Journalists discover the two faces of North Korea

As most of the globe follows what is arguably the world's premier sporting event (World Cup), North Korea is staging its own spectacular: a nightly birthday bash for the deceased man who remains its president.

And in a rare display of hospitality, the "Hermit Nation" is inviting foreign guests – except Americans– to see the show.

That's how I, a British citizen, suddenly found myself – after six years of vain attempts to secure a visa – surrealistically sipping a Coke on a warm evening in a Pyongyang stadium watching what must rank as one of the most stunning performances on earth. On the field below, an all-singing, all-dancing cast of more than 100,000 bayonet-wielding soldiers and serenely smiling children act out the triumphant history of a revolutionary struggle under a blaze of floodlights and laser beams.

Playing here until the end of June, the 80-minute extravaganza is known as the Arirang Festival. It is an attempt by North Korea to attract foreign currency and overseas support after President Bush included the country in his "axis of evil."

I arrived with a group of 14 other journalists, ostensibly to attend the festival, which is a celebration of the 90th anniversary of the birth of Kim Il Sung, the "eternal president" of North Korea, who remains the subject of religious devotion eight years after his death. But the Arirang was just the first of many sights during a three-day stay that made my colleagues and I wonder if we hadn't all been invited onto an elaborate stage of "The Truman Show." Little was as it appeared or was described.

In an otherwise dark city – where diplomats say there have been electricity shortages since Christmas – a handful of street vendors' stalls were set up to simulate the vibrant markets found elsewhere in Asia. Each was decorated with strings of lights.

Before my arrival, I had expected to be restricted to the hotel and accompanied everywhere by a government "guide" – the restrictions imposed on the handful of journalists who had entered in the past – but our group was allowed to wander freely around the city.

We were met with smiles, waves, and a surprising warmth toward foreigners almost everywhere. Few residents show any sign of the malnutrition that has ravaged their nation for much of the past six years.

Some, however, are willing to speak about those times. "We had to get by on a bowl of gruel each morning," says one Pyongyang resident. "It was worse for people in the countryside. Many died. But it is better now."

With a reasonable harvest and economic growth of 3.6 percent this past year, the government has declared the "successful completion of the arduous march" – as it refers to the years of famine.

But for most, especially outside the Arirang bubble, life is wretched, foreign observers say. Foreign aid has alleviated the worst of the food crisis, but clean water, power, and medicine are in short supply. "There are lights in Pyongyang's hospitals, but nowhere else," says an aid worker who took us on a private tour of the city's darker back streets. "Doctors say they are getting only 15 percent of the power they need." More than 100,000 refugees are said to have fled to China to seek food.

We were invited to visit the Koryo General Hospital in Pyongyang, supposedly a representative example of the medical situation in North Korea. It was a little too perfect. Despite the squalor in which most of the country's 22 million people live, the floors of the showcase institution were immaculately polished, the attendants' robes crisply pressed, and the plump patients such a vision of good health that they could advertise vitamin supplements.

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