The world is not short of eccentric holiday destinations, but nothing quite prepares the imagination for North Korea’s latest venture into the world of leisure: the Wonsan Kalma Coastal Tourist Zone, a seaside resort parked, with inspired subtlety, next to a missile testing site.
Yes, you read that correctly. While most coastal developers fret about whether their pool bar should be on the left or right of the infinity pool, Kim Jong Un has gone one better, plonking his new resort on the doorstep of military hardware designed to give Pentagon analysts migraines.
Sun Loungers, Shopping Malls… and Ballistic Missiles
On paper, Wonsan Kalma looks much like any other holiday complex. There are hotels, restaurants, even a water park. State media describe it as a glittering new jewel in the Hermit Kingdom’s crown of self-reliance. One imagines brochures with sun-kissed families smiling beneath palm trees. The small caveat, of course, is that the same beach has hosted ballistic missile launches. One suspects the lifeguards are equipped less with whistles and more with binoculars and a hotline to the military.
Tourism officials, to their credit, have thought big. The inspiration, astonishingly, is said to have come from Benidorm, of all places. It is difficult to picture North Korean apparatchiks wandering down the Costa Blanca in 2017, clipboards in hand, marvelling at the karaoke bars and English fry-ups. “Comrade, take note: this ‘full English breakfast’ concept could be revolutionary back home.”
Russians Only, Please
Though initially advertised as a playground for international tourists, the resort has so far rolled out the welcome mat exclusively to Russians. One cannot help but notice the pattern: the two countries’ leaders swap courtesies over nuclear ambitions and oil pipelines, and their citizens are then rewarded with exclusive beach packages. It is perhaps the first time in history that “all-inclusive” has meant vodka rations guaranteed by state decree.
The Russians, arriving in tidy groups through accredited agencies, are ushered around on fixed itineraries. Spontaneity is strongly discouraged. This is not Ibiza, where one staggers off to a nightclub at 2 a.m. Here, one follows the schedule to the minute, escorted by smiling guides whose smiles do not quite reach the eyes. The message is clear: enjoy the beach, but please don’t talk to the locals unless you wish to trigger an international incident.
The Surprised Locals
When tourists do pass by, the locals apparently stare with astonishment. One can hardly blame them. Imagine living for decades in one of the world’s most closed societies, and suddenly a busload of Russians in floral shirts appears, wielding selfie sticks. It is a collision of two worlds: one that lives on ration cards and another that treats lobster as an appetiser.
The official line from the guides is that guards are deployed to prevent tourists from “startling” residents. This is a euphemism of remarkable creativity. In practice, it means no idle chit-chat with fishermen, no swapping chewing gum with children, no attempts to explain that in the outside world most beaches do not require armed supervision.
The Vanishing Westerners
For a fleeting moment earlier this year, North Korea did permit Western tourists—Australians, Germans, even a handful of Britons—to book a room. But the experiment ended as abruptly as it began. The reasons remain opaque, as reasons in North Korea often are. Perhaps the Australians asked too many questions about the minibar, or perhaps the British complained that the tea was underwhelming. Whatever the cause, the shutters came down, leaving only Russian groups to frolic in the surf under the watchful gaze of the state.
Human Rights Behind the Curtain
Of course, the glossy façade masks darker realities. Reports abound of forced labour during the resort’s construction: long hours, harsh conditions, and families displaced from their homes. Human rights groups say Wonsan Kalma was built less with cement and more with coercion. Yet the propaganda reels show only sunshine, pools and tourists grinning for the cameras. It is the paradox of North Korea in microcosm: smiling beach umbrellas concealing the iron fist beneath.
Temporary Closures and Permanent Irony
Barely weeks after its grand opening, the regime announced that foreigners were “temporarily” banned—except, naturally, Russians. The word “temporary” in Pyongyang can mean anything from a fortnight to several decades. Western travel agencies who had optimistically listed Wonsan Kalma in their catalogues are now updating the fine print: all bookings subject to sudden geopolitical whim.
One imagines the poor marketing executive tasked with selling the place: “Think Benidorm, but without the sangria, without the nightclubs, and with slightly more chance of seeing a submarine test from your balcony.”
Benidorm on the 38th Parallel
The comparison with Spain’s holiday capital is irresistible. In Benidorm, tourists flock to skyscraper hotels, cheap booze and sunburn. In Wonsan, the formula is superficially similar: tower blocks, gaudy façades, and a water park. Yet while Benidorm’s greatest hazard is karaoke at 4 a.m., Wonsan’s is rather more serious. The next missile launch could, in theory, coincide with a poolside barbecue.
Still, credit must be given where due. Kim Jong Un has, in his own peculiar way, attempted to make his country “holiday-friendly.” In a nation where electricity shortages are common, he has built shopping malls and water slides. It is a vision of modernity—albeit one where the slides may empty into pools guarded by soldiers rather than lifeguards.
A Package Holiday Like No Other!
So, would one book a fortnight at Wonsan Kalma? It depends on one’s appetite for adventure. If your idea of fun is lying on a deckchair while surface-to-air missiles glint on the horizon, this could be the destination for you. If you yearn to recreate the vibe of Benidorm but with fewer English pubs and more political indoctrination, look no further.
For everyone else, perhaps stick with Spain. The cocktails are stronger, the locals less startled, and the only guards you will meet are lifeguards—who, mercifully, are there to save swimmers, not prevent conversations.
