Eyes and Obedience in Pan’s Labyrinth

Guillermo del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth is an exploration into the life of a young girl, Ofelia. Ripped from her home and forced into the world of her stepfather, Captain Vidal and the Spanish Civil War, she hides herself away in her books and fairytales. When she is told by a Faun that she is the Princess of the Underworld, she immediately leaps at the chance to prove that she’s not mortal in order to distract herself from the patriarchal and violent world around her. Every character in the film must decide what part they play in her story, whether they will obey their superiors or create their own path, whether they will see beyond their instructions or blindly follow orders. Symbolism of eyes and sight appear everywhere, guiding the audience through the film and raising questions about what it really means to see. In Pan’s Labyrinth, only those who are able to open their eyes and not blind themselves with rage and make decisions beyond what they are expressly instructed to do are able to succeed. 

The film begins with a fantastical story about a Princess who lives in the Underworld realm who dreams of joining the human world. She escapes her captors, but as soon as she breaks out, the brightness of the sun blinds her. This is the first reference to both sight and obedience, as the Princess loses her sight as soon as she goes against her orders, and in doing so she loses her memory, suffers, and quickly dies. By introducing the viewer to the main story with a fairytale, this scene immediately sets the fantastical tone for the rest of the film, as well as making the audience aware of the themes of eyes and the cost of disobedience. 

The movie then abandons the fairytale format and formally begins the story of Ofelia, the protagonist. While on the ride to Captain Vidal’s house, Ofelia's mother Carmen tells her daughter to stop looking at her fairytale books. Soon after, Carmen stops the car due to pregnancy nausea, and although Ofelia is instructed not to wander, she takes the opportunity to explore the nearby area. She comes across a statue, decrepit and somewhat hidden within the greenery surrounding it. Ofelia finds a stone eye on the ground and fits it into the statue, as if it was a puzzle piece. This action begins her fantastical journey, as it brings forth an insect that appears from the statue, an insect which later morphs into a fairy and guides her to the faun. This unexpected and life-changing incident would never have occurred if Ofelia followed directions and stayed by the car. She disobeys, which may end badly as it did to the Princess in the prologue, but for now it is merely driving her story forward. Ofelia’s returning of the eye references the myth of Horus’ eye being restored by Thoth in ancient Egypt. The right eye is associated with factual information and logic, normally seen as the male side of the brain, while the left eye of Horus distinguishes the spiritual and mystical, noted as the female side of the brain. By returning the left eye (left to the audience and Ofelia), Ofelia is inserting her female and mystical presence into the male dominated world that she is currently living in, achieving the important balance that is needed to begin her journey and eventual transformation. 

When the car finally arrives, both the audience and Ofelia are formally introduced to Captain Vidal. With a fixation on timeliness, anger about Ofelia shaking with the wrong hand, and specific shaving rituals, he is a man who is obsessed with rules. Late one night, his soldiers bring him two men who they suspect of spying, while they claimed to be mere rabbit hunters. Vidal pierces the eyes of the younger man with a bottle, blinding and then killing him. This is especially ironic as rabbits were found in the man’s bag after it was searched, making it so that Vidal was literally blind to the rabbits and to the truth, and because of his stubbornness, murdered an innocent as well. This scene explains who Captain Vidal is to the audience: he is a man who acts before he sees, a man who takes away the sight of others in fear of losing his power or respect, a man who values obedience over truth or what is “good.” 

Despite Captain Vidal trying to enforce his ideals and rules on Ofelia, she begins her journey for the faun to prove her place as royalty. In one of her tasks, she must visit the Underworld and take a knife from a room filled with red food and a gruesome creature with eyes on his hands. She was given express instructions not to eat anything, but she ate a few grapes anyway, awakening the “Pale Man.” The Pale Man is most likely designed after the Japanese legend of the Tenome. Tenome was a blind man who was murdered by a mugger and became an angry ghost--so furious that he lost his eyes, but new ones grew back on his hands. He sought revenge on his murderer, killing everyone that he could lay his hands on, without even seeing who it is. Tenome’s intense anger rendered him forever figuratively blind (Scary for kids). The Pale Man is the fantastical reflection of Captain Vidal, a man who will kill whoever gets in his way in his quest for ultimate power and triumph, with an indifference towards children and the innocent. This is another example of how only those who are open to seeing the world around them, those who are not trapped in their own obedience and rules, will be successful. Ofelia breaks the rules, but it is her ability to create her own path and escape from the Underworld that allows her to triumph over the Pale Man in this situation, while he stumbled through the corridors, literally following her blindly.

The imagery of Ofelia running away from the Pale Man is repeated later in the film, the the doctor Ferriero disobeys Captain Vidal’s orders and walks away from him. Ferriero euthanizes a rebel soldier that Vidal has captured, helping the captain realize where his allegiance really lies. Vidal turns to the doctor and says, “I don’t understand, why didn’t you obey me?” Ferriero responds saying, “To obey without thinking, just like that, that’s something only people like you can do.” With that, the doctor walks away, and Vidal shoots him in the back as he walks. Before he collapses, Ferriero takes off his glasses. Ferriero’s glasses can be seen as a metaphor for his character, as they hide his eyes, and therefore his true self, as he pretends to be a loyal friend to Captain Vidal while secretly working for the rebels. As well, his glasses act as a physical barrier between Vidal and himself as well as a protector of his eyes, which Hamilton believed to be “the windows to the soul.” When Ferriero is shot, he remains calm and collected, accepting his fate and not giving into the blinding anger that Vidal and the Pale Man possess. The act of taking off his glasses symbolizes that he no longer needs to maintain the illusion of obedience, and finally everything is honest and his eyes are clear. The Captain is similarly shown wearing glasses at point, although his glasses are sunglasses, making it so they obscure rather than illuminate. His vision, just like his behavior, is disruptive and effectively self-destructive. 

When the film is nearing its end and everyone is exposing their true selves, Ofelia is given the most difficult task of all: taking blood from an innocent, her baby brother. She steals him from Captain Vidal and takes him into the labyrinth with the knife from the Pale Man’s room in the Underworld. Ofelia drugs Vidal, so as he chases her, he literally cannot see. His vision is blurred and he cannot cannot make his way through the maze; his violent behavior and obsession with rules and obedience has blinded him. This time, Ofelia is directly involved in the removal of sight. As the labyrinth twists and turns letting her through, she makes it into the center, where the Faun is waiting for her. Vidal follows her there, but he cannot see the Faun. Again it is clear that Ofelia is the only one with perfect sight, which gives her the ability to make the “right” choices. Instead of taking the blood of her brother, she sacrifices herself. Her blood spills into the Underworld portal due to the bullet that the Captains shoots her with, and she is finally made the Princess that she dreamt of being. She is rewarded for her innocent disobedience by clarity.

All the characters who disobey eventually triumph, even in their death. Ofelia becomes Princess of the Underworld, Mercedes (Vidal’s housekeeper) has the Captain killed, and the doctor Ferreiro helps the rebels and grants a peaceful death to his friend. Vidal, the man who believed in a strict following of orders, is the only man who is truly defeated. With his wife dead, child stolen by the rebels, soldiers shot, home-base bombed, and life taken, he has nothing. Ofelia, on the other hand, is the prime example of the opposite. She follows through and completes all the tasks that the Faun gives her, but what makes her different is her ability to do them in her own way. The balance that she creates in the beginning through the eyes of the statue, the harmony of logic and dreams, realism and fantasy, masculinity and femininity, stays with her through the movie, allowing her to be the only character that has the ability of true sight. She perceives everyone for who they truly are, forging her own path, and is literally the only character who sees both the violent world of war-ridden Spain and the mystical world of the Faun and the fairies. Ofelia lives up to the words inscribed above the labyrinth, “in your hands, lies your destiny,” as she refuses to follow the orders of anyone--her mother, Mercedes, Vidal, or the Faun. She creates her own destiny, something that is only possible with clear eyes, something that the anger of the other characters doesn’t make possible for themselves. 

Ophelia’s eyes allow her to see things both visible and invisible, real and unreal, which starkly contrasts with the fascist villain, Captain Vidal, one who punctures the eyes of others and believes not in what cannot be physically seen. Pan’s Labyrinth is a film of moral struggles, where each character is faced with the question of whether or not to follow orders directly, of whether or not to give into their anger and rage, of whether they can find a healthy balance of fantasy and reality. The issue that the film finds with sight is, how can one know if something is real if only they see it? Is Ofelia’s fantastical journey to becoming a Princess just in her imagination? Does it matter? Still, Guillermo del Toro demonstrates how dangerous it is to blindly follow directions, and how important it is to always be watchful, as the answers can be found by those who have the eyes to see. As the last line of the movie states, everything is visible “to those that know where to look.” (Pan’s Labyrinth, 1:52:11)

The Fight Is Not Over

Warning: this piece refers and talks about sexual harassment with some detail. Further, I refer to men nearly consistently as the aggressor in this paper and women as the victim, but would like note that this is not always the case, as men can just as easily be and often are the target of sexual assault and harassment (statistics show that 79% of victims are women, 21% are men). As well, most of my statistics solely regard the United States, due to the fact that there has been a great amount of data collected there on this topic.

My mother raised me traveling from the second I was born, running off to Egypt, Greece, Turkey, France, England, Mexico with just a small child and a backpack. I was always so happy when traveling with my mom, constantly receiving free food with strangers acting out of generosity and kindness; but never truly noticed the constant harassment that my mother faced as a white, unmarried American women. She was expected to provide something in exchange for all the hospitality (unwanted attention) from strange men in markets and on the streets and in the places where we stayed, leading us to have to hop from hotel to hotel, escaping the men who would touch her inappropriately during Turkish baths, appear at our door in the middle of the night, talk to her as if she was an item to be purchased. “You are a woman and therefore they believe they have access,” she once explained to me, teaching me that as a woman I will not receive the same opportunities or treatment or safety as men in an identical situation.

When I moved to Jordan after high school, I was warned by my family for my safety, with strict instructions not to walk around at night or talk to strangers, or really any men in general. I barely left my apartment except to go to work for the first month of my trip, out of pure fear. The first time I walked to the office, a three miles journey mostly along the highway, I was met with cars honking at me every ten seconds in attempt to scare me or get my attention, and stares that bore into my skull by every man I passed by. Every time I go traveling alone, I know I have to be careful. I hear stories about people hitchhiking through the countryside in the Caucuses and Western Africa and as much as I want to do that, I know that I will never be able to, at least not by myself. I do not believe that women should stay at home and hide from any potential conflict (I write while traveling through Asia by myself) but I’m also so naïve as to go into small villages where rape is common and women are treated as inferior. This is not about a lack of bravery, it is about safety.

I am lucky. Actually, no I’m not, but the fact that I believe that nothing “too bad” has happened to me yet shows the mindset instilled in women now; that unless you’re brutally raped or murdered, you are essentially lucky. We say that things are improving for women because people are becoming more aware, with Anita Hill, Monica Lewinsky, the #MeToo movement and the general recent onslaught of prominent men being ousted for their behavior. But the fact that the women who came out against these men are still being called liars and publicity whores, that when I told my friend about sexual harassment statistics he said “but you don’t know how many of those are made up,” and that men still do not understand that they are not owed sex in any context, demonstrates that things are not that much better than before – just better hidden.

Things may be getting better, but that doesn’t mean they are good.

We have become apologists for male behavior, blaming ourselves for putting out the wrong signals, or saying that they just didn’t know that what they were doing was wrong. Me, my mother, and women and general, have become so accustomed to harassment, that we excuse it now as a part of life. Men reaching up my skirt in my apartment elevator in New York, employers inappropriately touching me, older men utilizing unequal power dynamics to create sexual situations, waking up with bruises in somebody’s bed after drinking a little too much, boys holding me down with threats of “telling” if I don’t comply, being fingered while asleep, having boys beg for sexual attention because they believe they deserved it, tongues being stuck down my throat at hostels as I begged “please stop” – and those are just some of my personal experiences, not including any of the horror stories that I have heard from so many friends and family. According to RAINN, there are 321,500 victims (age 12 or older) of rape and sexual assault on average each year in the United States. One in three women ages 18 to 34 has been sexually harassed at work, and one in six women will experience attempted or completed rape in their lifetime. At this point, when talking to a woman about sexual assault, it’s more surprising to me if they don’t have a similar story to share.

Most of the time, I hear about men using coercive or manipulative tactics for sex, believing that they are owed something, not understanding that this is a form of sexual harassment in itself. In fact, 13.3% of college women indicate that they have been forced to have sex in a dating situation, which is often not immediately thought of as assault. Rather than getting angry with men for actions that they aren’t aware of as harassment or assault, we should instead teach them. Next time somebody shames you or manipulates you or guilts you into sex, explain to them why this is unacceptable. This isn’t easy, and I admit that I don’t usually do this. It’s not easy to tell somebody that you don’t want to have sex, maybe because you don’t want to offend them, or because you think they’ll like you less, or because you don’t think you have a choice in the matter, or because you feel unsafe. But if we do not speak out in these situations then it will continue to happen and the cycle will never cease. Of course it’s not just up to the women; men, please be aware that you are not entitled to sex because you bought us dinner or a drink, or smiled at you affectionately, or touched your arm. And don’t resort to “negging” if rejected; bullying women out of insecurity will not fix anything and instead reinforces the belief that we can’t say no. In many ways, being aware of what you are doing is more difficult, as you may not know necessarily what behavior you are looking for. This is why we need better education systems in regards to sexual conduct. And while I appreciate that at least in the US there have been substantive changes in schools from elementary to college in order to prevent sexual harassment, there is so much more still to be done.

Sexual harassment often stems from gender roles instilled at a societal level, as women are socialized to be submissive in sexual situations. We are taught that we shouldn’t say no, that it’s unattractive to be aggressive or outspoken, and that while women should and can be leaders, they need to maintain their femininity and subservience in order to be successful. If you disagree, look at the 2016 election and the fact that our very own President encourages half the population to just “grab ‘em by the pussy.”

Most men are also taught from birth that they need to be aggressive and take charge, that women like a “bad boy,” and that you’re a “cuck” if you ask for consent. There needs to be a change in how we raise our children in regards to these gender roles, or else nothing will change. In schools, women are still taught not to be overly flirty, or else you will give men the wrong idea, taught that if you dress too provocatively you’re “asking” for assault, and that it’s only strangers to be weary of, when in eight out of ten rape cases the victim knows the perpetrator. A more open dialogue and a change in the language used is necessary or else these issues will continue to arise, no matter how many more men are exposed for sexually inappropriate behavior.

Let’s talk about Woody Allen. The concept of separating men’s sexual behavior from the work they have done or people they are otherwise confuses me; yes, we should not write off everything somebody has accomplished because they groped a woman, or masturbated in front of her, but we need to take it into account when evaluating them as a person. I remember the first time I told my (male) friends about being harassed by a mutual friend, and them defending this behavior by saying, “yeah, but he tells a different story, plus he’s never done anything to me so I still think he’s a great guy.” “He’s just joking around,” “it’s a different culture,” “he just had a little too much to drink,” “he’s not usually like this,” – too often, accounts of assault are met with doubt and defensiveness, justification and oftentimes anger. Women are not prone to telling stories of sexual assault just for the fun of it, for the attention; we know the skepticism with which it will be received. In 2016, U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission received 12,860 receipts of sexual harassment in the workplace, 54.1% of which were dismissed as “no reasonable cause,” meaning that enough proof was not found to prove that discrimination occurred.

The American system of “innocent until proven guilty” can be problematic here, as sexual harassment is on occasion nearly impossible to verify. Even though every 98 seconds an American is sexually assaulted, only 6 out of every 1,000 perpetrators will end up in prison. This is exactly why is it so necessary for the mindset to change on this issue; instead of immediately doubting women and attempting to discredit them (such as calling Anita Hill “a little bit slutty and a little bit nutty” after her testimony against Clarence Thomas), we must genuinely attempt to find the truth. This does not entail always believing the accuser, as of course there are outliers, but we need to address the systemic disbelief and accusation that disincentivizes so many women from speaking out.

As Rhe-Anne Tan perfectly explained, “There is a deep complexity in defining a movement that is so personal and so tied to individual hurt – it’s both systemic and also deeply personal, and this prevents people from engaging with the usual detachment that they afford other issues. This is also what makes reconciling different branches all the more difficult, since positions are held so viscerally and strongly. To disagree with someone’s position is almost equated to invalidating their lived experience, their own existence as a female. Whether or not that’s valid is up for debate, but in the interim it’s clear that we need to respond with compassion and openness to change (which is easier said than done), because the temptation is to talk over the experiences of others.”

I had a hesitancy to write this and especially to use personal examples, as there is an inherent fear in not only opening up, but to being called a liar or too aggressive or that I am just looking for attention. The reason I’m writing this is because these are issues that need to be more publicly and openly talked about, and I want people to understand that sexually inappropriate behavior is not limited to just rape, but a whole list of other more subtle and often confusing experiences. Not all men are guilty of sexual harassment, but instead of getting defensive and saying that you’re one of the “good ones,” perhaps looks back at your actions and re-evaluate, and see if “#you too” were ever slightly too pushy, or could have handled a sexual situation with a little more consideration.

In this New Year, reconsider your resolutions. Women need to continue to lead the change for a different power dynamic, but men also need to make an enormous effort to create a different future, one where women do not need to be afraid.  

North Korea: Part Four

North Korea is a strangely idyllic world. Pyongyang, looking like a 1960’s film depicting the future with it’s space-age skyscrapers peppered with neon lights, is filled with bikes, pastel colored buildings, and a focus on the collective goals rather than that of the individual. People are careful and avoid eye contact with foreigners at all costs, and the streets are clean with not a speck of litter visible anywhere. People are seemingly happy, immersed in pride and adoration for their country and leader, but it is only due to their constant busyness, complete ignorance of the rest of the world, and the intense regime of propaganda imposed on them daily. Locals are severely limited, having to gain travel permits to enter or exit any city in the country, and must provide rationale for any internal movement. However, things are somewhat less restricted than I previously assumed, with people out ice-skating, children exploring playgrounds, and locals even playing beer-pong with us. Resources are limited, with lack of power forcing people to carry around flashlights in order to make their way through the pitch-black streets and underground tunnels at night, and I am confident that food is much more scarce than my tour would lead me to believe. There is a vast oversupply of labor and a lack of genuine work to do so people are overworked with menial jobs to make up for the difference, rewarded with food rations instead of wages, only to be awarded actually money as a potential bonus.

There is a stark lack of factual knowledge in the country, but as one of my guides explained, “what locals lack in information, they make up for with life experience. While they may at times seem naïve, they have lived long and difficult lives.” North Korea is the optimal example of a dystopian society, and I am extremely interested in seeing the progress of one of the mostly unusually ran countries in the world. From hotels to museums to any old teahouse, everything seemed to open up just for us; it is bizarre how much heating and energy is used in order to keep up appearances for the tiny amount of tourists that visit in winter. While I am more than confident that my experience was a highly curated façade of the true country, I am happy to have seen it for myself, if only to know that it was the wrong thing to do.

The amount of money I spent on this tour contributing to the economy and in turn the regime is menial in comparison to the destructive impact that the tourists have on the local community and way that the society is formed. I understand that it would only hurt the locals if the tourism industry disappeared as it employs so many people, but I genuinely believe that the exploitation of DPRK residents and general havoc that foreigners have. From taking pictures as if they were in a zoo to playing music and being loud and often quite disrespectful at monuments and public buildings (even libraries) to forcing restaurants and shops to open up solely for tourists, foreigners create an incredibly destructive environment, perpetuating the government’s child labor and ability to force people to create a fake society for visitors. I admit that I am a complete hypocrite, that I took photos and bought souvenirs and supported this entire tourism industry, but I cannot express the vast amount of shame that I now feel.

My overall advice: don’t go to North Korea, at least not for a simple tour. I am considering returning for a school program, after discussing it at length with Ms. Kim, but I am met with intense hesitancy. The country is amazing, beautiful, interesting to see – but you will not answer any questions; rather, you will just perpetuate a long lasting cycle of tourism and exploitation of the local communities, and if you’re anything like me, be overcome with an intense sense of guilt.

North Korea: Part Three

The next day, half our group hung-over from drinking too much snake vodka, we arrived at the highly anticipated mausoleum. We had received strict instructions for this event – no jeans, no sneakers (I had to pick up a pair of flats in Beijing as my normal Adidas were apparently not acceptable), men must wear ties, skirts and dresses must be at or below the knee, shoulders must be covered, no smiling, no laughing, no speaking, no photography (they confiscated our phones and electronics), bowing three times at each leader’s tomb, etcetera, etcetera. As soon as I entered the mausoleum, I knew I would not be able to follow all the rules; two wax figures of Kim Il Sun and Kim Jong Il, each 3 meters tall immediately brought a grin to my face. I would love to describe the room but the only thing I can recall was how bizarre and excessive the entire experience was, but that was only the beginning. Walking in lines of 4, we entered the rooms holding the bodies of the 'great' leaders; it would have been a strange experience in itself just bowing to the huge leaders in glass boxes illuminated by red light from the ceiling, but the sobbing Korean women in traditional colorful dresses added whole other element. Crowds of women and soldiers accompanied us into the museum, visibly upset at the lives of their past leaders. I smile a lot when I’m uncomfortable, so viewing this made me so close to laughing that I thought I was going to get deported, or worse. The women looked genuinely distraught, but I am convinced that they are taught to cry at events and monuments such as this, essentially dishonoring their leader if they do not. We silently shuttled past all the medals, honorary degrees, and awards that Kim Il Sun and Kim Jung Il received from different countries during their years in office, shocked at the mere amount. It was overall a very surreal experience, being immersed in such a sense of national pride.

This sense of patriotism transferred over quite seamlessly into our next big visit, to the War Museum. Filled with captured US tanks, fighter jets, spy ships, bombs that “the United States Aggressive Forces attempted to exterminate Korea with,” and pretty much anything that could be used to humiliate and discredit the United States, the museum had a very clear version of history and a message to spread. We were seated in a small theatre to watch a film called, “What Divided Korea?” the answer to which, if you were wondering, is the United States. In the exhibit called “Atrocities Committed by US Imperialists,” the guides explained how America used chemical and biological warfare in conflict, dropping poisonous insects and napalm in order to exterminate their enemies and “kill as many Asians as possible.” To be honest, most of the information they were offering about the United States is most likely true or at least based in fact, although I believe they greatly exaggerated some aspects of American influence and demonized intention that were perhaps not as malicious as initially intended, while also minimizing other countries’ influence. We watched a panorama (the largest panorama in Asia, apparently) version of war and conflict with the United States, filled with dead US soldiers and burnt American flags, overlaid with propaganda and eerie traditional music. I purchased a book called “US Imperialists Started the Korean War” on my way out, to delve more into this version of history. Our tour guide gushed over the exhibit back in the bus, speaking of how important it is in order for school children to learn about the past conflicts using such proof as the museum provides (how reliable that proof is, I am not entirely convinced).

We followed up the war museum appropriately with a trip to the shooting range, where I shot my first gun (an AK47). Most fascinating part was how there were absolutely no regulations for the guns, as they were being tossed pretty much anywhere, and I’m a little cautious of any place that allows me to shoot a gun.

My opinion of the country and feeling towards this trip changed dramatically on the fourth day, and now I feel uncomfortable being here and sharing any of the pictures I have taken so far. We visited an elementary school, which I was vastly looking forward to, as I absolutely love talking to children. However, as soon as we arrived it was like nothing I had ever experienced; the children were waiting for us in the courtyard holding on to silks, ready to dance for us in an elaborate weaving ceremony. After they finished we were hustled into a room with a group of children in ballet costumes who immediately broke into absurd acrobatic tricks that made their small bodies look like spaghetti; definitely not things I believed eight year olds could do. A string of performances followed, including singing, instruments, Ping-Pong, more dance, English language skills, and even jump rope.

I believe I started crying at about Ping-Pong. What I was watching was not school, rather an exhibition. Putting aside the anti-America propaganda lining the walls with imagery of rockets and “satellites,” it was the optimum example of exploitation, with these children putting on full on performances with complete costumes for random tourists coming in 1-2 times per month in non-tourists seasons and 1-2 times per week in warmer months. I knew that people were not able to choose their careers, that the government chose it for them, but it was horrifying to see how forced it was at such a young age. It makes economic sense for careers to be determined by skill, but makes for horrendous human rights conditions. People were in awe at the performances, wondering how long it took for the children to achieve this level of talent, but to be honest I do not want to know the conditions that brought this about. I was genuinely afraid for any student who played a wrong note or forgot a single step, I could see the flash of fear run across their face with a quick look to their teacher every time it happened. It was the most forced and disingenuous show of education that I could imagine – especially as it was winter break and school is not currently in session, meaning that the students literally came in specifically to entertain us. Even the language classes were a performance with the children singing, “I like English, this is my classroom, I love it here;” it was as if I was watching a cult in the midst of brainwashing the youth. It was child labor, a way to remind foreigners of how impressive their society is when in fact it just reminded me of how horribly messed up it was; it was a factory, churning out talented workers from the time they are born against their own will for the improvement of the nation. It is a perfect demonstration of community over the individual, with complete disregard for decisions or human rights.

The rest of the day seems like an angry blur now, including a trip to a library where the guide blasted Beatles in a reading room in order to impress us with their technology, completely disregarding the people actually working in there. In fact, they turned on the lights in a different reading room specifically for us; I genuinely cannot fathom the amount of special treatment tourists get in order to make the country seem so much better from afar. We visited a large tower, some museums, historical sites, the metro system. The most interesting occurrence that happened was when we arrived at some museum a couple minutes too early and watched as the people scrambled to turn on the lights and look busy, opening up solely for our arrival and most likely closing as soon as we left. This seems to be a common occurrence. I asked our guide about feminism during this time, if women desired more power in society. She told me that men and women were equal in the DPRK, women are respected and given the same rights, especially if the woman have lots of children. Like most questions I ask here, I was left unsatisfied with the mostly defensive and vague answers possible. 

The night continued with bowling, beer, and karaoke – a very strange capitalist American-esque experience in a very anti-American society. The next morning we arose at an early 5:30am to board our flights and trains. I was supposed to take the 23-hour train back to Beijing, but I apparently misread the information and realized that you can only use the 72-hour China visa if arriving by international flight, so at the last minute we had to squeeze me onto an already full flight. It was very chaotic and at times I thought I was going to be stuck in North Korea for quite a bit longer (the next flight was days away). As Kim, my incredibly sweet DPRK guide, sat with me, she asked me how I liked the trip. I responded with vague compliments, knowing that I couldn’t give my true opinions. She smiled, “Please tell your friends back home that we are not the same as western media portrays us, we are just like all of you. I hope you come back soon."

North Korea: Part Two

We were woken up the following morning with a power outage, lasting long enough for us to scramble to get ready for the day in the dark. Following a traditional Korean breakfast of spicy soup and rice, we embarked on the three-hour bus journey to the DMZ. Our ride was filled with the information about reunification from our guide Ms. Kim, who explained that “reunification is the greatest desire of all the Korean people” as we rode down Tongil (reunification) Street. “Who is the leader of aggression war, and who is really working for reunification?” she posed.

Outside Pyongyang, the land flatted out leading to absolute nothingness covered in snow, with the sun peeking out of the mountains in the distance. Every so often we would emerge from our cozy bus into the frigid -11 degrees cold to look at monuments or stop at teahouses and souvenir shops, during which all the tourists swarmed around hand painted propaganda posters depicting the destruction of the United States, promising a future with a united Korea. On the bus, our guides spoke of nuclear war, saying that they only add to their arsenal for protection and would never threaten countries without proper provocation. “We welcome foreign friends, but will give no mercy to the enemy,” our ex-military host warned us. He told us that everyone wants to serve the army in the DPRK in order to serve their country, but the government refuses people and forces them to go to university for the advancement of the economy.

Eventually, we were in the demilitarized zone, the DMZ. A DPRK solider patrolled us around, instructing us about the history of the division between the Koreas and stressing the desire for reunification. With maps behind him, he recounted tales of the North invading South Korea when they were different dynasties, as the South was too heavily influenced by Japan in what the North considers the 'Japanese occupation'. The USSR and China came to defend the North, while the US and other Western nations defended the South. The DPRK soldier proudly spoke of how they captured the American ships and massacred their military, leading to the “shameful defeat of the United States.” He gestured at the tables holding the armistice text, with a North Korean flag as well as a UN flag, proclaiming that “the US was so ashamed that instead of using their own flag they used that of the United Nation.” It was incredibly interesting to see how proud they were of this US defeat, which I am sure Americans would not necessarily agree with.

Looking over the border, we saw South Korean soldiers manning the area, which is apparently extremely rare as both sides usually trade off days to welcome tourists. There seemed to be a United Nations delegation visiting the site, potentially because of the talks that occurred the previous day between South Korea and North Korea regarding the Olympics. Our hosts were hopeful about the talks and what kind of agreement the sides would reach, not only for the Summer Games but for future relations and potential reunification.

We left, after taking a considerable amount of photos of and with any willing soldier, off to our next stop: lunch. We stopped at a little house, where 13 different dishes were ready for every guest; I would love to describe what each one was, but I genuinely have no idea. The only thing I am confident of was the Sweet Meat Soup – otherwise known as dog meat. Surprisingly tender! After lunch and finishing our delicious dog soup, we embarked on another journey to a factory which produced ginseng products, with propaganda lining the walls telling the women to keep up production in order to help 'the best country in the world'. The factory was eerie, with the sense that they started production as soon as we stepped in the door and were already finishing by the time we left, as they hurried us out the door to prevent seeing the stopping of conveyer belts. Women guided bottles down the line, ensuring to look busy and happy although I am not sure what exactly they were doing; it was as if we were watching a play.

On the bus, I asked our guide as to why there were so many bicycles on the road rather than cars, “it’s strange here,” he responded, “owning a car here is like owning a private jet in your country, and mostly reserved for companies and foreigners. Same thing with the phone lines – we have two cellphone carriers, one for foreigners and one for locals, and they are completely mutually exclusive.” Soldiers shoveled snow on the road to make way for cars; I had been thinking about this a lot since the airport, considering whether this was just because labor was cheaper than machinery. I came to the conclusion that it was to keep the people of the country busy with their work, distracted from other national issues and with the quality of life that they may otherwise be unhappy with. It was similar in our hotel: our rooms were cleaned twice a day, not because they particularly valued cleanliness, but because nobody was allowed to work for only half a day.

Next stop was the super market: a capitalist wonderland filled with Korean rip-offs of European candies, washing machines, flat screen televisions, live fish, chewing gum, and even an authentic American waffle stand. It was as if we stepped into a different world, created only for the richest of the citizens and to impress curious visiting foreigners. Suddenly, people had phones, and were using Chinese chat apps and debit cards; you would have never known you were in North Korea. The market is the only place where you can get local DPRK currency, but it’s illegal to take any with you out of the country. With what I thought was chocolate (actually rice candies), Soju, some authentic DPRK chewing gum, and 15000 smuggled North Korean Yuan, we went to dinner.

DPRK typically meals start with appetizers, such as kimchi and salad, followed by a number of main meat dishes – also appetizers, followed by bi bim bap, the actual entrée, followed by rice or fruit or yogurt for dessert. It’s a lot. At our dinner, our waitresses sang happy birthday to one of the members of our tour and presented him with an enormous cake (which I assisted in devouring, as if there wasn’t already enough food for us). It was definitely an interesting experience, as people sipped rice wine or poured ginseng vodka into their teacups. We were all excited for the next event, a showing of the first European-North Korean film in the DPRK international theatre – Comrade Kim Goes Flying.

Best. Movie. Ever. The movie was about a young North Korean construction worker, passionate about her job and about helping her nation. Always enamored with acrobatics and the circus, Comrade Kim moves to Pyongyang for a new construction project, and auditions for the circus even though she is scared of heights. Although she horribly fails and gets made fun of by the judges (“miners should stay underground”), she trains, teaching her fellow workers tricks along the way. The movie heavily focused on the unity of the working class, needing to work together to improve the nation and show their power. After eventually leaving her job to pursue acrobatics (with the permission and encouragement of her father, grandmother, and supervisors, of course), and doing tenuous training to accomplish the quadruple flip trapeze act, she quits! She gives up, she misses doing construction and being a part of the working class. However, her mentor tells her that she has to continue for “Our Leader,” as he wants Korea to have the best acrobatics team in the world. She returns to the circus, accomplishes the trick, and it is hinted that she gets married to her trapeze partner (after his mother gives full permission/arranges it).

So. Lots to process. It was exactly what I assumed it would be in terms of promoting equality amongst citizens, necessity for unity, power of the working class, the love for work and extreme productivity, the need to please the leaders, and the desire to improve the country. As well, constant happiness and kindness! Comrade Kim had a rough time in this movie, but with the help and permission of literally everyone around her (nearly all men), she was able to accomplish her dream. Everyone was just so helpful, from random men on the bus, security guards, supervisors at work, workers at different firms – everyone. And in response, she Never. Stopped. Smiling. Even when crying. Never. I never knew how happy North Korea was! I was not expecting some elements in the movie, such as the slight romantic overtones, lying to supervisors and workers in order to get around the rules (in order to help the greater good, but still strange), the tints of humor (possibly not on purpose), and the joining of the circus. Both in terms of its cinematography and screenplay, it had a little ways to go, as most scenes were filmed in front of an obvious photo backdrop and the writing was a little too to the point, at times making very little logical sense. But, it all made for fantastic entertainment, genuinely recommend it to every person who may possibly have the opportunity to watch it.

At night, we visited the rotating restaurant at the top of the hotel where Otto Warmbier was staying when he allegedly stole a propaganda poster and was arrested, terrorized, and returned to the United States, where he died. It is said that he went exploring into the forbidden fifth floor; on the elevator, there was no button for floor 5.

North Korea: Part One

As the plane began its descent, vast areas of empty terrain divided into sharp rectangles was all I could see. Construction sites peppered with mountains and covered in snow filled the land, with the promise of new development in the years and decades to come. Small identical villages were visible every so often in the middle of this nowhere land, not seemingly connected by any major roads. “No filming,” my flight attendant told me, as I positioned my camera outside my window. On the plane, they tried to sell me “Royal Blood-Fresh,” a soybean extract for thrombosis (“Who says you can’t grow younger and cleverer”); I didn’t purchase any. We were provided with the local newspaper, with strict instructions not to fold them in a way which hurt the image of the country’s leaders on front. In-flight entertainment was a sole screen playing a concert recording of a young girl in military uniform singing passionately, although I am not sure about what. Her airy singing filled the plane, giving an extremely ominous aura in the moments leading to touch down. Finally, we hit the runaway, the only airplane in site. We were in the DPRK; we were in North Korea.

There was a snowstorm the previous night, so hundreds of workers were furiously plowing snow to make way for planes. It goes to show how low wages are, or practically nonexistent, when it is less expensive to hire so many people than simply to use machine plows. The airport was completely empty, except for the people on our flight who were either other members of the tour group, Russian diplomats, or local businessmen returning from workshops and such in China. I had to change my phone to reflect the 30-minute time change from Beijing, apparently originally made in order to differentiate it from Japan. The airport was white and clean and stark, empty except for a small Duty Free packed with tobacco and whisky and a small coffee shop with Nescafé, and plastic greenery every so often to add some color to the otherwise plain building. Soldiers patrolled the area, studying foreigners as they collected their luggage. Customs was surprisingly easy; I kept being afraid that someone would suddenly realize I was American and send me home, but luckily that moment never came. Officers asked to see my books, my computer, my phone, and while they didn’t search them as I was warned, apparently they took hours going through the belongings of the people who came to Pyongyang over train while searching for any offensive or problematic materials. Outside the airport, the area looked like a lost relic from Soviet times, every car dating back to the 60s in pastel colors straight from a Wes Anderson movie.

We were hustled into a tour bus out of the negative degree weather, while being introduced to our Korean hosts. Our guide, Kim, began by telling us the history of the DPRK (I noted how she never explicitly used the name North Korea). Each house we passed by was identical out in the countryside, each a pale pink buried in the snow, all with frozen lakes somewhat nearby.

“Do you want to hear a traditional Korean joke?” Kim asked us.

“Okay: Father and son are quarrelling because son is stupid and doesn’t know one plus one equals two. One day, the son’s teacher scolds the father for not teaching his son enough when growing up, so the father tells the son that he must learn more and would be tested the next day. The day after, the father asks son what one plus one equals, and the son said he learned it, but had already forgot! You idiot, the father yelled, one plus one, what does it equal? What do you get when you put you and me together? The son immediately responded: Two idiots!”

After some polite laughs, Kim proceeded to tell us the rules of the trip:

• No folding newspapers on the face of the leaders

• Pictures must be of the full leaders, without cropping

• No posing in pictures with the leaders

• No photos of military checkpoints or of soldiers

• No photos of individuals

• No going anywhere without a guard

• No spreading religion

• No trying to find Internet - “research centers may pick up your signal and give us a fine,” Kim warned.

I was mostly focused on the photography rules, especially as I was going to be taking the 23 hours train back to Beijing and knew that my photos would be searched. Our bus left the rural areas and arrived in Pyongyang, which was drastically different than I had expected. We got out and began to walk the streets, passing by tall building covered in lights and hoards of people returning home after work. In the DPRK, people work from 8 to 6, with a long lunch break during which people nap in order to improve productivity, I was instructed. The masses blended together, with everyone wearing a variation of the same black or dark brown jacket with matching black or dark brown pants (not jeans, however, because that would be too American). We passed by a large copy of the Arch de Triumph, which Kim proudly said was larger than the original in Paris. Hundreds of cars zoomed down the highways in what I assumed to be rush hour, past the colorful buildings and shops on the streets. Large building complexes were being demolished, with construction sites every couple of streets. Kim explained that all houses prior to 2014 were to be torn down and rebuilt with newer, modern versions. We began to talk about our lives and where I’m from and such, and I asked Kim why she had decided to become a tour guide. She looked down at first and gave a little laugh, and finally said that she hadn’t; she went to school for tourism, and the school chose her to become a guide. She had no choice in the matter, she explained, most people in the country did not get a decision in their career. Pyongyang nightlife doesn’t exist, the bars close before nine, and people want to get back to their families although there is no state enforced curfew. We passed by dozens of statues and mammoth portraits of Kim Jong Un and Kim Jong Il, illuminated with power that any of the dimly lit shops we were passing would die for. After exploring the elaborate and surprisingly beautiful architecture for quite a while, we returned to the bus and made our way to the hotel.

The group of individuals on this tour is interesting, representing nearly the entire Anglophone world, from South Africa, England, Wales, Ireland, Australia, and Iceland, along with people from Peru, Mexico, Italy, Croatia, Switzerland, and little me from Canada. There were 20 of us in total, a mix of middle aged men, recently graduated students, and travelers in their twenties. Nearly everyone was traveling alone, except for two Italian brothers and a South African family – the son, a 19 year old who worked as a software developer in China instead of going to university had surprised his parents the day before the trip by taking them to the info session and saying “guess where we’re going!” While some people were actually interested in the area, most were just looking for adventure, something wild to tell their friends back home.

The hotel was lavish, all the workers being women in matching beautiful traditional colorful dresses. Our dinner looked like it belonged at a wedding reception, with flashing party lights hooked up to the ceiling (genuinely thought I was going to have a seizure) hanging over the ballroom with oil paintings of North Korea fully covering each wall. The women presented us with free flowing beer and course after course of delicious food; I felt as if we were receiving more food than was available in the entire country. My table broke into laughter after few seconds, joking about codenames for the countries we were discussed (South Korea = K, North Korea = KK, USA = KKK, and Japan = Sushi), asking the waitress if she had a tinder (she didn’t respond), if she would sing for us (she did not), and general jokes about all our different homes and accents and cultures.

Eventually we broke off into our individual rooms, decked out with full sized refrigerators, heated beds, and luckily, no propaganda posters.

I Got Scammed! // 5 Things to Know When Visiting China

I'm writing this because I came to Beijing dramatically unprepared, and I don't want anyone to follow in my footsteps!

1) Download several VPNs  

Simple, right? Not so! I downloaded a VPN but it's actually blocked now that I'm in the country, and it seems to be that way for most VPNs available. I would try to find an alternative solution, but sadly Google is blocked here making it a little difficult to find anything that isn't easily accessible on Bing. Other things that are blocked? No facebook, instagram, twitter, gmail (I have over 20 missed emails and whoever knows me knows me will know how much anxiety that brings me) and worst of all - Google Maps.

2) Carry a map

I often joke about how I don't understand how people could travel without Google Maps and that I would be clueless without it, and it turns out I was right! I got completely lost on my way home, desperately searching for anybody who could point me in the right direction. Sadly, the only address I had was in English, leading to laughs instead of assistance, leading me to my next point...

3) You're not going to fit in - and that's fine

This has been one of the strangest places as a tourist in my experience. Having been stopped over 5 times today to take selfies with random locals, I've also been laughed at numerous times for my shoddy use of chopsticks, attempt to pronounce Chinese words, and at my assumption that people might speak English. Fun fact: nobody speaks English - not police officers, shop workers, or restaurant owners - trust me, I spent half an hour trying to order food using a translator on my phone (not Google translate, sadly, because of course that's blocked). Don't get me wrong, I'm not expecting everyone to speak English wherever I go, it's just something to keep in mind when traveling over here. 

4) Don't get scammed...

So these really nice ladies stopped me in the subway station because they wanted to practice their English; how nice! They walked me around Tiananmen Square, and then we went for tea and talked about school and their jobs and lives and such, they gave me lots of compliments, it was really nice. At the end, they made me pay for like half of it? Which was fair, but a little annoying because I'm a poor college student and tea is more expensive than food here. Then we parted ways, but when I got back to my hostel I see:

"Beware Tea Selling Scam
You may be approached by girls asking you to come and teas for free or pay separately. However at the end they will try and make you pay!"

I got scammed! For tea! Horrendous! Other scams include art students making you buy overly priced gifts, absurdly expensive fake tour guides, men getting you to pay for karaoke, and general pickpockets. Keep aware! 

5) Know what's going on in your area!

Familiarize yourself with the local transport, the food, the events and shows and concerts and whatnot. And explore, get lost! I got on a random subway, found the major monuments, and luckily happened to stumble upon a big military parade and flag show. Would have been better if I actually did research, but still an amazing experience! Put yourself out there, see the Great Wall and the Forbidden City especially, talk to locals and find the cool spots that you may not know as just a random tourist. I especially enjoyed the Dongsi Subdistrict, lots of cool restaurants and shops. 

Overall, Beijing is a beautiful city full of culture, history, and delicious food. While difficult to navigate at times, a visit is completely worth it. The night life is bright and fun, and the streets are constantly bustling and alive. There are fun markets and each neighborhood has its own individual attitude, reminding me of New York in a lot of ways. It's big, and can feel lonely at times, but I look forward to coming back and spending a more solid amount of time in this thriving city. 

Unexpected Adventure into Myanmar

I didn't know what to expect when I scheduled a week in Myanmar before heading off to China; I assumed I would spend the entire time in Yangon wandering through the streets as I usually do. However, after my first day there walking 15+ miles and visiting nearly every sight I could fathom, I realized that I would not be able to spend a week there. So instead of staying in the city, I immediately latched on to a fellow traveler, took an overnight bus to Bagan, and went exploring. There, I spent my days whizzing around on motorbikes through sandy roads filled with thousands of temples, playing with displaced monk children, eating Shan noodles, climbing trees and ancient shrines, speaking to locals about the humanitarian crisis there, getting food poisoning from Thai food, falling lots, and drinking local Myanmar beer with the other backpackers at my hostel in the evening. As my friend from home described it, it sounded like "peak Safia." 

I was supposed to fly to Beijing on the 31st, but ended up extending my time in Myanmar after realizing how beautiful it was and how much I would be missing out on if I left so soon. I took another overnight bus to Inle Lake, where villages and temples are built on stilts on the water. The people transport solely by boat, thriving off fishing and tourism. We were able to see the Long Neck Tribe, watch silver being made and silk being woven and banana cigarettes being stuffed with tobacco by elderly women laughing away to each other. Rain crashed down on our little boat, while soaked my clothes but made it even more of an adventure. After our boat journey, we took bikes out to a little vineyard for a wine-tasting ($5!) and a hike up to the forest monastery in a remote village miles away from Western-esque anything. I celebrated New Years at some ex-pat bar, filled with drunk tourists blasting music and dancing in the middle of this country where so much of the world is currently looking at.

Eventually I had to complete my journey and fly off to Hong Kong, after being placed on bus after bus after bus in the dead of night. Despite being stranded at unofficial bus stop in the rain at 1am with no internet or knowledge of the local language, I never had a single feeling of fear or danger; one of my favorite things about Myanmar is how friendly the people are. During my entire trip, I did not encounter a single person who would not smile back at me, or offer me whatever hospitality they could. The country, even the most touristy spots, are incredibly raw and real. Also, everything is incredibly cheap - make sure not to avoid the local spots on the side of the road, because from my experience they are not only the least expensive, but the most delicious and comes with the best service (I feel like I got a new mom).

Even though I extended my trip, there is no doubt that I want to return to Myanmar and visit everywhere I couldn't my first time around. I often find myself conflicted on my travels, not wanting to just be another clueless tourist, especially in a place as controversial as Myanmar. However, by knowing the history and making an effort to give back to the local community through tourism or just getting the resident perspectives on issues where the conversation is usually dominated by the West makes a big difference. Therefore, I will be soon releasing an interview I did with a local from Bagan on the Rakhine Muslims, also known as the Rohingya. The people I met (both locals and fellow travelers), the amazing sights, the beautiful Buddhist traditions that I learned about, all made it one of the most fantastic trips of my life. The fact that it was my first time truly backpacking alone was terrifying at first, but now I'm incredibly grateful for the experience.