While there are few places more fraught with political intrigue than the sliver of land where China, Russia, and North Korea meet, this is not a normal border crossing with genial customs agents. Add to the mix armed divisions, watchful police, language barriers, and layers of secrecy so intense that taking a picture can cause trouble.
Where Three Dictatorships Converge
For the curious traveler, this northernmost border that runs along the eastern edge of all three states is a tri-state border because it is not about just saying “I have been there” to check off another destination. The tri-state area is an evolving geopolitical powder keg many hope has become stable.
Birthplace of Myths
Before there are tensions, there are folklore. On Mount Paektu (also called Changbai Mountain in China) lies Heaven Lake, which sits within a towering massif, and it is one of the most revered places in North and South Korean folklore as the mythological birthplace of the Korean people.
Nevertheless, North Korea has instilled its own propaganda on top of this. Formally, Kim Jong-il was said to have been born here in 1942 due to miraculous circumstances: a double rainbow, a bright sunshine, and birds singing in tribute. In truth, he was born in the Soviet Union—but propaganda rarely cares for the truth. By tethering their legitimacy to the mythology around Mount Paektu, North Korea established its own holy land.
South Korean pilgrims sometimes arrive at the Chinese side of the border to pay homage, as it is impossible to gain access directly from the North. Being in this place feels more than just a hike but a reckoning with the nation’s designated origin story.
Life beyond the Mountain
While outside of the mountain hiking and propaganda-filled tourist sites, you will find instances that are intriguingly banal—at least at first glance. The Chinese towns along the border often have road signs in three languages depicting Chinese, Russian, and Korean. Often times, these populations include descendants of Koreans that fled during the Japanese occupation or the civil war during the 1930s–40s.
Towns offer North Korean cigarettes, gold-filter Chinese cigarettes, fake designer hats, and even Russian curios. North Korean defectors have passed through these towns on their way to Southeast Asia, often with the assistance of soldiers or local police. There seems to be a very lucrative smuggling trade in defectors, who often save up for years to pay off brokers and guards.
We feel the cognitive dissonance: here is the place with tourist stalls that sell commemorative coins with dictators, while there is human trafficking going on exploiting those fleeing the Hermit Kingdom.
Police, Checkpoints, and Suspicion
Foreign visitors learn quickly that this is an area that does not suffer curiosity without suspicion. While local Chinese, Korean minorities, or Russian traders wander and film freely, any foreign passport incites suspicion.
At one point, I found myself detained for filming a police car, threatened: jail time, and waiting in the back of a van while officers yelled. In the West, you are told you are innocent until proven guilty, but here silence and compliance are the only ways to avoid escalation.
Hotels close to the border must tell the authorities about foreigners staying in them, at times bringing the actual authorities into your hotel room. This discomfort is the rhythm of traveling here: one moment feeling a kinship with locals, the next feeling surreal-like authorities are asking a series of questions.
Smart Stores/Dumb Luck: The Paradox of Contemporary China
This part of China is rife with paradoxes. In one town there is a smart, AI-driven, convenience store that functions something like a budget version of Amazon Go: you can scan an item, grab it, and walk out. Yet the ATM artist is sparse, electrical payments almost never work for anyone without a Chinese ID and in that moment, you are pulling out old bills while locals are flashing QR codes.
Even luxury alternatives have a bit of irony.) On the high-speed rail, for $20 more, you can upgrade to business class and enjoy a fully reclining seat, slippers, snacks, and soap in the bathroom (not very common in rural China). One side is modern ingenuity, while the other throws the traveler into constant friction.
Languages, Loyalty, and Loud Hellos.
The borderlands are as much cultural as political. On the Chinese side of Tumen or Hunchun, you will often hear older generations use Korean because their ancestors fled North Korea decades ago. Russian influences can be heard in the signage, the appetizing dumpling restaurants, and in the souvenir shops with mugs of Lenin emblazoned on them.
What really stands out for me is how friendly people are when greeting foreigners. Dozens of loud “Helloooo!” shouts from children, taxi drivers joking about U.S. politics, and even my new beverage drinking friend who suspiciously mentioned Trump and Biden. These small acts create a sense of human connection despite contradictions set by the states.
Tourism Meets Propaganda
There is also a strange tourism industry at the North Korean border. Communist monuments jut up next to the swings at the “Happy Valley” amusement park. Merch booths offer portraits of Stalin and coins which read “Hermit Kingdom” for sale to Chinese and Russian visitors. Propaganda murals glorify the policing of the river, despite the fact that smuggling is occurring only a few hundred meters away.
Visually, the two environments clashes for foreigners. One minute you are prevented from filming and the next minute vendors are happily selling caricatures of Kim Il-sung or currency souvenirs from the rogue state.
Why Do Travelers Come Here
Why should one endure police escorts, ongoing conflicts, interrogations, and silly bureaucratic nonsense? Because here, history and mythology, existence and geoclimatic politics intersect in the flesh.
Reading about defectors traversing frozen rivers, the Chinese spies turning a blind eye, or the North Korean propaganda machine transforming myth into miracle birth stories is one thing. Actually being on the banks of the Tumen River, looking across into farmland hiding camps and desperation is another.
Traveling in this part of the world is not an Instagram dream. It is visceral, off-the-map, and at times breathtaking, but it gives a more direct experience of how controlled borders actually operate.
On a Knife-Edge
To be at the tri-border of North Korea, China, and Russia feels like standing on a knife-edge. On one side is mythology, the other repression, and the third a global superpower tightening its grip.
It isn’t just the monuments or propaganda posters that remain within your memory, but the contrasts:
- A busload of Chinese tourists chirping with laughter in front of a lake considered sacred.
- Locals welcoming you with open arms and an instant later, police confiscating your recorded footage.
- A fake designer hat placed next to a real North Korean coin.
This is where symbolism, secrecy and survival collide. Images may have a hopelessly short shelf life, but nonetheless, the impression is much more memorable: the tri-border is less a destination for tourism, and rather a reflection of what power signifies in today’s world.
