visit it, or even had any idea what the Concrete Wall was, aside from the obvious.
FRESH HANDLER: You want go Concrete Wall?
ME: I don’t know. What’s the Concrete Wall?
FRESH HANDLER: It’s a concrete wall.
ME: I don’t understand. It’s just a concrete wall?
FRESH HANDLER: Yes.
ME: Why would we go look at a concrete wall?
FRESH HANDLER, giggling, shrugging shoulders while making a face that says, “You got me…I don’t know why we’d go look at a concrete wall” : You can’t see wall.
ME: What do you mean we can’t see the wall? I don’t understand. I thought you said we were going to see a concrete wall?
FRESH HANDLER: Wall is very far. You can’t see it. You look at wall through hole.
ME: What do you mean we look at wall through hole?
FRESH HANDLER, giggling, covering her mouth with her hand while looking to the sky for the right word : Ahh, wall is very far away. You look through, ahh…
ME: Binoculars?
FRESH HANDLER, delighted : Yes! You look through binoculars to see wall. But can’t see wall.
Okay, got it. We look through binoculars to see a concrete wall that we can’t see. I’m so happy I understand her that I momentarily forget I don’t understand her.
ME: So we’re going to look at a concrete wall that you can only see through binoculars, but you still can’t see it?
FRESH HANDLER, motioning with her hand to indicate something close to “Yes…I told you this was a stupid idea” : Sort of.
She looked a little embarrassed.
Sensing that my current line of questioning was likely to end up with Fresh Handler in tears, I changed tack.
“Is it close to where we are now?” We were still at the DMZ.
FRESH HANDLER: Ohhh, nooo. Very far. More than one-hour drive back to Kaesong, and then one-hour drive back to wall. And road is very bumpy. Road not so good.
This was sounding fucking awesome .
“So we drive from here all the way back to Kaesong, then we drive another hour on a bad, bumpy road to a concrete wall that we can only see by looking through binoculars? But we can’t see it. So what do we see?”
FRESH HANDLER: Just wall.
She smile-giggle-shrugged.
I was in, and we were off. We left the DMZ and drove back to Kaesong.
Somewhere near the center of town, Driver pulled over in front of a small building, and an older gentleman who looked to be in his seventies (hard to tell) and was dressed in a military uniform exited the building, ambled over, and joined us in our car.
There was something about him that made him immediately endearing. Maybe it was the kind look in his eyes or the warmth he emanated. Or maybe it was because he looked so sad-cute in his two-sizes-too-big military uniform that I wanted to squeeze him. It was like he’d shrunk but was stuck wearing the same uniform.
He cordially shook my hand, introduced himself as General So-and-So, and immediately started asking me questions, but not the normal rapid-fire questions almost all North Koreans hit you with in an unfriendly interrogation style immediately upon making your acquaintance: Your first time come Korea? You been to South Korea? You speak Korean? You been to Japan? Where you from?
Instead his questions were sweet, like he really wanted to get to know me: Did I like kimchi? Did I like Korean music? Was I traveling alone? Why was I traveling alone? Did I enjoy traveling alone? Was I ever afraid? Did I read the newspaper?
His gentle line of questioning continued unabated as we serpentined slowly through the countryside toward the Concrete Wall.
What was my job? Did I like my job? Was I good at my job? How many people worked for me? What did I study in school? Where did I live? Did I like where I lived? Was it cold where I lived? What was my favorite thing to do?
In between questions he told me about his daughter and little bits of this and that. Older Handler and Fresh Handler took turns translating, with Fresh Handler filling in the blanks.
Then he started congratulating me, telling Fresh Handler to tell me,
FRESH HANDLER: You want go Concrete Wall?
ME: I don’t know. What’s the Concrete Wall?
FRESH HANDLER: It’s a concrete wall.
ME: I don’t understand. It’s just a concrete wall?
FRESH HANDLER: Yes.
ME: Why would we go look at a concrete wall?
FRESH HANDLER, giggling, shrugging shoulders while making a face that says, “You got me…I don’t know why we’d go look at a concrete wall” : You can’t see wall.
ME: What do you mean we can’t see the wall? I don’t understand. I thought you said we were going to see a concrete wall?
FRESH HANDLER: Wall is very far. You can’t see it. You look at wall through hole.
ME: What do you mean we look at wall through hole?
FRESH HANDLER, giggling, covering her mouth with her hand while looking to the sky for the right word : Ahh, wall is very far away. You look through, ahh…
ME: Binoculars?
FRESH HANDLER, delighted : Yes! You look through binoculars to see wall. But can’t see wall.
Okay, got it. We look through binoculars to see a concrete wall that we can’t see. I’m so happy I understand her that I momentarily forget I don’t understand her.
ME: So we’re going to look at a concrete wall that you can only see through binoculars, but you still can’t see it?
FRESH HANDLER, motioning with her hand to indicate something close to “Yes…I told you this was a stupid idea” : Sort of.
She looked a little embarrassed.
Sensing that my current line of questioning was likely to end up with Fresh Handler in tears, I changed tack.
“Is it close to where we are now?” We were still at the DMZ.
FRESH HANDLER: Ohhh, nooo. Very far. More than one-hour drive back to Kaesong, and then one-hour drive back to wall. And road is very bumpy. Road not so good.
This was sounding fucking awesome .
“So we drive from here all the way back to Kaesong, then we drive another hour on a bad, bumpy road to a concrete wall that we can only see by looking through binoculars? But we can’t see it. So what do we see?”
FRESH HANDLER: Just wall.
She smile-giggle-shrugged.
I was in, and we were off. We left the DMZ and drove back to Kaesong.
Somewhere near the center of town, Driver pulled over in front of a small building, and an older gentleman who looked to be in his seventies (hard to tell) and was dressed in a military uniform exited the building, ambled over, and joined us in our car.
There was something about him that made him immediately endearing. Maybe it was the kind look in his eyes or the warmth he emanated. Or maybe it was because he looked so sad-cute in his two-sizes-too-big military uniform that I wanted to squeeze him. It was like he’d shrunk but was stuck wearing the same uniform.
He cordially shook my hand, introduced himself as General So-and-So, and immediately started asking me questions, but not the normal rapid-fire questions almost all North Koreans hit you with in an unfriendly interrogation style immediately upon making your acquaintance: Your first time come Korea? You been to South Korea? You speak Korean? You been to Japan? Where you from?
Instead his questions were sweet, like he really wanted to get to know me: Did I like kimchi? Did I like Korean music? Was I traveling alone? Why was I traveling alone? Did I enjoy traveling alone? Was I ever afraid? Did I read the newspaper?
His gentle line of questioning continued unabated as we serpentined slowly through the countryside toward the Concrete Wall.
What was my job? Did I like my job? Was I good at my job? How many people worked for me? What did I study in school? Where did I live? Did I like where I lived? Was it cold where I lived? What was my favorite thing to do?
In between questions he told me about his daughter and little bits of this and that. Older Handler and Fresh Handler took turns translating, with Fresh Handler filling in the blanks.
Then he started congratulating me, telling Fresh Handler to tell me,
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