IN PANMUNJOM, within the demilitarised zone, the battle line dividing Korea is policed by throngs of strong, unsmiling soldiers. Still, someone here has a sense of humour. After all, this tense border zone is called Peace Town.
Serenity was pounded from Panmunjom in the Korean War when the city was levelled. Modern Panmunjom, a compound of barracks enclosed by barbed wire studded with watchtowers, is a testimony to hate and division, a monument to military madness.
Forty years after the Korean War ended on July 27, 1953, what was intended as a temporary truce survives year after year as a scary stalemate. And two of world's largest armies still square off in Panmunjom.
The confrontation might seem archaic after the collapse of communism in Russia and the fall of the Berlin Wall. But a visit to the heavily-guarded demilitarised zone is not merely a waltz through four decades of hysterical paranoia, but also an eerie reminder that the New World Order can still be ignited by the smouldering embers of the nasty old world.
Tourists are irregularly welcomed to the zone, perhaps the most bizarre holiday hell-hole in the world. Instead of hotels or duty-free shops, visitors are treated to films depicting the evils of communism and the glories of democracy. Or vice versa.
Comparing the contrasting points of view can be difficult, since few people have been on both sides of the line. Anyone managing this difficult feat quickly sees how much the Koreans, bitter enemies for four decades, have in common.
