Imagine being escorted by armed guards to a luxury spa resort overlooking the world's most heavily militarised border. This is the surreal reality for the first Western visitors to North Korea's newest and most paradoxical tourist attraction: the Ryomyong Spa Resort in Yangdong County.
Built under the direct orders of Kim Jong-un, this sprawling complex of swimming pools, saunas, and treatment rooms sits a mere stone's throw from the Demilitarised Zone (DMZ) – a place more synonymous with tension than tranquillity. The regime bills it as a 'demilitarised zone' for wellness, a claim that feels deeply ironic to any outsider.
A Choreographed Experience in the Shadow of Watchtowers
The journey to the resort is itself a performance. Foreign visitors are shepherded from the capital, Pyongyang, on a state-organised tour, passing countless checkpoints and villages frozen in time. The resort's grandeur is immediately jarring; its modern architecture and pristine facilities clash violently with the impoverished countryside that surrounds it.
Upon arrival, the propaganda begins. Guides enthusiastically detail the 'healing properties' of the local spring water, allegedly capable of curing everything from arthritis to digestive issues. Yet, the experience is meticulously controlled. 'You are free to relax,' they say, but your every move is monitored by minders who never leave your side.
The Eerie Contrast of Luxury and Oppression
The resort boasts impressive amenities: Olympic-sized swimming pools, spotless jacuzzis, and marble-lined saunas. However, the clientele is almost exclusively made up of the Pyongyang elite – party officials, military generals, and their families who can afford the privilege. For the average North Korean, such luxury is an unimaginable fantasy.
The most haunting feature is the view. From the warmth of an outdoor hot tub, guests can gaze across the valley towards the DMZ. It’s a disconcerting experience, soaking in thermal waters while knowing you are in the crosshairs of countless artillery pieces and watchtowers. The resort’s 'demilitarised' slogan feels less like a promise and more like a taunt.
Tourism as a Tool for the Regime
This resort is not merely a business venture; it is a calculated tool for the regime. It serves two primary purposes: to generate much-needed foreign currency from a trickle of brave tourists and to project an image of normalcy and prosperity to the outside world. It is a Potemkin village designed for relaxation, aiming to soften the world's perception of a brutal dictatorship.
For the few Westerners who make the trip, the experience is profoundly unsettling. It offers a fleeting, heavily sanitised glimpse into a society where the concept of freedom is entirely alien. You leave with the distinct feeling that your presence, and your money, are being used to prop up a system you fundamentally oppose. The relaxation is temporary; the unease lasts much longer.
