Pyongyang Travel Story: A North Korean Waves at Me from Outside the Window

Only in Pyongyang do visitors get the rare privilege of stepping off the train to immerse themselves in the rhythm of local life.

Venturing beyond the capital, our journey unfolds along desolate highways stretching endlessly into the horizon. The absence of urban landscapes is striking—no bustling streets, no traffic, just an eerie emptiness punctuated by occasional roadside markers.

Along these lonely routes, glimpses of local life emerge like scenes from another era: cyclists bent under impossible loads, women moving gracefully with water basins perfectly balanced on their heads. Their determined strides mirror the timeless struggle of Sisyphus, each step a testament to quiet resilience.

From our speeding bus, we catch momentary connections—North Koreans pausing by the roadside to wave at our passing convoy. These fleeting gestures hang in the air like unspoken blessings, leaving echoes long after we’ve vanished down the empty road.