It's all go in Seoul

TAKING A NEW DIRECT FLIGHT FROM HEATHROW TO SOUTH KOREA, MILO BOYD FINDS OUT WHY IT IS SUCH HOT CULTURAL PROPERTY, AND TAKES A TRIP TO ITS BORDER WITH NORTH KOREA

- MILO BOYD

BRIGHT LIGHTS: Crowds of shoppers line the streets of Myeong-dong in Seoul

IN 24 hours’ time, I will be sitting at the end of a giant tentacle, two alarmed eyes glaring out from a rusting octopus head above me.

A day after that, three concerned beauticians will be strapping a plastic bag attached to a steam hose to my head as part of a radical 18-step programme.

But before these two unlikely stops on Seoul's tourist trail, I’m at the daddy of unusual, dystopian go-tos: the demilitarised zone.

The DMZ is South Korea's best-known tourist attraction, with all of the 3,000 daily slots snapped up months in advance.

Crowds make the hour-and-a-half journey from the capital just to get a glimpse of North Korea. And a glimpse is all you get. All photography, even out of the coach window, is banned, on pain of a three-year prison sentence.

There is a tension in the air as I jump out into the car park, having made it through two military checkpoints. I give way to a goose-stepping platoon of South Korean soldiers before climbing up onto the roof of the Imjingak Resort building.

And there it is. The strangest (arguably) country in the world. In development terms, a hermit kingdom now light-years behind its estranged sibling to the south.

Looking through static binoculars, I see a huge North Korean flag fluttering in the wind above tiny, just visible figures walking the streets below.

All seems quiet on the frontline this particular Thursday. Several years ago, there was chaos. In response to the South's habit of blasting K-pop anthems and floating USB sticks over the border, North Korea sent balloons laden with cigarette butts and human excrement the other way.

But in recent years, relations have become chillier, more serious, and quieter.