My autumn visit to Pyongyang had an interesting beginning and end, and for better or worse, the airport was my first and last taste of the country. As our Air Koryo flight arrived, I was surprised to see Asiana and Korean Air jets. This was to be a special visit indeed!

I should probably back up a little. The Democratic People's Republic of Korea is one of the most isolated places on the planet. Its reclusive leader, Kim Jong Il, bars Americans and South Koreans from the country as a matter of policy. However, for the first time in over 15 years, the door had been cracked open a little bit. I was in Pyongyang!

Like many things in North Korea, the Pyongyang airport was built in the 1950s and left to rot. The grounds outside are very clean, but the inside is dirty and the restrooms are grotesque. The light fixtures are in poor repair and the few florescent bulbs that are working are dim and flicker. We didn't have much time to admire the airport on arrival, though, as there was a big hurry to get through security procedures.

In North Korea, you're either in a hurry to do something (usually to get in the right place to wait around) or you're waiting around for something to happen. True to form, we were rushed off the airplane to the immigration booth. After immigration formalities (which were less than entirely friendly--North Koreans are conditioned practically from birth to believe that Americans are the cause of everything from the power going out to last night's dinner disagreeing with them), we were shepherded through a very thorough search of our bags. We were also wanded down with security devices designed to find contraband; mobile phones were zealously seized. Pyongyang airport doesn't have baggage storage, but they do have mobile phone storage; your phone is kept there until you leave the country. After all, they don't want you to be able to communicate in any way that isn't monitored, and you're not allowed to travel freely (your passports are taken from you upon arrival).

After we got done with security procedures, we were told to wait in front of a sliding glass door that didn't open. Passengers aren't allowed to leave the airport unaccompanied by a North Korean chaperone, called a "guide." We stood, jammed like sardines for about 40 minutes, until someone finally came along to get us out of lockup and collect our passports. Sleeping, obviously, wouldn't have been a possibility (although I was tired).

On the way back to Beijing, I got to experience the incredible overstaffing of the Pyongyang airport. There were nearly as many airline staff and security personnel as passengers. Of course, they had to fill the time somehow, and that seemed to be by arguing with each other and yelling at English-speaking passengers in animated Korean.

Of course, amid the mayhem, I was bound to get yelled at somehow. My opportunity came when I picked up my carry-on bag. As in most Third World countries, the importance of an official seems to be measured by the size of his hat. And it was just my luck that the guy who was yelling at me was not only older, but he had an enormous hat. He grabbed my arm and yelled until he turned purple, but all I could say was "Sorry, I'm American, I don't speak Korean." That was obviously not the right answer, because he turned a deeper shade of purple and became apoplectic. A crowd of nervous-looking junior officials gathered around me, and I thought "oh great, I'm going to prison in yet ANOTHER third-world country!" Just then, my North Korean tour guide happened by, so I yelled at him to stop. This touched off another tirade from the guy with the big hat, but fortunately my guide was able to intercede. I was allowed to proceed, and even allowed to keep my backpack.

After checking in my bags and obtaining my boarding pass, it was upstairs. The Pyongyang airport has a duty-free store and a bookstore. The duty-free store offers a few overpriced T-shirts made of a very strange material that cannot be washed without falling apart. They also, to my surprise, sell Coca-Cola imported from China (there is, however, no McDonald's at Pyongyang airport). I was also surprised to see a very large selection of American cigarettes, although I later learned that these (along with US currency) are expertly counterfeited in North Korea. The waiting area was filled with hard plastic chairs, like in a run-down bus station. Actually, the whole place looks like a run-down bus station.

Eventually, it was time to board. You don't actually clear immigration until the plane is ready to leave, so again it was hurry up and wait while we cleared security (again) and the sour-faced immigration officers with big hats checked our passports off against our visas. The boarding area is not furnished--it's a sparse room with a locked door. Once we all cleared immigration, an airline employee came along to unlock the door, and we were driven in a bus out to the airplane.

In conclusion, if you can find a place to sleep at the Pyongyang airport, I doubt you'd be allowed to do so for long. Some guy with a big hat would come along to wake you in short order. That is, if the argument between him and someone else with an even bigger hat didn't wake you up first.