The view from here

A bleak glimpse at North Korea, Asia's most isolated country

DANDONG, CHINA -- Nightlife in Dandong belongs to the city's riverside promenade, awash in neon from karaoke halls and noisy restaurants.

In the early evening, seafood joints prepare meals so fresh they writhe on the serving plate. Around midnight, in the blocks by the Yalu River, young Chinese bounce in laser-lit discos.

All this light and life belongs to one side of the river. The far shore looks like a big, black nothing.

That is North Korea.

When the sun rises, and shopkeepers sweep cigarette butts off that same promenade, Dandong reveals its most curious attraction:

Glimpses of Asia's most isolated country.

Outside of special circumstances, Americans are forbidden in North Korea, which still considers the Korean War ongoing since the 1950s.

Curious travelers -- like me -- are resigned to peering across the border from South Korea or Northeast China.

Dandong, an up-and-coming port city situated near the Korea Bay, is perfect for this sort of voyeurism. The hotels are cheap and hospitable. The food is exotic and delicious.

And the divide between booming China and backwater North Korea is carved right into the landscape.

In daylight, along the Yalu River, the white noise of taxis and idling boats is sporadically cut by hawkers.

Calling out from slick showrooms, ladies in skirts want you to see a tabletop model of under-construction riverside condos. Coming soon, buy now.

There are banks and spas and all sorts of street vendors. Men in souvenir shacks want you to buy pins and stamps featuring North Korean ruler Kim Jong Il and his tall bouffant.

Dandong's riverside drag is no Fifth Avenue. But, with the North Korea's grassy shore as an ever-visible point of comparison, it feels downright glitzy.

It's clear why the far shore goes dark after sunset. From Dandong, North Korea looks like a lot of green scrub and a little cement.

A few smokestacks push through the treeline. A few squat buildings, a few cranes, a few clunky ships lined up in a row. There are also busy North Koreans across that wide river, people too far away to observe from the Dandong streets.

To look into their eyes, I would have to get closer.

By the ruler

To the western world, much of North Korea's mystique emanates from its ruler, the cruel and apparently loony Kim Jong Il.

But, from Dandong, do not expect to see Stalinist gulags patrolled by goose-stepping enforcers. Or nuclear missile launchpads. Nor his rumored harem of Swedish blondes. Expect to see only shuffling poor folk.

Two bridges stand side by side in the Yalu River. One carries authorized train passengers through the Korean Sinuiju area across the water.

The other bridge, the older one, cuts out midriver. For a small entry fee, visitors can walk out on the bridge that was strafed and severely damaged in 1951 by American aircraft.

The North Koreans dismantled their half, leaving concrete nubs where once there were pillars.

The Chinese left their half of the bridge standing, renovating it into a tourist attraction.

I paid to walk the bridge, pausing along the way to peer skyward through tall girders.

At the bridge's end, ringed with guardrails, two women charged for a look through heavy binoculars on tripods. I paid three renminbi, roughly 37 cents, for a look.

Slowly swiveling the binoculars, I saw little girls swimming. Big animals -- oxen maybe? -- pulling carts stacked with vegetables along a path. Korean characters painted on a fishing boat.

The lenses were blurry. The people were specks.

I wanted more. I wanted to see humanity. I wanted something hawkers down by the water were advertising into squawky megaphones.