The two Koreas

Somewhere on the outskirts of the city the fence came into view. It stands just under a story tall and is topped with curling spheres of barbing wire. We cruised passed a river on the fence’s edge and the guide told us the wall is to keep out swimming refugees and spies.

The fence runs two hundred and fifty kilometers, cuts the peninsula in half. The line was drawn four kilometers wide back in 1953 after the coldest war. The Americans and Chinese stepped in to talk to the northern totalitarians. All at the table except for the southern capitalists, they drew out the lines.

The bus wound round the demilitarized town, past the signs warning of landmines and other war debris. We had a sit down Korean lunch, explored the ginseng fields. Went to a lookout towards the propaganda village.

Walked down the tunnel dug to send northern soldiers in, water dripping on our brows. Peered through a hole and stuck our fingers into the divide. Thought about the one hundred seventy metres to another life.

Hiked back up the dim lit passage and back on the bus, wheels turned to Seoul.