Beijing
We were halfway across the narrow pontoon bridge on the Tumen river which separates China from North Korea in a remote area not far from Vladivostok when I reflected that what we were doing was completely mad. By then, however, it was too late to turn back. Approaching rapidly was the red-and-blue flag with its central star, and, beyond it, a grimy concrete blockhouse containing the border police of the hermit state.
The story had begun three weeks earlier when I telephoned our Chinese producer, Lu, in Beijing and asked him to inquire about entry to North Korea. His answer was that journalists are currently barred but that he had found a small travel agency which might be able to obtain invitations for a party of businessmen. Two weeks later an excited Lu rang me. ‘The invitations have come through,’ he said, ‘but we must use them within a week.’
Bogus CVs claiming that we were executives of a travel company were hastily concocted.
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