Last night I had a dream. I won’t clutter up this page with it…
So yeah, I had a dream last night. I’ve always kinda wanted to visit North Korea ’cause it is – let’s face it – one of the last bastions of ridiculous propoganda with a freaky maniacal ruler. There’s apparently tours where you have to had over your passport, never leave the group for fear of (no doubt) evisceration, and the Arirang show with tens of thousands of people involved in a fantasic show for the merest handful of guests. Truly the sign of a society worth aspiring to, no?
At any rate, as we entered NorK we somehow attracted the attention of Kim Jong Il, the Grand Poobah himself, man with a thousand titles, overseer of Pretty Much Everything, and Ruler of Ye Universe (if only those pesky Americans would get out of the way!). He wanted to come mini-golfing with us, and it was up to me to find a place to play. There were eight minigolf establishments on the one block, and for one reason or another Scandia (A minigolf place where I lived in Canada) was decided to be The Place to Play.
Before the game got started however it became apparent that I had forgotten to acquire the special permission stamp necessary to enter and leave NorK without being mauled by the Australia authorities with whom NorK had a tourism arrangement. After a brief discussion I excused myself to run back to South Korea, to the Australian Embassy in Seoul, where I’d try to get the stamp and rush right back for the game.
On the way out I of course asked Mr. Despot if he needed anything from the south, and he replied “Pizza.”
When I aked what kind, he replied, in his heavily accented way, “I don’t care. Lots of pizza, a festival of pizza. A banquet!” It also transpired that he had a shopping list of other things he wanted that he kept on his person at all times, just in case. He gave me his list which included things like ‘flowers’, and sent me off to the border.
The Australian borderguard welcomed me back and asked why I was returning to South Korea so soon. I told them I’d rather not say since it might cause me grief, and they said they pretty much had to hear it now. I explained about the missing stamp and was informed there was apparently a two week wait to get it, but if I explained my situation to the embassy they might be able to rush it through.
“Oh,” I said, “I also have to get pizza for Kim Jong.” This was met with a smile and a nod, like they expected as much, and I was waved through.
There was something about a search for the embassy, a bus ride to Seoul, and a hunt for pizza but then Zumi woke me up, so here we are.