sadness that I had to leave so soon. I couldn’t believe it was almost over. I did not want to leave as I felt that I had only scratched the surface of this culture.

Day 10

To my joy and surprise, I received my passport back and a plane ticket to Beijing. And also a day by myself. So far I had spent every day with Susanna and Sheila. They were had been great company and I don’t know what I would have done without them, but it was extremely hard to get a word in edgeways and quite tiring. The previous day at the Embassy had been quite boring, as whenever I tried to make conversation if I could find some silence, Susanna would join in and then take over again. I gave up in the end. Maybe it’s just the British thing, or maybe I am just too Finnish now. In fact I quite enjoyed the silence. Maybe I will try and join the Finnish delegation next year, I seem to identify with them more, their Foreign Policies, Human Rights records, humanitarian efforts around the globe. The Finns are more like the N Koreans; they see themselves more or less equal to each other in Finnish Society. Maybe because of the history with Russia, who knows, but that’s another subject entirely.

We visited the huge statue of Kim Il Sung. It was dead quiet and we were the only tourists there. As there were no TV cameras present, at the request of Jun Mi, I bowed at the statue with her. I wanted to show respect for her culture. In my mind I compared it to her coming to Church with me in somewhere in Europe and kneeling at an altar. After all, a physical act is one thing, but it is the heart. Then we hit the metro, which I had been asking for all week. Foreigners are only allowed to travel between 2 stations with a guide. No photos of people allowed. A man met us at the entrance to the first station, and then another man escorted us out of the next station after the short trip. Beautiful chandeliers donned the ceilings and huge murals covered the walls. People stared and smiled nervously at me, a tall, blond haired guy with earrings on the Metro in Pyongyang! In both stations small megaphones played the same music, music that I had become very familiar with and even learning by memory. On the way back to the hotel by car I noticed a wall mural with a huge first crushing and American solder with ‘USA’ written on his helmet.

The final evening was quite a surprise in many respects. The closing concert was long and boring, 80% of which was Opera. Russians singing Italian Arias. An Indonesian dance group singing in traditional costume to 70s American music. I was sat next to a German Conductor from Berlin and we joked about the possibility of the media filming all us foreigners clapping and looking happy. They would edit that out and cut in a picture of Kim Jong Il waving, as if we were waving at him. Hilarious. At the end of the concert there was an awards’ ceremony. I had no idea this was a competition. There were silver and gold trophies (made of plastic) given to 80 of the 675 participants. I was surprised when Jun Mi ran up to me and told me to line up backstage to receive my prize. I received a silver trophy and an  ‘honorary diploma’ from the Festival committee.  As I was lining up I was approached by a guitar player who I had not yet met. He had seen me on TV whilst in Pyongyang and asked me for a score of ‘The Colour Of Silence’. I haven’t written any of my pieces out yet so I told him that he would be the first to receive it when I got round to doing it.  I was pleased that my piece had made a difference to somebody and the silver cup was a sign of something. I was then approached by the festival director and he asked me to bring many talented instrumentalists from UK for the next festival in 2009. I said that I would ask around.

I wrote in my diary that evening before packing my suitcase;

‘ I still haven’t really made sense of this place. I am 5000 miles from home and yet I feel so relaxed and comfortable here. I am alone but not lonely. I feel safe. I am wondering how much Pyongyang and the country in general will change over the coming months and what will happen to these beautiful people if there is any conflict.’

After packing I went up to the 5th floor bar for a final beer. I sat next to an Opera singer whom I had seen backstage the nights I played at Pyongyang Theatre. We seemed very warm. I heard him speaking Korean but he had a Japanese accent and looked quite Japanese. He spoke no English but there happened to be a translator nearby and we started chatting over beer. He turned out to be from N Korea but had been born in Japan. He saw N Korea as home. Kim Il Sung (whom he had met) as his father. N Korea as the Fatherland, and South Korea as the Motherland. He spoke very peacefully and warmly, and we really connected. I told him that I was sad to be leaving his Fatherland, and go back to my super fast life. He laughed and said that he was dreading going back to Tokyo.

After 10 days of being here, I was wondering how I would get back to my ‘normal’ life in the super fast stressful world outside the borders, as I felt that I had tasted a piece of ‘Heaven’ in North Korea, a sense of peace and place that was becoming increasingly rare in an ever-changing and crazy world.

Day 11 – To Singapore

I woke up late that morning. The morning call didn’t come and I had no time for breakfast. I paid my $150 phone bill for about 20 minutes of calls and headed for the airport. It was much easier getting out than I thought, mainly because of the help of Jun Mi and John, and the fact that it was a charter flight. I retrieved my mobile phones easily and was whisked through customs. Most of the committee were there to see us off and I found myself in Business class of Air Koryo. No different than economy but at the front of the plane for once. The flight was smooth, although I reflected on an incident that happened with Air Koryo a few weeks before. It came to land in Beijing and on landing one of the wheels locked and the tyre caught fire. They kept the passengers on the plane whilst extinguishing the fire. We landed fine and all was well. It was strange to be back in crazy Beijing airport. I had plenty of time before my Singapore connection so I headed for food. A lot of the Hotel food in Pyongyang had been cold so it was great to have a hot meal. Another Opera singer from the Pyongyang festival was on the same plane as I to Singapore, she was heading for Brisbane. We shared stories and headed for our seats. I watched two movies, took my laptop out and wrote the almost final diary entry for the trip. My heart was still in North Korea with those beautiful people. I almost did not switch on my mobile phone in Beijing, as I loved the fact that nobody could contact me. But I did, to send my family, girlfriend and record company sms. Then I switched it off immediately. I knew that when I hit Singapore it wouldn’t take long to fall back into the hours of email and catching up, and N Korea would be become but a memory. A distant but beautiful one. I entered the country not knowing what to expect, and after reading other peoples N Korea diaries on Internet, expected to feel ‘far from home’. But I managed to scratch the surface, albeit just a  little, as much as I was allowed to scratch.  N Korea is still a mystery to me. But I took it at face value after all the frustrations in the beginning, and at face value I felt at home very quickly, as soon as I came in contact with real people one way or another. They were like medicine and somehow purified my soul. We all know that N Korea has a terrible human rights record, but I let myself go and I hope I made a tiny difference somehow. After all, change cannot take place by talking about how bad things are and looking in from the outside. One has to leap into the void. Just the presence of foreigners there I think is a tonic for many people, this is one reason to go.

I finally arrived back in Singapore and took a taxi to the same apartment where this whole story had begun. North Korea seemed like a universe away, a distant planet that I had visited in a dream. I unpacked my suitcase, opened the balcony door, the humid breeze blowing gently into the room. I switched on BBC World and assumed the same horizontal position on the sofa as 6 months before, to see what had been happening in the world since I left Finland almost 2 weeks before. In fact I didn’t really care at that particular moment, as I wanted to head to dreamland and get some rest before the daily teaching sessions with Jonathan, but the reassuring voices on the BBC kept me company as I drifted of to sleep. Just before entering a comatose-like state, I heard on the news that there were still major problems in Zimbabwe, and was tempted to go to Google and check it out, to see about the possibilities of performing there. But there is always another day. And news that a South Korean gunman had killed more than 30 people in a University in USA. Maybe the North Korean people are better off in their own secluded world without international news. i certainly was when i was there. I didnt miss it at all.

My two weeks in Singapore flew by and before i knew it i was on the night flight from Singapore to Beijing. i landed at 730am, went through transit, collected my Lufthansa boarding card for Frankfurt and went to eat. Beijing airport is tiny considering the amount of traffic, and i easily found a familiar cafe. i had to smile when i saw something on the breakfast menu. 'Kind of Beef in Blackbean Sauce'. Very enticing. As i set upon my 'Kind Of Beef', a familiar sight drifted passed the window of the restaurant. Air Koryo landing from Pyongyang. It made me smile as a flood of memories came swarming back. That beautiful plane, making contact with the outside world twice a week. It made me kinda smile, and also kinda sad as i ate my 'Kind Of Beef'.

Afterthoughts.

Materialistic values, modernity and globalization subconsciously persuade us to believe that we, as human beings, ‘own’ this planet. But how can we own a place that we are purely passing through?  If I sleep at a Hotel, it doesn’t mean that I automatically have the right to own it. Africans have no concept of land ownership; they see the land that is something that is temporarily lent to them whilst they guests on this planet. Africans have been known to die quickly in prison, as they have no concept of being locked in isolation, as their spirit cannot take it. Western society is becoming an estranged society, lacking in family values, rife with violence and loneliness. North Korea – Axis Of Evil? I would prefer; North Korea – Axis Of Fear of Becoming Like The West. Or more realistically, North Korea – Axis Of Capitalist Government Imposing Communist Values On It’s People.

 Images like these do not help in the slightest.

 

But nor do the eloquent speeches of this man

 

All photos by Jason Carter except the missile launch and George W Bush. These were stolen from the internet.