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In fact, it might not have been one at all. The whole situation was a confusing mess and it ended with me inside a Chinese police cell, battered and bruised after a good kicking from my captors.
At the time that all started, I was in China. I met up with my tour group in Beijing, and together we travelled to our intended crossing point on the China-North Korea border: at a town in eastern China called Yanji.
The area has strong links with Pyongyang, and it operates like a kind of North Korean expat colony — the streets are full of Korean restaurants, manufacturers, massage parlours and other businesses, most of them staffed by teams shipped up from the DPRK.
These workers may not be free to go and travel elsewhere in China, but for many North Koreans, a work placement on the other side of the border in Yanji is considered positively exotic. So there we were, having a night out on the town in Yanji. Of course it was nonsense, every word of it. This was simply a regular restaurant, popular with Chinese families and Korean businessmen alike.
As a result, we soon found ourselves getting kicked out — and so after that we hit the streets of Yanji, and went looking for a bar. The first place was non-eventful, a comfortable, regular by Chinese standards drinking hole, where the nine of us were given a back room to ourselves and bottles of strong, local beer were regularly delivered to our table.