I had heard that you could just walk across this dam and be in North Korea when you got to its far side and even though I'd theoretically already been in North Korea when I took the boat ride the day before, I still hadn't met any North Koreans while on North Korean, er, soil. So I still didn't really know if they were "evil" or not.
Back at my hotel in Shenyang, I'd met several North Koreans and they had all been really nice. But who knows. Maybe GWB was right -- there's always a first time -- and on their own native soil perhaps they do change into evil monsters. Or maybe George had just been staying up past his bedtime and watching too much TV.
When some nice North Koreans at my nice hotel in Shenyang were standing around the lobby with their luggage and getting ready to leave back to Pyongyang a few days ago, I said, "Wait just a minute," ran back to my room, snatched up that box of Girl Scout cookies I that had hoped to present to Kim Yong Il, ran back to the lobby and said, "Here. If I can't get a visa to North Korea myself, would you do me the honor of at least making sure that my Girl Scout cookies get there? Eat them in Pyongyang and think of me?" Then we all laughed and hugged.
Then my driver negotiated with some of the people in charge of admissions to let me walk across the dam and I bought my ticket. OMG! I'm actually going to do this, set an actual foot in North Korea. Then I walked across the freaking dam -- right up to the border checkpoint on the DPRK side of the Yalu River, 100 feet beyond its shore. I had actually set foot on North Korean soil, er, North Korean concrete.
At the border-crossing kiosk, I looked right at the North Korean guard. And he looked right at me. No evil there. Check that one off my list. Then the guard motioned for me to turn around and I walked back across the dam.
And then I got arrested. Again.
It turns out that one is not supposed to take photos of the dam. It's written everywhere apparently -- in Chinese. And now the Red Army was on my case! What's with this? I'm a freaking 65-year-old grandmother. Why does everyone from China to America to Iraq want to pull rank on me? It must be my hair. I never COULD do anything with my hair.
But the Red Army officers called in my passport number, checked with the concierge at the four-star hotel in Dandong and talked with my hotel's staff back in Shenyang. Apparently the gist of what was said was that I wasn't a terrorist or nothing -- just a klutz.
"Delete! Delete!" said one officer, pointing at my camera. Sorry, Kriss. There went the photo of your T-shirt. But I hope you still win the election.
Next, the driver and I went off to the western end of the Great Wall but they wanted 100 yuan to get in so I just took a photo and bought a bag of hot chestnuts instead.
Which reminds me. I still haven't bought any souvenirs for my family -- but thatt's not my fault. I haven't seen any trucker caps or T-shirts anywhere that say "Shenyang" or "Dandong" or even "Beijing Olympics". But, Aleena, I did manage to score you an actual North Korean rock for your collection. (Aleena works at the Ciao Bella gelato store in north Berkeley with my daughter Ashley so I gotta keep on her good side since I hear that the new flavor of the day is pineapple tangerine rum sorbet.)