LAKE CHON, North Korea — The Kaema Plateau, the “Roof of Korea,” is a stunning, forest-covered highland nestled in such treacherous mountains that it was never taken by the Allies during the Korean War. It’s now a truck stop.
As we squatted beside our lunches of kimchi and cold rice, in the distance, almost hidden in the thick mist, a woman sold refreshments in a tarp-covered stall. A half-dozen older people put down their loads and sat on a weed-covered embankment nearby; they had arrived on foot, even though the nearest town was hours away. One member of the group, a leathery man, rolled a cigarette and drew the smoke in deeply.
It’s quite possible none of them had ever seen an American before. But our presence went unacknowledged. No glances were exchanged. No words were spoken.
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