MOUNT KUMGANG, North Korea — A brown-clad soldier armed with a red flag stands at attention on a pedestal next to the road just a few yards into North Korea.

He carries a rifle, too, but it is the flag held at his side that draws curiosity. A half mile or so down the road, another soldier strikes the same rigid pose, flag in hand.

"They're watching you," says our South Korean escort, Byun Ha Jung.

Our bus carries seven American reporters participating in the 2007 Korea-U.S. Journalism Exchange sponsored by the East-West Center in Honolulu. The two-week fellowship included a day trip to one of North Korea's most beautiful natural attractions, Mount Kumgang.

Byun has already told us not to take photos as we pass through the demilitarized zone separating the two Koreas. Other than a metal fence topped with barbed wire and the Sea of Japan in the distance, there isn't much to see. We're told land mines still dot the hilly landscape.

Now in the North, Byun sounds the photo warning again, only this time it is more ominous.

The soldiers will raise their flags and stop the bus should they see anyone snapping pictures, Byun says. He's not clear about what will happen if the bus is stopped. Still, no one takes photos. Or at least no one is caught.

Our foray into North Korea came with many restrictions.

No binoculars, no telescopes, no high-powered camera or camcorder lenses. No cell phones or wireless equipment. Also banned are printed materials (other than money — preferably U.S. dollars), audio tapes, CDs or images that could be used for propaganda purposes.

Cameras were allowed but we had to list the make, model, serial number and lens size on a form, presumably for the government to scrutinize.

At the North Korean immigration office, a white, circus-size tent, we're told not take pictures but to have our cameras visible in our hands. An impassive soldier in a brown uniform and a visored hat that appears too big for his head stands sentry outside. He doesn't have a red flag, but he does have a gun.

An immigration officer in the tent carefully eyeballs each of our passports and visas before letting us through. Only Daniel Yi in our group has trouble.

The unsmiling officer questions the Los Angeles Times reporter about a discrepancy on his U.S. passport.

As Yi, who speaks Korean, pleads with the officer, our South Korean escort laughs out loud.

Byun explains that there is nothing to worry about. This happens every day. Immigration officers have to look like they're doing their jobs, he says.