My past connections with the North Korean government. When I was 7 or 8, the Lebanese government recognized the North Korean government. The latter government quickly established an embassy in Beirut, and bought an entire building in Ramlat Al-Baydah for that purpose. It also bought whole pages in Lebanese newspapers (especially in the leftist, Arab nationalist newspaper Al-Muharrir (its offices were bombed by the invading Syrian army in 1976) to propagandize for Kim Il Sung. The new North Korean ambassador was advised that my late father (who held the job of secretary-general of the Lebanese parliament) would be a good person to meet and know, and that he could "open doors" so to say. So the ambassador started a routine. Our family (and I was the youngest) would be invited on Saturday nights to an evening at the North Korean embassy in Beirut. For us, children, it was a tough call. You see, we enjoyed the great food and snacks, but hated the political discussions and...the propaganda documentaries that we had to endure before being escorted into the dining room. So the evening would start with a gathering in a large room. The ambassador and his wife, and our family attended in addition to an interpreter and some embassy staff. The discussions were exclusively political: the ambassador would either pose questions to my father, or he would report "achievements" about North Korea. During the conversations, alcoholic beverages would be served for the adults (and the political officer would get drunk quite often), while we kids were served juices and a large selection of snacks. We enjoyed that part, although we wanted it to go fast, very fast. We would urge my father to cut the discussion as short as he could. The conversations were all in classical Arabic in order for the interpreter to understand. That amused my mother a great deal. The next step after the introductory discussion was the propaganda segment. That was the most painful part of the evening. It almost always included a hagiographic film about Kim Il Sung. And when his image would appear on the screen (in the dark projection room), everybody would clap. We, kids, went along. We were extremely bored in that segment, and it was not easy to sleep because the high-pitched Korean opera would keep you awake. And the films ranged in length: from 20 minutes to more than an hour. I had to awaken my brother Midhat one evening because his snoring was so loud. He did not care; he was not going to go through yet another Kim Il Sung biographic epic film anymore. But during the movie, we also enjoyed the snacks. But my brother Midhat and I would make plenty of noises as we would open the pistachio shells, and that would cut into the silence at those sensitive moments when Kim Il Sung was engaged in some heroic act or another. Once the propaganda segment was completed, we were invited to the best part of the evening: a lavish Korean meal served non-proletariat style. There were servants, drivers, maids and cooks in that socialist paradise, we noticed. The food was really great. We particularly enjoyed a dish that was called The Oven of Heavens. I have been to so many Korean restaurants in the US and in Europe and I have never seen that dish. Does anybody know what it is? This went on for years. And we enjoyed that. One time we entered the dining room only to be horrified at the sight of Lebanese food catered from the then trendy Yildizlar restaurant. We inquired immediately at the absence of Korean food. We were informed that the ambassador assumed that we did not enjoy Korean food. We had to immediately disabuse him of that false notion. The relationship progressed between my father and the ambassador although it would take one meeting to realize that my father could never be converted into the communist cause. I think that they found that out from the first meeting. His personality gave him away. And then my father received an official state invitation to North Korea with my mother. My parents received similar invitations from capitalist countries, but for some reason, my mother insisted that she would not go on this trip unless the kids (all four of us) are also invited. That triggered some prolonged negotiations with the North Korean foreign ministry. And then the final word came: no children. My mother refused to go, and that was that. The dinner invitations continued but were interrupted during the civil war. But some time in the 1980s, they resumed, but I was in the US at the time. My sister once took her friend Muna along for the occasion, and I am told that the guests had a good time, and that they laughed a great deal, often at the expense of the hosts.