Our arrival into the De-Militarized Zone (DMZ) came with a stern warning from our bus tour guide. As we drove under a series of collapsible concrete overpasses that could be blown up to slow a military invasion, she turned to caution us: “Remember, once you get to the De-Militarized Zone. There is no more De.”

The DMZ is the world’s most heavily fortified border, with an estimated 10,000 heavy artillery pieces, 4 million landmines and over a million soldiers standing armed and ready to attack at a moment’s notice.

At the close of the Korean War, the major combatants, including the United States (under the auspices of the United Nations), China and North Korea, sat down and roughly drew a line along the 38th Parallel to effectively divide the Korean peninsula. It was a decision that sealed the fate for millions of Koreans and led the two countries down radically different paths for the next fifty years.

Officially known as the Military Demarcation Line, under the terms of the armistice both sides agreed to withdraw their forces a minimum of two kilometers from the line. The space in-between became known as the DMZ and it is the frontline to an ongoing conflict steeped in rhetoric, intrigue, ideology and fear.

Laying only 61 kilometers north of Seoul and only a short bus ride away, today the DMZ remains a potent relic of the Cold War – an explosive flashpoint and an echo of a more dangerous era. On the other hand, it’s also a hugely popular tourist destination that attracts over 180,000 visitors each year, making it possibly the most easily accessible war-zone in the world.

As we left Seoul early that morning, the mood on the bus was somber and reflective, perhaps an indication of what was to come. Idle conversation floated about, but many of us just stared out the windows, past the hazy cityscape, deep in our own thoughts. We headed north along the Han River driving along the newly completed Freedom Highway.

The Freedom Highway is a sparkling, modern thoroughfare with an appropriately jingoistic name. But it’s quiet and tranquil setting innocently belies a more sinister purpose. It slowly becomes evident there was a dual function in its construction as the road is just wide and flat enough to allow for a succession of tanks to roll northwards and the route is lined with razor wire and punctuated by machine-gun emplacements and hardened tank bunkers.

We arrived in a small park near the Imjin River, which was the scene of some of the fiercest fighting during the war. Spanning the river in front of us was the Freedom Bridge, a wooden trestle bridge across which 13,000 prisoners of war walked to freedom in the South at the close of the war. Story has it that as the former captives crossed the bridge, they cried out in thanks for their freedom, giving the bridge its name.

Fifty years later and it would seem the Freedom Bridge still embodies hope for a reunited Korea. Seven million Korean families are still separated by the DMZ and intertwined with the razor wire at the gate to the Freedom Bridge, are colorful banners with pleas for information on lost family members as well as handwritten notes appealing for a unified peninsula.

Near the bridge, small vigils and photo displays have been set up recognizing a few of the families that have been reunited over the years. The park’s imposing stone monuments to the war-dead stand in stark contrast to these frozen scenes of joyful and tearful reunions.

Leaving Imjin Park, we were cleared through the first military checkpoint and we proceeded slowly across the river over the new four-lane Grand Unification Bridge. Our bus traveled at a snail’s pace, as it had to slalom in and out of iron tank barriers for several hundred meters. We wound our way past camps full of bare-chested South Korean soldiers playing soccer in the mid-day sun and arrived at the 3rd Infiltration Tunnel.

The 3rd Infiltration Tunnel is one of four officially recognized tunnels under the DMZ, the latest having been found as recently as 1990. It is generally believed there are upwards of twenty additional tunnels dug beneath the DMZ, but the South Korean government will not confirm exact numbers, presumably to prevent panic amongst an already skittish population.

To get to the tunnel that is nearly 70 meters underground, we descended on a little monorail at a sharp 45-degree angle. This is definitely no trip for claustrophobics, as the walls of the tunnel brushed our hardhats and shoulders the entire descent.

The tunnel itself is over a kilometer and a half long, most of it lying in North Korean territory. Designed to allow an entire battalion of troops (10,000 men) to pass through each hour, it was intended (had it not been discovered) to reach the outskirts of Seoul.

Underground, the sheared granite faces of the tunnel walls dripped ground water and you could even stop to sip ‘official’ DMZ bedrock water from a small filled cistern. Despite the repeated denials to the contrary from the North, all evidence seems to indicate that they were responsible for tunnel’s construction. They even went to the extraordinary length of claiming it was a coalmine and painting coal dust on the walls.

Back to the surface and after momentarily adjusting to the bright sunlight, we re-boarded our bus and set out to the Dorasan Observatory, which sits atop a small mountain and overlooks the DMZ.

Following a perfunctory briefing from a South Korean soldier we were led out onto Observatory’s deck, where we powered up large binoculars and scanned the length of the razor-wire fence and got a glimpse, albeit from a distance, of one of the most secretive and reclusive regimes in the world.
In the distance was Gaesong, North Korea’s second largest city. In the heart of the city stands a massive gold statue of Kim Il Sung, one of the more than 25,000 statues of the Great Leader that dot the North Korean landscape. Standing three to four storeys high, it is easily visible on a clear day. We were not as lucky as on the day we visited a murky haze had descended over the hills, obscuring most of the view.

We were able however to spot the North Korean ‘propaganda’ village of Gijeong-Dong. Built to showcase the prosperity of the North, apparently the only permanent residents are the hired hands that tend to the rice paddies, or so we were told anyway.

Directly opposite Gijeong-Dong, on the other side of the razor wire, is the South Korean city of Taeseong-Dong, home to roughly 300 people. In 1981, the South Korean government gave the residents of Taeseong-Dong a new 100-metre flagpole. Not to be outdone, the North set about building an even bigger flagpole in Gijeong-Dong. Completed at 160 metres, the North Korean flagpole at Gijeong-Dong claims to be the largest in the world and the dry weight of the flag alone is over 300 kilograms.

From the Observatory, our last stop of the day was Dorasan train station. Just south of the DMZ, it is the northern-most station in South Korea and is currently the end of the line for all northbound trains. The station itself is in many ways a reflection of the dual nature of modern South Korea – a sleek, modern edifice that is loaded with hopes for the future but haunted by ghosts of its past.

Many hold out hope that the completed railroad, dubbed the new ‘Iron Silk Road’, will serve as a beachhead towards an eventual reconciliation between North and South. The last few segments of the railroad will soon be laid down through the minefields of DMZ, finally linking the capital cities of both North and South Korea for first time since the outbreak of the war.

These days however, most visitors to the station still come by bus and the South Korean guards and border officials posted there seem to have little else to do than to pose good-humouredly with the tourists.

On the bus ride back to Seoul I had ample time to reflect on our visit. Both as one of the last remaining relics of the Cold War and the frontline of conflict on the Korean peninsula today, the DMZ is a complex place difficult to describe in words – it’s part tourist attraction and part amusement park. It’s also a living museum and an active war-zone.

It’s a profoundly intense and emotional place, revealing and captivating and yet strangely surreal all at the same time. Whether you are a first time visitor to South Korea or a long term resident, the DMZ is one place you should not fail to see.

It seems the Korean War has been overshadowed in our collective memories by the enormity of Second World War and by the larger political and social consequences of the Vietnam War. And while the Korean War is often called the Forgotten War, after my trip to the DMZ I don’t think I’ll forget any time soon.

Published on BootsnAll.com

There’s an ancient Chinese proverb that goes ‘A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.� When we decided to venture to Shanghai for the Chinese New Year, we learned quickly that in doing so you tread a well-worn track that marks a long and difficult path to prosperity for this Asian mega-city.

Shanghai is an enigmatic city filled with modern contradictions still struggling to come to terms with its turbulent history. It’s New China – where an Imperial past wrestles with the Communist present and a neo-Capitalist future. It’s an intoxicating fusion of old and new and a bold vision of what may be to come.

It’s is also the largest city in China, home to just over 12 million people – though, as we were constantly reminded on our trip: Shanghai is not China, it’s Shanghai. Gateway to the mighty Yangtze River, Shanghai has a tragic and tumultuous past – a sad legacy of exploitation that in many ways it may be doomed to repeat.

Up until the mid-1800s, Shanghai was little more than a small fishing town (in fact the name Shanghai just means ‘on the sea’ in Chinese). Then, overnight, everything changed.
Sensing a lucrative new market in China, the British East India Company began shipping thousands of tons of Indian-grown opium into China in return for tea. Much of this trade naturally went through large ports like Shanghai.

Eventually, war broke out when, in November 1839, in an effort to deal with the opium problem, Chinese authorities sealed their ports and Chinese junks attempted to prevent the English merchant vessels from trading. In true Imperial style, the Brits retaliated by sending in its fleet of warships and smashing the Chinese blockade. No match for the technological superiority of the British forces, the Chinese were eventually forced to agree to a shameful surrender under the Treaty of Nanking.

The treaty gave the British possession of five open ports in China, the most significant being Shanghai. And like frenzied sharks honing in on an injured fish, the other Imperial powers moved in shortly thereafter. The French were next (in 1847), followed in quick succession by the Americans and the Italians. Everyone wanted in on the action.

So, through the first few decades of the 20th Century, the world landed on Shanghai’s doorstep. The city was parceled up into administrative districts and each subsequently took on the distinctive character of its Imperial master. The French Concession aped Old World architecture and created leafy boulevards and cafes that wouldn’t be out of place in any European capital. The Brits built magnificent, soaring marble edifices along the Bund as the bankers and financiers moved in, eventually making Shanghai the most important commercial centre in the Orient.

All seemed perfect. For a while anyway…

New Year’s Eve, and the Year of the Monkey was nearly upon us. The air was frosty as we stepped out of the subway station and tentatively onto Nanjing Road, Shanghai’s famous pedestrian mall. Once renowned for “ten miles of foreign glamour,” Nanjing Road is still the most prosperous commercial street in China. Neon abounds as large department stores jostle with niche boutiques in cutthroat competition for passing shoppers’ attention.

As we worked our way through the crowds of shoppers, arctic winds whipped through the side narrow streets, stirring up miniature cyclones in the intersections. It was so cold that unbelievably, along with drying laundry, people had hung out their meat to refrigerate on their clotheslines.

Marching steadily, heads down to get the better of the bitter cold, we were stopped abruptly in our tracks by an awesome pyrotechnic battle that erupted before us. Shopkeepers unrolled gigantic rolls of firecrackers into the street. Oblivious to traffic and passersby, they ignited one end and scurried to safety as a concussive series of fiery blasts rang out across the street.

It’s not really surprising that the Chinese, given they did invent gunpowder, have a serious penchant for fireworks. Each shopkeeper tried their best to outdo the other. They brought out enormous mortar shells that would launch 50 or 60 feet into the air before detonating in a massive blast and showering the street with confetti. By the end of the battle, the acrid stench of gunpowder filled the air and smoke hung still in the streets, stinging our eyes.

The barrage continued for the rest of the evening. The dull roar of explosives rang throughout the city and it was as if we were wandering the war torn streets of Beirut or Kabul rather than this Asian metropolis. As if on cue, at midnight, the Jetson-esque cityscape of Pudong across the river lit up like CNN footage of Baghdad in an air raid.

Traditionally, the Chinese believe that the lighting of fireworks scares away evil demons and ensures good luck and fortune for the New Year. But perhaps what people should be trying to ward off today are not winged monsters, but rather the culture crushing hydra of Western consumerism.

It was the Communists who eventually killed Imperial Shanghai. After suffering the very worst at the hands of the Western imperialists, it’s no surprise then really to learn that the Communist Party of China was born in Shanghai in 1921.

It wasn’t until May 1949 however, that the Communist forces under Mao Zedong were finally able to seize control of Shanghai. Eventually all the old factories, abandoned by the departing imperial powers, were nationalized under the red flag in 1953.

Then, in 1990, Shanghai was declared a special economic zone by the Chinese government and in the years that followed, billions of dollars of foreign investment poured in as multi-national corporations from around the world rushed to stake out their claim in the fastest growing market in the world.

Sound eerily familiar?

Today, Shanghai has been transformed, reborn once again as a center of international trade and finance. Only this time, the foreign occupiers don’t come flying national colors – this time it is the Golden Arches and the United Colors of Benetton.

After the bedlam the night before, we sat quietly enjoying a cup of coffee in a Starbucks Coffee shop. Western consumerism has arrived with vigor in Shanghai and it’s not just the gargantuan billboards that clutter every inch of the skyline or the giant video screens in the subways or even the McDonald’s or KFC outlets that seem to cluster on every other city block. Rather, it’s the fact that it seems that everything in this city seems to be geared towards one goal… shopping. I think the late Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping sums up Shanghai’s attitude best when he famously said “To get rich is glorious.”

The French Concession once embodied the height of European decadence. Now, Huaihai Road, formerly Avenue Joffre, looks more like Rodeo Drive and includes the obligatory pantheon of brands found in any modern metropolitan setting. Any sign of Shanghai’s Communist past has all but been relegated to quaintly named parks like ‘People’s Square’ and the ‘Monument to the People’s Heroes.’

So, shop we did. Over the course of our stay in this “Shopper’s Paradiseâ€?, we hit every market in the city – from the schmaltzy knock-off markets full of North Face jackets, Rolex watches and bootleg DVDs, to the more subdued bird market where most of the animals had been moved out of the city due to SARS concerns.

We visited a shooting range, just off of the main shopping drag, where you can walk in right off the street and fire Chinese assault weapons. Right next door was a spa where afterwards we relaxed with neck and back massages. Apparently even in an emerging economy you need to balance guns and butter.

When we were not shopping, we rode through the Bund tourist tunnel on a wildly lit, lazy-paced tram ride that was remindful of the scene in 2001: A Space Odyssey when Bowman approaches the surface of Monolith. Only more boring.

We journeyed to the top of the Oriental Pearl Tower, a massive phallic tusk that thrusts up into the Pudong skyline. While its height provided lots of magnificent viewpoints, mostly it just proved to be another exercise in another of the more popular Chinese pastimes – queuing up.

We spent a lot of time just wandering about the city marveling at its architecture which ranges from classically magnificent to space-age kooky. Surprisingly little, if any, bore any Chinese influence and it was easy to forget you were even in Asia.

Despite this, walking the vibrant streets of Shanghai, you can’t help but get the feeling the Chinese dragon is slowly emerging up from its slumber. It’s shaking off its Imperial past, brushing aside its Communist trappings and reaching out towards an unknown future.

But if Shanghai’s to dominate the 21st Century, as it did much of the first half of the 20th Century, it will need to remain resolute even in the face of the multi-national corporate land grab that it is enjoying today. From its precarious position, it’s going to look hard for its own identity if it’s to avoid the sharks that are encircling it once again.

Staring out of my tiny oval window as our plane raced into the skies, I looked down at a spaghettied maze of superhighways crisscrossing the land around Shanghai and, much to my surprise, realized that they were completely empty.

I can only hope that when that dragon finally does wake up and those Shanghai roads are full, this time it will be the Chinese in the driver’s seat.