Image from Syndetics
South Korea : The Enigmatic Peninsula.
Material type:
TextPublisher: Toronto : Dundurn, 2016Copyright date: ©2016Description: 1 online resource (231 pages)Content type: - text
- computer
- online resource
- 9781459731479
- 915.195
- DS902.4.D33 2016
Contents:
Summary: Mark Dake, a Canadian ESL teacher, set out on a four-month road trip to discover everything that South Korea had to offer. From art galleries and temples to mountaintops and national parks, South Korea: The Enigmatic Peninsula shares the heart and soul of Koreans and their beautiful country.
Cover -- Dedication -- Table of Contents -- Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2 -- Chapter 3 -- Chapter 4 -- Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7 -- Chapter 8 -- Chapter 9 -- Chapter 10 -- Chapter 11 -- Chapter 12 -- Chapter 13 -- Chapter 14 -- Chapter 15 -- Chapter 16 -- Chapter 17 -- Chapter 18 -- Chapter 19 -- Chapter 20 -- Chapter 21 -- Chapter 22 -- Chapter 23 -- Chapter 24 -- Acknowledgements -- Bibliography -- About the Author -- Copyright.
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Colombo | Available | CBERA000400 | ||||
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Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:
A Bill-Brysonesque romp through this often-overlooked travellers' gem of East Asia.
For seventeen years, journalist, teacher, and coach Mark Dake has called South Korea home. Now, with his longtime Korean friend Heju, he sets out on a four-month, ten-thousand-kilometre road trip, determined to uncover the real country. From the electric street life of Seoul to the tense northern border, where deadly skirmishes still erupt, the pair's shoestring, wing-and-a-prayer trek takes them well off the beaten trail and across the complicated nation. Along the way are prisons, dinosaurs, anthropology, history, marine life, art, and abundant nature. There are Buddhist temples, fairgrounds, palaces, national parks, bridges, historical sites, forts, churches, and cemeteries.
Whether standing amidst ancient stone tombs and religious architecture unrivalled in Asia, or at military briefings under the steely eyes of North Korean sentries, Mark and Heju are tireless explorers in search of the culture, geography, and beauty of this enigmatic peninsula.
Cover -- Dedication -- Table of Contents -- Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2 -- Chapter 3 -- Chapter 4 -- Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7 -- Chapter 8 -- Chapter 9 -- Chapter 10 -- Chapter 11 -- Chapter 12 -- Chapter 13 -- Chapter 14 -- Chapter 15 -- Chapter 16 -- Chapter 17 -- Chapter 18 -- Chapter 19 -- Chapter 20 -- Chapter 21 -- Chapter 22 -- Chapter 23 -- Chapter 24 -- Acknowledgements -- Bibliography -- About the Author -- Copyright.
Mark Dake, a Canadian ESL teacher, set out on a four-month road trip to discover everything that South Korea had to offer. From art galleries and temples to mountaintops and national parks, South Korea: The Enigmatic Peninsula shares the heart and soul of Koreans and their beautiful country.
Description based on publisher supplied metadata and other sources.
Electronic reproduction. Ann Arbor, Michigan : ProQuest Ebook Central, 2018. Available via World Wide Web. Access may be limited to ProQuest Ebook Central affiliated libraries.
Excerpt provided by Syndetics
Panmunjom
A young U.S. soldier stepped onto our tour bus and walked slowly up the aisle, handing out identification tags to me and each of the forty or so other Westerners aboard. When he came abreast, I noticed his name tag: Sergeant Naumenkof. He was wholesome-faced and sleepy-looking, and spoke with a slow American Midwestern drawl. I envisioned him working on a farm in Kansas rather than aiming a rifle at North Korea.“These [ID tags] must be prominently displayed on your jackets at all times,” he announced. “There will be no flash photography. Turn off your cellphones.”
We were parked in front of Camp Bonifas, just two and a half kilometres south of Panmunjom and the Joint Security Area where North and South Korean armed soldiers stand facing each other, a mere fourteen metres apart. The Washington Post described Camp Bonifas as a “small collection of buildings surrounded by triple coils of razor wire just 440 yards south of the DMZ [de-militarized zone],” which, minus minefields and soldiers, “resembled a big Boy Scout camp.”
The last sentence summed it up. The camp’s entrance was utilitarian, like one of those super economical summer camps your parents forced you and your sister to attend for a week when you were ten years old. But looks can be deceiving. Camp Bonifas is the base for the United Nations Command Security Battalion, comprised of a crack contingent of six hundred men, 90 percent of whom are Republic of Korea (ROK) soldiers. The rest are American. The battalion provides protection in Panmunjom for visiting military officers, government officials, and other guests. They are in a constant state of readiness; one never knows when one of the belligerent and unpredictable North Korean guards might act up.
Most critically, these UNC soldiers were to be my buddies for the day, responsible for protecting my invaluable life.
Four hours earlier, our bus had departed Yongsan Garrison in Seoul, headquarters for the United States Forces Korea (USFK), which is responsible for organizing, training, and supplying approximately twenty-eight thousand American troops on the Korean Peninsula. The late-April morning was cool and miserable, with a low fog clinging to the ground and a lashing rain falling. We moved out of the city, past large clusters of white high-rise apartments, and into an area of low, wooded hills and flat countryside, the farms sectioned into small, rectangular plots.
Our route followed the general path of the Han River, which flowed northwest out of Seoul, and was joined 45 kilometres downriver by the Imjin, which flows southwest from North Korea. The two combine and empty into the Yellow Sea. In the pelting rain, the Imjin was swollen, yellow, and wide. Just a few kilometers west, on the other shore, was North Korea. No vessels are permitted to ply the river here due to security concerns. Our bus merged onto Highway Number 1, also known as “Freedom Highway,” built in hopes that, one day, it would extend all the way to Pyongyang. For a stretch, the smooth, wide, empty route followed the south shore of the Imjin.
We crossed over the Freedom Bridge, which spans the river at the village of Munsan, ten miles south of Panmunjom. Munsan was the last train station on the regular Gyeongui Line, which runs north from Seoul. Another train line, referred to as the “DMZ Line,” is designated for sightseeing, available to those showing the proper ID or a passport. The last stop for this train is the Mount Dora Observatory, one mile from the border.
We entered the high-security Civilian Control Zone (CCZ), which runs immediately south of and the entire length of the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ), a four-kilometre-wide no-man’s land buffer zone that has separated the two Koreas for more than sixty years. The DMZ begins on the west coast about sixteen kilometres south of the 38th parallel, and culminates 241 kilometres away on the east coast of the peninsula, about seventy kilometres north of the 38th. It is the most heavily militarized border in the world. Within the CCZ are security checkpoints, tanks, attack helicopters, rocket launchers, and many soldiers.
On the road heading to Panmunjom north of the Imjin River, there was barely any sign of humanity. Not a shop, house, apartment building, or gas station, just the odd cluster of small farms. Because of the proximity to North Korea, habitation here is limited to farmers and military installations, and along the two main north–south corridors are stationed many thousands of ROK soldiers and about fifteen thousand U.S. Second Infantry Division soldiers, scattered amongst more than seventeen camps.
Near Panmunjom, we pulled into a large parking lot populated with scores of tour buses, near the entrance to Tunnel No. 3, the third of four tunnels covertly dug by the North under the DMZ and subsequently discovered by the South. Tunnel No. 3 is a popular tourist destination. We hopped off the bus and made our way to the entrance, where, en masse, we descended into the crowded tunnel to join several other tour groups, which included Chinese and Japanese visitors, their languages clearly audible in the echoey underground chamber. We donned yellow hard hats, so we wouldn’t crack our skulls on the low granite overhead. The initial section of tunnel was built by the South in 2003 to connect to the original North tunnel much farther belowground.
We descended to about two hundred feet below the surface. The North tunnel was narrow, just two metres tall and wide, although that would have been enough space to allow tens of thousands of North Korean troops to sneak into the South if there was war. Our tour leader said it took the North five years to build the tunnel. The entrance was in the north half of the DMZ. The South military realized there was a tunnel there when they discovered a series of vertical shafts, which had been bored by the North to pump out water.
When everyone was back on the bus, we headed to Panmunjom, which had been a small farming village for centuries until it was chosen in 1951 as the site where the parties would meet to try to iron out an end to the Korean War. The Korean Armistice Agreement that put an end to the fighting was signed in Panmunjom in 1953. The village was then swallowed up by the DMZ, and all that remains of it today is the building in which the agreement was signed, now home to the so-called North Korean Peace Museum.
“This is the most dangerous area in the world … are you ready?” joked our Korean tour guide over the loudspeaker.
Well, I could think of more hazardous locales: Iraq, Syria, and Somalia came to mind. But we would need to be circumspect. After all, there have been more than two thousand incidents along the DMZ since the war ended in 1953. Granted, many of these incidents were minor — North guards spitting on the shoes of American and ROK guards, name-calling, guns going off. But there have been much more deadly encounters, as well. In 1975, for example, American Major Darryl Henderson was brutally assaulted by North Korean guards in the Joint Security Area (JSA). In August 1977, an American military CH-47 Chinook helicopter accidently crossed into the air space over the DMZ and was shot down. Three aboard died. And in 2007, a group of South Koreans on a government-sanctioned tourist excursions to the Kŭmgang Mountain Resort, located in an area very close to the border along the east coast, when tour member Park Wang-ja decided to take a solo early-morning stroll and mistakenly wandered into an off-limits area. A North Korean soldier in a guard tower reportedly ordered her to halt, but the poor woman likely panicked and ran. One of the guards shot her dead.
Border clashes have claimed 1,375 lives since 1953; more than ninety Americans, five hundred South Koreans, and at least nine hundred North Koreans. In the Joint Security Area — where our group would soon find itself — there was no buffer zone and no four thousand metres of neutrality separating the bitter enemies. There would be wily North guards — sporting their Soviet-style wide-brimmed hats — standing so close to us that we would be able to see the vitriol in their icy glares. These guards were said to be as angry as cut snakes and as mad as hatters. In other words, you definitely did not want to mess with these guys.
About 150,000 foreigners take government-sanctioned tours into the JSA each year (native South Koreans take separate tours). Though I had yet to read about anyone on these tarriances being kidnapped and hauled into the North, I thought, There’s always a first time. On December 14, 1969, a North agent abducted fifty passengers aboard Korean Air flight YS-11 flying from the east coast city of Gangneung to Seoul, and ordered the pilots to fly the plane to Pyongyang. Two months later, thirty-nine passengers were returned through Panmunjom. But the plane and ten of the other eleven passengers who had been onboard, to this day have not been returned. If a spy was capable of kidnapping a plane, one was certainly able to nab little ole me in the JSA. I’d be whisked away to some North Korean mountain valley, where I’d spend the remainder of my sad existence hoeing desiccated fields of shrivelled potatoes with a small trowel. I did not like the prospect of this, not at all.
Both countries, North and South, have a staggering amount of firepower at their disposal. According to the English-language JoongAng Daily, in 2009 the North had 1.19 million soldiers — a good percentage concentrated along the border — and 3,900 tanks, 420 battleships, 840 fighter jets, and 8,500 pieces of field artillery. South Korea possessed less of everything: 655,000 troops, 2,300 tanks, 120 battleships, 490 fighter jets, and 5,200 artillery weapons. Now, I don’t mean to be an alarmist, but what the hell? North Korea has way more military hardware, and since 1994 it has added nine more missile bases, upping the total to at least eighteen, most of them entrenched in mountainous areas. One is in Gangwon Province, just forty-eight kilometres north of the border. The North also has about 1,200 Rodong and Scud missiles aimed south — possibly equipped with chemical, biological, or even nuclear weapons — according to an international military journal. I was obviously on the wrong side of the border!
But the imbalance is not as bad as it seems, because the South enjoys a huge military advantage, due to its high-tech naval and air power and artillery, as well as that of the Americans. Many of the North’s weapons are aged and “frayed.” And while they have more planes and tanks than the South, it takes big money to keep them fueled up — money they don’t have. My point remains, though, that the generals in Pyongyang have many powerful war toys at their disposal if they wished to harm us.
Naumenkof walked up the aisle of the bus handing each of us a sheet of paper. “This is a visitor’s declaration page that you all have to sign,” he informed us. I glanced over it. One paragraph read: “The visit to the Joint Security Area at Panmunjom will entail entry into a hostile area, and possibility of injury or death as a direct result of enemy action.”
By signing the form, I was releasing the South Korean government of any liability if a North soldier decided to use me as a punching bag or for target practice. But if we wanted to be allowed to stroll through the JSA, we had no choice but to sign.
Once we had all signed, Naumenkof escorted us off the bus and into a small auditorium, Ballinger Hall, named in honour of Robert M. Ballinger, a U.S. Navy Commander who died on November 20, 1974, along with an ROK soldier when there was an explosion in Tunnel No. 1, located just east of the JSA, and the first North tunnel discovered. We took our seats and Naumenkof took the stage. He asked us to read aloud the section of rules on our paper. I guess discussing them was necessary — it would only take one nutcase among us to do something really foolish, provoking what could be an embarrassing international incident.
“If something happens to you, it’s not our fault,” Naumenkof deadpanned.
We all laughed.
One fellow in our group called out that no photos were allowed. Another announced there was no fraternization with North guards.
“No fraternization,” echoed Naumenkof.
As if anyone would be daft enough to approach a North soldier, drape an arm around him, and attempt to take a selfie. You would likely wind up with a few broken bones in addition to a busted phone.
“No gestures, no pointing,” offered another tour member.
“No pointing,” reiterated Naumenkof.
“Stay in your group,” someone called.
“Stay in your group.”
“Follow instructions.”
“Absolutely,” agreed Naumenkof.
“Don’t defect to North Korea!” I blurted out.
The audience snickered. The young sergeant stared at me inhospitably. For a moment I was convinced he wanted to deliver a taekwondo kick my way. Thank goodness witnesses were on hand to deter such unwarranted action. “Do not defect to North Korea,” he repeated dryly, after a long pause. “That’s the number one rule around here. The biggest thing is, this area we’re going to go up to, it’s a dangerous area. As recently as three weeks ago we had incidents up there. So it’s important you follow instructions. Your safety does depend on it. And if you don’t, then you just signed a waiver saying we’re not responsible for anything that happens to you. But most importantly, do not point, do not wave, and do not gesture to the North Koreans. These are violations of the Armistice Agreement.”
He then surrendered the stage to a young American UNC soldier, who recited a speech that detailed for us the history of the DMZ. At a normal pace, the spiel would have taken about thirty minutes, but this soldier whipped through it rapid-fire, without a single pause, it seemed, in just nine-minutes and forty-seven-seconds (I timed him).
“Your-tour-group-will-be-escorted-into-Panmunjom-by-soldiers-of-the-UN-Security-Force-who-are-above-the-average-aptitude-of-normal-soldiers,” he concluded.
What a relief knowing we would be accompanied by Ivy-Leaguers.
In front of Ballinger Hall we transferred to a military bus, which would convey us the rest of the way to the JSA. En route, we passed a hamlet called Daeseong-dong, population about 250, and through a retinue of trees I could make out its cluster of fields and a group of tightly grouped farmhouses. The village is actually located within the DMZ, the only settlement permitted in the zone in the South. The village is only a few hundred meters from the DMZ’s mid-point. The reason for its existence seems to be for propaganda; it’s as if the South government thumbs its nose at the enemy, and refuses to be cowed. Only village descendents are permitted to reside in Daeseong-dong, and they receive government perks for doing so: they pay no taxes, and the men are exempt from mandatory two-year military conscription. Farm sizes average twenty-two acres, far greater than the average two to three acres in the rest of the country. The downside is that there is twenty-four-hour military protection, and the village shuts down at nightfall, the residents required to remain in their homes with all their windows and doors locked until morning.
North Korea used to blare out propaganda slogans over speakers that were clearly audible in Daeseong-dong. “This is paradise. Come over so you can have a good meal of rice,” was a common adage, though it conveniently failed to include the misnomer, “savour the few grains while labouring seventeen hours a day at Hotel Gulag Concentration Camp.”
Kidnappings have occurred, here. The mother and brother of a farmer named Kim Kyong-min were collecting acorns in the fields when they were grabbed by a North platoon in early 2000. They were held for four days before being released.
The rain had abated. At the entrance to the Joint Security Area, the bus stopped briefly at UNC Checkpoint 2, and then it was in to the JSA, my first opportunity after more than thirteen years living in the South, to stand on the doorstep of North Korea. Our group was accompanied by two strong and intense-looking Korean UNC guards — taller and larger than the average ROK soldier — who possessed basic fluency in English and first-degree black belts in martial arts.
We stood on the edge of what seemed to be a very desolate and peaceful square, utilitarian grey concrete about eight hundred metres in diameter. Of course, in the DMZ, one isn’t privy to the other 240 kilometres of border that run along the entire length, a ten-foot-tall chain link barrier with a roll of coiled barbed-wire above, watchtowers every few hundred metres, and flood lights shining into this no-man’s-land, so that if any North commandos attempted a sortie, they would be shot.
In the centre of the square, along the demarcation line that divides the two countries, is a long row of seven low barrack-style buildings referred to as Conference Row. Several of the units belong to the North, and several to UNC. Across in the North, directly behind Conference Row, we could see the white walls of the formal three-storey concrete “Panmungak.” Behind us in the South was the large “Freedom House.” There are a total of twenty-four buildings located within the JSA.
What I didn’t know until later was that this sense of tranquility was deceiving. Hidden in some of the surrounding units on both sides of the border were contingents of heavily armed soldiers, poised to rush into action if needed. That is what happened on November 23, 1984, when a group of Russian students who were attending Kim Il-sung University in Pyongyang, North Korea, were bused to the JSA for a tour. One student, Andrei Lankov — now a professor at Kookmin University in Seoul — recalled that his classmate, Vasily Matauzik, twenty-two, was standing by Conference Row snapping photos.
Matauzik suddenly sprinted across the demarcation line into the South, said Lankov. (This was the Cold War era, and communist-bloc citizens attempting to defect to other countries was not unusual). Immediately, a KPA guard raced after Matauzik. Then all hell broke loose, Lankov explained one day in his Russian-accented English. He estimated that a dozen or more KPA guards equipped with Kalashnikov automatic rifles raced out of the Panmungak. Major Wayne A. Kirkbride, in his book DMZ: A Story of the Panmunjom Axe Murder, wrote that “seventeen North Korean guards crossed, shooting automatic rifles in pursuit of this defector.” Other sources say as many as thirty KPA guards were involved. In response, the UNC soldiers bolted out from their unit carrying heavy weapons to confront the North soldiers. It’s interesting to note that the July 27, 1953 Armistice Agreement stipulated that soldiers in the DMZ should use minimum force and be armed only with non-automatic weapons. Both sides ignore that rule.
“For twenty minutes bullets were flying everywhere,” recounted Lankov, who had dashed into Panmunjom to escape the hail of bullets.
The gun battle resulted in one ROK and three KPA soldiers dead and five others injured. Matauzik made it safely across the line, though Lankov referred to him as a “spoiled brat” who was responsible for four deaths. Excerpted from South Korea: The Enigmatic Peninsula by Mark A. Dake All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
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