Given the fact that fewer than 200 travellers make it to North Korea every year it is unlikely that the corridors of power in Pyongyang are panicking about the collapse of tourism in the current political climate. Assorted newspapers and governments may be proclaiming virtual war on the ‘Hermit Nation’, but amazingly its fledgling tourist industry is still open for business. Visiting North Korea requires negotiating a moral minefield and is best approached with an open mind; vigilante capitalist crusaders are likely to find their holiday extended past its anticipated deadline. Practically an inversion of Western society, the DPRK shocked and charmed me in equal measures, leaving me nursing the guilty secret that ‘just being there’ constituted an unprecedented travelling experience.

North Korea’s reputation as a ‘Stalinist theme park’ is fully warranted and participating in its totalitarian lifestyle was, for me, its primary draw. I was not disappointed as from the moment of arrival our group’s preordained movements were obsessively scrutinized. Alighting onto platform one at Pyongyang’s central station, time travel became a tangible reality. Bathed in a flickering sepia light emanating from six solitary bulbs and swarming with uniformed military, the whole scene was made unforgettably evocative by the only apparent modern detail, a digital clock reading 19:43. And that’s exactly what it felt like - 1943.

DPRK tours are cosy little affairs reminiscent of the kind of trips your granny might have taken to the Lake District, but with a revolutionary flavour. Pyongyang highlights included laying a bouquet at the ‘Grand Monument’ (a skyscraping bronze statue of Kim Il-sung), riding the subway system (which conveniently doubles up as a nuclear fall out shelter and art gallery) and visiting the ‘Children’s Palace’, where gifted youngsters are hot-housed through the arts and sciences. This choreographed educational showpiece had an element of French farce about it. One door revealed an orchestra of ten-year-old balalaika players striking up, another unveiled a class full of calligraphy students transcribing scrolls professing friendship, yet another provided the cue for a sweetly zealous theatrical performance to commence.

Much has been written about North Koreans being cowed automatons frightened of foreigners. It is true that people are initially reticent about coming forward, unsure of what the protocol is. Yet get out a football, a musical instrument or perform a magic trick (as our English guide did) and suddenly you will have dozens of animated faces around you. I was moved by the many kind gestures heaped upon me, like picnickers offering to share their spread of pickled vegetables. Breaking down such simple barriers legitimizes tourism alone; few could argue North Korea needs less exposure to the outside world. The country is unbelievably pure. An illicit trade in jeans or foreign goods seemed unimaginable as mentions of icons like The Beatles or Pepsi drew blank stares from our hosts. In many respects it is Year Zero in North Korea today, and it has been for fifty years.

It’s a shame hiring a car is impossible as North Korea is a motorist’s dream, possessing four lane highways devoid of traffic. Most itineraries include an overnight stay in the Myohyangsan Mountains, DPRK’s premier beauty spot. Here you can hike in the hills before relaxing the night away in a revolving restaurant. Without external illumination the only way we could tell we were moving at all was by the bar, which came round hourly! Verging on a site of pilgrimage the nearby ‘Friendship Exhibition’ was no less surreal boasting over 60,000 international gifts stuffed into endless rooms and a revered immaculate waxwork of The Great Leader himself. This faultless effigy, complete with gentle breeze and piped birdsong warbling in the distance, reduced the visitors behind us to heartfelt tears.

Hardly a tourist attraction, the Demilitarised Zone made for a sobering excursion. Guided by some affable top brass we were escorted to the four-mile wide no-man’s-land bisecting the nation. Here North meets South, East meets West and Communism meets Capitalism. Cranked up to freezer pitch, the cold war is played out in eternal stalemate. American soldiers in fatigues surveyed us at close quarters, their North Korean counterparts no more than a couple of paces away. Tension was palpable as we entered the negotiating hut used for talks concerning reunification. Taking the adjudicator’s seat I tried to comprehend the extraordinary sensation that my body literally straddled the world’s most volatile geographical and ideological divide. Around me an invisible metropolis of missiles and chemical weapons zeroed in on my imagination.

While such overt militarism overshadows the DPRK, it is juxtaposed by the endearing innocence of its people. Driving through the city of Kaesong, our bus encountered exercises commencing in the vast Central Square. Edging our way through platoon upon platoon of goose-stepping soldiers a chilling resonance troubled my mind. As was our custom when encountering strangers, we all started to wave out of the bus window. And then it happened. Without breaking step the platoons started waving back at us, right back as far as the distant generals. Soon everybody was laughing and a rush of euphoria swept over me. Behind the confrontational façade were a people sharing values and desires common to all humanity. In experiencing this bond I was not planning for a retirement home in Pyongyang, but challenging the concept that those smiling faces really represented ‘the enemy’.