WITH the death of Kim Jong-Il North Korea took centre stage on the global news agenda at the end of 2011. Yet, for most people, North Korea remains an enigmatic mystery, the infamous Hermit Kingdom. Unless, of course, you happen to be in the Cambodian capital, Phnom Penh, and are looking for something to eat. “There’s this interesting place over on Monivong Boulevard,” said my friendly ex-pat contact the night before. “It’s in quite a nice part of city,” she said. “It’s run by the North Korean government and staffed entirely by North Korean beauties. You’ll love it.”
North Korean dancing girls at Pyongyang (© Andrew Spooner)
I’ve visited South Korea twice, developing a hankering for all that yummy barbequed meat and kimchi. So an outing to ‘Pyongyang,’ Phnom Penh’s only – and at the time of my visit quite possibly the planet’s only – North Korean restaurant was impossible to refuse. But the clincher, the single thing that turned me into a potential sanctions buster, was the promise of some entertainment. “They perform this bizarre song and dance routine,” said my friend. “You have to see it to believe it.”
I pull up outside a non-descript building on the back of a motodop (motorcycle taxi). Curtains are drawn, a dull glow emanating from inside. Is this it? The motodop guy points at the multi-lingual sign stretched along the roof. I decipher, amid the curious twists of Korean and Khmer, the word ‘Pyongyang.’
“Hello sir, table for one?” are the first words I hear emanating from the lips of a North Korean. She is picture perfect, all gracious movements and clad in a pretty, pink dress. Long black hair falls over her slender shoulders and with elegant socialist efficiency she directs me to a table.
From the English language menu I order the bulgolgi set – marinated barbequed beef strimlets with rice, salad and various spicy, garlicy dips and sauces. I also ask when the show will take place. “It starts in forty five minutes at 8pm,” says my cordial host. Great.
I scan the decor – gold tasseled drapes, huge misty portraits of idyllic waterfalls and gaudy chandeliers. I realise I am the only Westerner in the room. Some of the other tables eye me suspiciously as I begin to scribble observations in my notebook.
In the corner I notice a glass cabinet holding various North Korean items. As I begin to peer at the assortment of products, my grinning host appears at my shoulder. She hands me boxes of ginseng powder, tea and root. Then bottles of ginseng wine and vials of bear bile. Finally she cuts to the chase and passes me a carton of ‘neo-viagra.’ “This is very good,” she says teasingly. I read the box – good for ‘manful erection.’ She looks at me coyly and says “But I don’t think you need it, hee hee hee.” I can’t believe it – a North Korean is flirting with me.
The food arrives and it is scrummy. My flirtatious waitress re-appears and I decide to ask a few questions, making notes as I go along. Where are you from? How long are you in Phnom Penh? I can see her getting nervous. I push the envelope a bit more. Do you have any information about the restaurant? How about any information on North Korea? What’s it like there?
Warning lights are going off in her head and she scrurries off to be supplanted by a stern looking colleague. “What is your job sir?” she asks. I tell her I am a writer. “What kind of thing you write?” You know, books, newspapers, magazines. “Newspapers?” She spits the word out and I can see the idea of a running dog journalist in her midst does not appeal.
Another waitress arrives behind me. I am eating the last mouthfuls of rice as she slams down the bill. I ask her if the show is still on. “Show cancelled,” she barks. Why? “Staff sick. So sorry.”
I can’t quite believe I am being run out of town, with no show, so pay the bill in sanctions breaking US dollars and head back to my hotel, vowing to return.
Ten days later and I’m back, the waitresses looking panicked as I walk in. I’ve planned my arrival for 7.55pm with the show just about to begin. I order more bulgolgi, sit back and watch the North Koreans do their stuff. I could pretend I’ve won a small battle against the axis of evil but, in reality, I just wanted to be entertained.
This article was slightly amended on 25th January 2012.
