For Tourists Only (Even When There Are None)

Dear Seung-min,

You won’t believe where I work now.
Technically, I’m a state-certified cultural guide.
Yes. Certified. Trained. Uniformed.
Top of my class in “Urban Heritage Communication” and “Smile Without Sarcasm.”

There’s just one tiny detail:
There are no tourists.

None. Not one.
Except that French man last October, but he thought our library was a café and asked for an espresso.

Still, the plan said: 1,000 guides for Pyongyang by end of this year.
So here we are. Ready. Eager. Obsolete.

But we’ve adapted.
Four of us—me, Jae-sik, Mira and Sun-hwa—formed a little crew. We call ourselves “The Invisible Line.”
Each morning, we pick a new starting point.
Today: the telephone museum (closed since '94).
Yesterday: the unfinished metro platform near Station 5.

We take turns guiding.
One leads, three follow—questions, commentary, the full package.
Jae-sik even hands out imaginary tickets.
We rate each other afterward. Like an absurd talent show.

But here’s the secret:
It’s the best job I’ve ever had.

We tell the stories behind the stories.
We point out the bench where the KISS fan sat, whisper about the girl folding cranes, show the alley where the pigs ran free.
None of it’s in the official curriculum.
All of it’s real.

So, dear cousin:
If you ever want the best tour no tourist will ever get,
come to Pyongyang.
I’ll show you everything.

No tickets needed.

Your guide (and cousin),
Jun-seok