The path is made by walking.

There are no easy ways to get to Pyongyang, I went via Helsinki and Beijing.  At the lounge in the airport in Beijing at around 6am, there's a man in a tuxedo, tie undone, shirt unbuttoned a bit, but still unmistakably in a tuxedo.  He's pacing a lot, gesticulating wildly and speaking rapid fire into his mobile in Cantonese.  I wonder what circumstances lead to finding yourself in a business class lounge in Beijing at 6 am in a tuxedo. My back story is so boring.

Some places seem shut so tight no light gets in or out. There's no path in, you have to slide in, sometimes sideways, sometimes in disguise, and sometimes, your job sends you. A big part of my work is making the path, by walking, by talking, by having tea and having arguments. 

The breakfast room could be straight out of a Wes Anderson movie. All the servers are the same height, wearing the same uniform, same makeup. No nametags. Each guest sits alone at their own table. No mixing is permitted. Traditional music is being played on the sound system. I ask one of the servers what the music is, as I've a nagging feeling I've heard it before. "Music written by Kim Jong Un." she replies. I return to my table and realize it's actually Yellow by Coldplay being plonked out on traditional instruments.
 

My handlers ask if I want to go on a sightseeing tour. I'm not sure if I have a choice. "You're very lucky, it's high season so everything is open." they tell me. Lucky indeed to have survived the crowds.
 

I admit to myself, I'm having a good time. Having spent a lot of time in Russia, I've developed a love for that spirited, somewhat brutalist, giant sculpture style. When driving along the "highway" I see the fabled giant sculptures of Kim Il Sun and Kim Jong Il. "Oh, oh! Can we go see that?" I ask, giddy like a small child. This thrills my handlers and we head off in that direction. It is tradition when getting married to stop and lay flowers before the statues. I'm now in dozens of couples wedding photos I'm sure.

My handlers and I start having much more free-ish conversation. We talk about Swedish films, Russian embalming techniques, and how much I loved the Moscow Metro. "Oh! Do you want to see? We will show you!"

And that's how I ended up riding the Pyongyang metro, not on a tour, just with my two "friends".

 I look back and see my tracks have already filled with dust.  But I keep walking.