Cirrus@Austlit

'I'm on a bus headed for the DMZ. demilitarised zone. The Cold-War buffer between North and South Korea. It's four kilometres wide and has two things in abundance: military hardware and unmolested wildlife. Or somewhat unmolested wildlife. I once met a writer named Kim Young-ha who grew up just south of the DMZ. He'd be drifting off to sleep and in the stillness, every now and then, he'd hear this whumpf. A deer hitting a landmine. Actually, three things flourish in the DMZ. Military hardware, wildlife, and tourists. I'm here for work, minding a bunch of touring writers, and it's our day off. On an idle whim we go to a low-ceilinged cubicle in a plush Seoul hotel where we flash our passports and for $75 each are driven to the no-man's land between two warring nations. Wearing visitor's badges. What kind of batshit scheme is this? There are two million soldiers along the border with just a rusty ceasefire keeping them apart. South Korea's proud and stubborn. North Korea is demonstrably unstable, like my best friend in high school who collected knives and lived with his racist foster grandmother and burgled houses on his lunch break. The two Koreas have firefights on a semi-regular basis. Tourist heaven. Bus 'em in.'  (Publication abstract)