musty-smelling facility reminds me of a junior-high bathroom, only with no lights or running water. As I pass Fresh Handler my hand sanitizer, I ask her if she ever tires of never being able to wash her hands after using the toilet. She makes a face that I’ve come to understand means, “I cannot say yes,” then gratefully applies the gel like an old pro.
As we exit Panmungak Hall and head for our cars, I suddenly remember I’ve brought my instant camera with me but left it in the car. I often travel with my instant camera, especially to countries where cameras are rare or a luxury. I take many photos of people who so generously pose for me; I love returning the favor by giving them photos of themselves.
I’ve been using my instant camera as an icebreaker in North Korea. No one has ever seen anything like it before, and each person I photograph stands amazed, staring at the magic of the photo developing right before their eyes. I originally hoped to take two photos of me with each person I met—one for me, and one for the person—as a sort of a bridge-the-divide project. But that’s proven impossible, and it’s turned out to be much nicer and more fun to just watch the surprise and joy on each person’s face as they see themselves appear, without asking for anything in return.
I plead with Older Handler for just a few more minutes so I can retrieve the camera to snap photos for Non-General and a few of the soldiers. She says okay. She’s a big fan of the instant camera.
There’s a pervasive sense of nervous energy in the air as I flail around animatedly, trying to explain the mechanics of the instant camera and what I’d like to do, as the uncomprehending crowd of soldiers debates whether to shoot me. For once, Older Handler has nothing to say.
With my life on the line, I implore Older Handler to translate, which she does reluctantly, putting a welcome end to my one-woman show. Since no one seems to know if the taking of instant photos is allowed or not, the soldiers all remain at their assigned posts, and for a minute or two no one moves a muscle.
Non-General, being the stand-up guy I have suspected him to be, bravely makes the first move and steps forward to be photographed. We stand next to each other as he clutches the blank piece of film, waiting for the magic to happen. The smile that breaks across his face as we watch his image come together almost makes me weep. It definitely makes me tear. He shows the photo to the soldiers standing closest to him first and then to more soldiers a few steps away. Their excitement is unmistakable. Words are exchanged from one soldier to the next, and like that, all the soldiers—literally all of them—leave their posts and queue up, waiting for me to say “Say cheese!”
And I thought the poster in the gift shop was going to be the high point of the day.
My surreal visit to the DMZ comes to a close. I’m awash in emotions and conflicting thoughts, and the part of me seriously disinclined to take anything too seriously is not disappointed. After all, I’ve managed to disarm and distract NoKo’s entire DMZ security detail with a $98 instant camera.
All this she took in like a picture…and listening, in a half dream, to the melancholy music of the song.
—Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass
CHAPTER 15
THE DAY I HIT THE WALL
I didn’t remember selecting “Concrete Wall” from the list I’d been given when choosing activities for my customized itinerary. And a concrete wall certainly didn’t sound like something that would normally have piqued my interest (akin to choosing “watch paint dry”). But it was on our agenda for the day after the DMZ, and quite frankly it sounded better than some of the other shit I’d been dragged around to (can you say, Victorious Fatherland Liberation War Museum?), so it felt like a win.
For a minute it seemed like Fresh Handler was trying to talk me out of visiting the Concrete Wall—not that I was dying to
As we exit Panmungak Hall and head for our cars, I suddenly remember I’ve brought my instant camera with me but left it in the car. I often travel with my instant camera, especially to countries where cameras are rare or a luxury. I take many photos of people who so generously pose for me; I love returning the favor by giving them photos of themselves.
I’ve been using my instant camera as an icebreaker in North Korea. No one has ever seen anything like it before, and each person I photograph stands amazed, staring at the magic of the photo developing right before their eyes. I originally hoped to take two photos of me with each person I met—one for me, and one for the person—as a sort of a bridge-the-divide project. But that’s proven impossible, and it’s turned out to be much nicer and more fun to just watch the surprise and joy on each person’s face as they see themselves appear, without asking for anything in return.
I plead with Older Handler for just a few more minutes so I can retrieve the camera to snap photos for Non-General and a few of the soldiers. She says okay. She’s a big fan of the instant camera.
There’s a pervasive sense of nervous energy in the air as I flail around animatedly, trying to explain the mechanics of the instant camera and what I’d like to do, as the uncomprehending crowd of soldiers debates whether to shoot me. For once, Older Handler has nothing to say.
With my life on the line, I implore Older Handler to translate, which she does reluctantly, putting a welcome end to my one-woman show. Since no one seems to know if the taking of instant photos is allowed or not, the soldiers all remain at their assigned posts, and for a minute or two no one moves a muscle.
Non-General, being the stand-up guy I have suspected him to be, bravely makes the first move and steps forward to be photographed. We stand next to each other as he clutches the blank piece of film, waiting for the magic to happen. The smile that breaks across his face as we watch his image come together almost makes me weep. It definitely makes me tear. He shows the photo to the soldiers standing closest to him first and then to more soldiers a few steps away. Their excitement is unmistakable. Words are exchanged from one soldier to the next, and like that, all the soldiers—literally all of them—leave their posts and queue up, waiting for me to say “Say cheese!”
And I thought the poster in the gift shop was going to be the high point of the day.
My surreal visit to the DMZ comes to a close. I’m awash in emotions and conflicting thoughts, and the part of me seriously disinclined to take anything too seriously is not disappointed. After all, I’ve managed to disarm and distract NoKo’s entire DMZ security detail with a $98 instant camera.
All this she took in like a picture…and listening, in a half dream, to the melancholy music of the song.
—Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass
CHAPTER 15
THE DAY I HIT THE WALL
I didn’t remember selecting “Concrete Wall” from the list I’d been given when choosing activities for my customized itinerary. And a concrete wall certainly didn’t sound like something that would normally have piqued my interest (akin to choosing “watch paint dry”). But it was on our agenda for the day after the DMZ, and quite frankly it sounded better than some of the other shit I’d been dragged around to (can you say, Victorious Fatherland Liberation War Museum?), so it felt like a win.
For a minute it seemed like Fresh Handler was trying to talk me out of visiting the Concrete Wall—not that I was dying to
Similar Books
