What the DMZ meant to me (part 2 of 3)

The other two signs beckoned me to translate their message with my rudimentary understanding of Hangul. I suspect that the architects of these beacons of wisdom didn't consider my inability to decipher their script in their design brief. Had they done so they may have added English subtitles.

Rose tapped me on the elbow and pointed to a big black rectangle a little further west.

"That's a huge stack of speakers," she drawled in her conspicuous Midwestern accent. "You know, that technology there? Well it plays North Korean opera for up to 12 hours a day. I never heard North Korean opera."

I don't like opera, and I was pleased that it was quiet. Maybe the Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea was on a power conservation kick. I doubted it.

A few hundred meters away a pair of white herons frolicked in the midday sun. In one of the ironies of this land, the DMZ has become a refuge for over 140 rare and endangered species, including possibly the last remaining population of Siberian tigers on the Korean peninsula.

In this setting it seemed preposterous to consider that those hills just beyond were armed to the teeth with artillery, ready and waiting to blow us all to bits.

Just like President Clinton, when he visited this spot shortly following his first presidential election victory, we were ready targets. For a few brief moments I amused myself wondering whether the next U.S. President would be following in my Australian footsteps in few months' time, and whether he would be wearing a flak jacket.

Again, Rose interrupted my musings. It seemed to me that she was here to bring me back to earth, to remind me of the substance surrounding me.

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