Rain, Mist and a Real Border: My Day at the Korean DMZ
After graduating last year and taking a year off, I planned a spring trip to East Asia: a week split between Tokyo and Osaka, and then on to Seoul.
Honestly, my original “plan” for Seoul was just cafés, shopping in Hongdae, and maybe checking out a few K-pop spots I’d seen online. I’m not a history person at all. I know the basics about the Korean War from school, but that’s about it. The DMZ was one of those words I’d heard in the news or in dramas and mentally filed under “serious, complicated stuff.”
At our hotel in Myeongdong, we asked the front desk for ideas that weren’t just more shopping. The staff told us that a lot of guests go to the DMZ and usually feel it was worth giving up a day in the city. That was enough to make us curious. Back in our room we searched “DMZ tour Seoul,” scrolling through different sites and comparing what they offered. Most of the itineraries looked almost identical, and since Myeongdong Station was right next to our hotel, any tour leaving from there sounded easy. In the end I booked through DZMTOURS.com and chose one of the cheaper options that fit our date. It included an extra stop at a bright red suspension bridge over a deep valley near the border, which sounded cool in a slightly terrifying way. Later, when we saw what other groups were doing, I felt pretty pleased with the choice – the schedule and main stops all seemed basically the same, just without a higher price.
The only part I didn’t love was the wake-up time. Our meeting point was Myeongdong Station at a very “why am I awake?” hour. I rolled out of bed feeling half asleep, pulled on a hoodie, jeans and sneakers, and met my friends in the lobby with still-damp hair. When we came out of the station, I was honestly shocked by how many people were there. It felt like some kind of secret DMZ festival – hundreds of people holding printouts or checking their phones, trying to find their assigned bus.
There were buses lined up everywhere with different signs in the windows. Our tour company had several large coaches, and we got on one of them. I grabbed a window seat, pulled my hood up and immediately tried to fall back asleep.
Our guide turned out to be one of my favourite parts of the whole experience. You know how some guides talk nonstop and others barely say anything? He was the perfect in-between. Super friendly and bright, joking with us, but also really good at explaining serious things without making them depressing or boring. We didn’t know much about the history, so we asked a lot of questions. Every time, he answered clearly and kept it short – no long lectures, just the important points with a few stories added in. It felt more like hanging out with an older cousin who knows everything than listening to a strict teacher.
As we left Seoul, the city slowly turned into rows of apartment blocks, then smaller towns, and finally fields. I remember looking out of the window and thinking the sky looked extra clean. It had rained for two days straight before our tour, so that morning everything felt freshly washed. At the same time it was surprisingly cold and windy, the kind of air that feels more like late autumn than a casual sightseeing day. A Korean friend who joined us for the tour had handed me a little hot pack before we left, saying I’d be glad to have it. I laughed then, but a couple of hours later I was basically glued to it – my fingers froze every time we stood outside for a while.
Along parts of the river, barbed-wire fences and watchtowers started to appear. That was the first moment it really hit me: this wasn’t just a cute day trip; this was an actual border.
We did the classic DMZ stops: a park near the border with an old, damaged train and colourful ribbons for families divided by the war; the Third Infiltration Tunnel, where you put on helmets and walk down a steep concrete passage; and an observatory where you can look out toward North Korea. I still don’t remember all the official names perfectly, but the feelings are clear in my head. The tunnel was much more intense than I expected. It isn’t super long, but it’s steep enough that you really feel it in your legs. My friends and I were laughing and half-complaining on the way back up, but in a fun way. At the bottom, walking through that narrow rock tunnel that was once meant for sneaking under a border, everyone went a bit quiet.
The red suspension bridge stop ended up being one of my favourite moments. We drove to this bright bridge stretching across a deep, green valley not far from the border. Because of the earlier rain, the scenery was ridiculously beautiful. Mist was rising from the river and the forest like something out of an anime opening, and sunlight was cutting through it in dramatic beams. For a few seconds I almost forgot where I was.
Standing on the bridge, feeling it shake slightly under everyone’s steps, I looked across the water and tried to process the fact that the other side was North Korea. It didn’t look like some dark, forbidden zone; it was just hills, trees and light. That contrast – a peaceful view layered over such heavy history – was probably the strangest part emotionally.
After we’d been outside in the wind for a while, we had a break in an indoor rest area. The rush of warm air when the door shut behind us felt amazing. I bought a hot coffee from a vending machine, and we opened the snacks we’d brought from Seoul. Simple biscuits and chips suddenly tasted incredible. We sat there warming our hands on paper cups, sharing food and scrolling through photos from the morning, letting our faces thaw out before heading back into the cold again.
Throughout the tour, our guide kept a really good balance. He talked about serious things without making us feel like we weren’t allowed to smile. When photos were okay, he encouraged us to take them; when they weren’t, he gently reminded us to put our phones away. He pointed out the best spots for the view, mentioned little details we would have missed, and quietly made sure everyone was following the rules. My friends kept saying, “We really lucked out with our guide,” and I agreed. Considering how little we knew at the start, we walked away feeling like we’d actually learned something real.
On the drive back toward Seoul, the bus was much quieter than in the morning. Some people were scrolling through their photos, some were chatting softly, and others just watched the fields and river drift past the windows. I did the same and kept thinking about how strange the mix was: K-pop songs stuck in my head, Instagram stories lined up on my phone, and at the same time this very real reminder that the peninsula is still divided.
Later, on Line 2 back into the city, I started typing notes for this story on my phone, still in the clothes I’d worn on the tour. When the familiar announcement for Hongik University Station came on, people around me began grabbing their tote bags and headphones, getting ready to get off. I could hear snippets of conversations about cafés and clubs in Hongdae that people had bookmarked ahead of time. Apparently, going from the DMZ straight to a Hongdae evening is more common than I’d imagined.
I got off there too, with a camera roll full of photos, warm hands thanks to that hot pack, and this quiet feeling that leaving my K-pop playlist and warm bed earlier than I wanted that morning had absolutely been worth it.
Honestly, my original “plan” for Seoul was just cafés, shopping in Hongdae, and maybe checking out a few K-pop spots I’d seen online. I’m not a history person at all. I know the basics about the Korean War from school, but that’s about it. The DMZ was one of those words I’d heard in the news or in dramas and mentally filed under “serious, complicated stuff.”
At our hotel in Myeongdong, we asked the front desk for ideas that weren’t just more shopping. The staff told us that a lot of guests go to the DMZ and usually feel it was worth giving up a day in the city. That was enough to make us curious. Back in our room we searched “DMZ tour Seoul,” scrolling through different sites and comparing what they offered. Most of the itineraries looked almost identical, and since Myeongdong Station was right next to our hotel, any tour leaving from there sounded easy. In the end I booked through DZMTOURS.com and chose one of the cheaper options that fit our date. It included an extra stop at a bright red suspension bridge over a deep valley near the border, which sounded cool in a slightly terrifying way. Later, when we saw what other groups were doing, I felt pretty pleased with the choice – the schedule and main stops all seemed basically the same, just without a higher price.
The only part I didn’t love was the wake-up time. Our meeting point was Myeongdong Station at a very “why am I awake?” hour. I rolled out of bed feeling half asleep, pulled on a hoodie, jeans and sneakers, and met my friends in the lobby with still-damp hair. When we came out of the station, I was honestly shocked by how many people were there. It felt like some kind of secret DMZ festival – hundreds of people holding printouts or checking their phones, trying to find their assigned bus.
There were buses lined up everywhere with different signs in the windows. Our tour company had several large coaches, and we got on one of them. I grabbed a window seat, pulled my hood up and immediately tried to fall back asleep.
Our guide turned out to be one of my favourite parts of the whole experience. You know how some guides talk nonstop and others barely say anything? He was the perfect in-between. Super friendly and bright, joking with us, but also really good at explaining serious things without making them depressing or boring. We didn’t know much about the history, so we asked a lot of questions. Every time, he answered clearly and kept it short – no long lectures, just the important points with a few stories added in. It felt more like hanging out with an older cousin who knows everything than listening to a strict teacher.
As we left Seoul, the city slowly turned into rows of apartment blocks, then smaller towns, and finally fields. I remember looking out of the window and thinking the sky looked extra clean. It had rained for two days straight before our tour, so that morning everything felt freshly washed. At the same time it was surprisingly cold and windy, the kind of air that feels more like late autumn than a casual sightseeing day. A Korean friend who joined us for the tour had handed me a little hot pack before we left, saying I’d be glad to have it. I laughed then, but a couple of hours later I was basically glued to it – my fingers froze every time we stood outside for a while.
Along parts of the river, barbed-wire fences and watchtowers started to appear. That was the first moment it really hit me: this wasn’t just a cute day trip; this was an actual border.
We did the classic DMZ stops: a park near the border with an old, damaged train and colourful ribbons for families divided by the war; the Third Infiltration Tunnel, where you put on helmets and walk down a steep concrete passage; and an observatory where you can look out toward North Korea. I still don’t remember all the official names perfectly, but the feelings are clear in my head. The tunnel was much more intense than I expected. It isn’t super long, but it’s steep enough that you really feel it in your legs. My friends and I were laughing and half-complaining on the way back up, but in a fun way. At the bottom, walking through that narrow rock tunnel that was once meant for sneaking under a border, everyone went a bit quiet.
The red suspension bridge stop ended up being one of my favourite moments. We drove to this bright bridge stretching across a deep, green valley not far from the border. Because of the earlier rain, the scenery was ridiculously beautiful. Mist was rising from the river and the forest like something out of an anime opening, and sunlight was cutting through it in dramatic beams. For a few seconds I almost forgot where I was.
Standing on the bridge, feeling it shake slightly under everyone’s steps, I looked across the water and tried to process the fact that the other side was North Korea. It didn’t look like some dark, forbidden zone; it was just hills, trees and light. That contrast – a peaceful view layered over such heavy history – was probably the strangest part emotionally.
After we’d been outside in the wind for a while, we had a break in an indoor rest area. The rush of warm air when the door shut behind us felt amazing. I bought a hot coffee from a vending machine, and we opened the snacks we’d brought from Seoul. Simple biscuits and chips suddenly tasted incredible. We sat there warming our hands on paper cups, sharing food and scrolling through photos from the morning, letting our faces thaw out before heading back into the cold again.
Throughout the tour, our guide kept a really good balance. He talked about serious things without making us feel like we weren’t allowed to smile. When photos were okay, he encouraged us to take them; when they weren’t, he gently reminded us to put our phones away. He pointed out the best spots for the view, mentioned little details we would have missed, and quietly made sure everyone was following the rules. My friends kept saying, “We really lucked out with our guide,” and I agreed. Considering how little we knew at the start, we walked away feeling like we’d actually learned something real.
On the drive back toward Seoul, the bus was much quieter than in the morning. Some people were scrolling through their photos, some were chatting softly, and others just watched the fields and river drift past the windows. I did the same and kept thinking about how strange the mix was: K-pop songs stuck in my head, Instagram stories lined up on my phone, and at the same time this very real reminder that the peninsula is still divided.
Later, on Line 2 back into the city, I started typing notes for this story on my phone, still in the clothes I’d worn on the tour. When the familiar announcement for Hongik University Station came on, people around me began grabbing their tote bags and headphones, getting ready to get off. I could hear snippets of conversations about cafés and clubs in Hongdae that people had bookmarked ahead of time. Apparently, going from the DMZ straight to a Hongdae evening is more common than I’d imagined.
I got off there too, with a camera roll full of photos, warm hands thanks to that hot pack, and this quiet feeling that leaving my K-pop playlist and warm bed earlier than I wanted that morning had absolutely been worth it.