I never thought I would ever be attending a banquet on the balcony of a restaurant that looked out across the Yalujiang River, straight into the Democratic People's Republic of Korea (North Korea).

There we were, a delegation from the China International Publishing Group entranced by the close proximity of our neighbor, and all casting furtive glances at "the other side."

After the umpteenth ganbei (toast) had slipped down the throats of the weary, our host suggested a closer look at the North Korean shoreline.

"How close?" we asked.

"As close as the ferry can get," he said pointing to a boat slung along the harbor. It didn't take much convincing.

We piled in and were soon chugging our way toward the two bridges that span the Yalujiang. The first bridge, creatively named the Broken Bridge, and built by the colonial Japanese government in 1911, was bombed in 1950 during the Korean War by U.S warplanes (I think this fact was repeated several times to ensure we go the point) and has remained as a tourist site ever since. It reaches three quarters of the way across and shrapnel holes and twisted metal have been lovingly preserved for visitors to marvel at.

The second bridge, now carrying rail and vehicle traffic, was built right next to the first and is known as the Friendship Bridge. The 940-meter link between Asia's powerhouse and its powerless was the point at which our ferry turned to make a run past the North Korean bank. It was always going to be interesting.

The "other side" looked depressing from the start. A group of teenage girls in conservative white outfits stood on the bank watching as we sailed by. They smiled--but they were sad smiles. I wondered what they were thinking? Further on a patched-up mid-range cruiser, seemingly part of the navy, was berthed between fishing vessels. Workers squatted on board smoking. Along the embankment wall, guards no more than 18 years old stood around at evenly spaced intervals, dressed in drab khaki, AK 47s casually slung over their young shoulders. Some turned as we took pictures, others brazenly stared us down. A group of army personnel were beating the boredom by playing a game of basketball with what looked like a medicine ball, while below them on the rivers edge their colleagues had turned the embankment into a laundry. White long underwear was laid out to dry. One fellow was stark bollocks naked. We waved from the boat and they waved back. The birthday-suit boy didn't have the temerity to moon us. Near a rickety warehouse two blue trucks sat under a tree waiting to be loaded beneath a crane that had seen better days. There was no cargo about. Whatever buildings lined the bank seemed to be a facade. Like the ferris wheel that waited as idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean. It had been built in direct line of the Broken Bridge so as to be seen by tourists. The wheel had never moved, said a reliable source. It was one of the saddest sights I had seen in a long time.

A North Korean patrol boat came speeding up fast. What was originally designed to hold perhaps 10 people was now way overloaded with at least 40. Three naval officers decked out in black formal uniforms and those overly sized caps often favored by the security forces in Asia returned our waves. The khaki clad army passengers scowled back. I wondered where they were going and what they thought of foreigners cruising past their shoreline and taking photos as if they were animals in a zoo?

Our ferry turned one last time to head back for the Chinese side. At the apex of the turn one could get a 180-degree view of both sides of the Yalujiang. The contrast was acute. On the left, China's Dandong harbor city reached for the sky, a symphony of modernity, construction and development-buzzing with expectation. On the right, North Korea's Sinuiju, a desolate border village bereft of anything that indicated it was part of the 21st century.

Propped up by international food aid and getting most of its daily necessities from China, mainly across the Friendship Bridge, North Korea is an anomaly in a world with a completely different agenda.

In 2002, Sinuiju (pop 350,000) was actually designated as a special development zone. There is no evidence of that, neither had anyone I spoke to any evidence of development. North Korea's background in the nuclear stakes is well known and the fact that it almost heads the list of the World Bank's countries with low-income economies is not surprising. It does have a million strong army going for it, if nothing else.

But what stayed with me were the dreamy vacant stares of the people on the Sinuiju shoreline, looking across at China knowing that their eyes fell on something unattainable. How did they resist the temptation of a shoreline laced with "milk and honey" after being exposed to it every day? Perhaps the answer lay in the Yalujiang. None of us spoke as the ferry boat returned to Dandong.

Living as expats in China we are more often than not comparing East to West, forgetting the cavernous gaps that exist right here in Asia.

The author is a South African living in Beijing.