Our journey began and the train weaved its way through countryside, its snail’s pace affording stunning views of the landscape and insights into country life. Gun-toting soldiers strolled leisurely through crops, farmers worked the fields with oxen, children splashed each other in rivers and the sun reflected beautifully off paddy fields. Women on bikes would smile at us; children would return our waves. We were witnessing normal, daily life for these people and we were welcomed. In an old-style train, such rural images made the journey seem like a step into the  romantic past.

These were undeniably poetic scenes but watching a farmer use out-of-date technology out of necessity due to the failings of his government made me feel uneasy. I wanted to record these images to show people a side of the country beyond the drab capital and so I stood up and leant my camera out of our compartment. As luck would have it, at the exact same time a soldier walked down the corridor and caught me. He shook his open palm angrily at me and ordered me to sit down. A little shaken but relieved that the interaction had ended as quickly as it did, I put my camera away and gazed out the window instead. The other Westerners continued to snap away – some more discreetly than others – but I felt that I couldn’t risk it anymore.

North Korea is so touchy about photography because they are tired of their country being misrepresented, or so the official line goes. A single photograph depicting the endemic poverty undermines the “Workers’ Paradise” image which the government actively promotes, and they are acutely aware that Western journalists will only take photos of the country’s failings. However, in an unfortunate backlash, I personally found this restriction made me more critical of the country; not because my freedom to take pictures had been removed but rather because since everything was being concealed from the world, it felt like the country had more to hide. I saw grubbier apartment blocks in China than in Pyongyang but I didn’t feel the urge to document this in China. Most countries are aware of their shortcomings; North Korea feels paranoid about theirs.

Throughout the journey we stopped at every station we passed for a good five minutes or so. Each was identical: a whitewashed building with a stern portrait of Kim Il-sung staring back at us, emblazoned with bright red Korean calligraphy proclaiming we ought to celebrate Kim Jong-un. 

As soon as the train started moving again – I think out of the thrill of a change in scenery – my friend began taking photos out of the window in the corridor. She promptly left to go to the toilet before a severe-looking Korean woman dressed in black arrived in our compartment. It was the secret police. Through our Chinese tour guide, she demanded to see “the photo [we] just took” and pointed towards my friend’s camera, lying at the top of her bag. Having no idea what my friend had just taken a photo of, I felt like I was playing a game of Russian roulette. I nervously picked up the camera. Please may it not be an incomplete photo of a statue. I switched it onto the review mode. Please may there not be any soldiers, even in the background. The most recent photo came up. It was an innocent shot of a rice paddy. The woman continued, though, and wanted to inspect “the other camera”.

The Frenchman on the tour proffered his but she wanted to see a different camera. She insisted on “small, small” and despite having not used mine since the start of the journey, I presumed she meant mine. The soldier who caught me at the beginning had clearly communicated his concerns about our carriage to the secret police on board the train. This time thankfully I knew what photos were going to pop up. She made me flick through them all (i.e. three) and then left without saying a word. Later my friend returned and wondered why we were all so subdued.

We arrived in Pyongyang after only seven hours. Our English-speaking guide grabbed us as soon as we set foot on the platform and introduced herself as Ms Ba. Very serious and reserved, throughout our time in North Korea we tried to get to know her a little better but unfortunately she kept her distance and so we never saw past her icy exterior bearing. Her English was not particularly strong either – she prefaced every single sentence with a hurried “how can I say…?” – so perhaps that was partly to blame. As soon as we met her, she took our passports from us for “how can I say? Safe keeping” but in a surprisingly lax move said that now we were in Pyongyang we could take photos without asking for permission. She clearly had a lot of confidence in the “Media Inspection Team” which routinely checks all photos upon departure from the country.