After the pomp and splendour of the previous evening, I get a better feel of real life on my first morning in Pyongyang. Indeed, life in North Korea is miles away from the razzle and dazzle of Arirang.
Our room in the 15-storey Changgwangsan Hotel, which is located in Pyongyang's central district, is frills-free.
Besides two modest single beds, it has a small, empty fridge which is unplugged and a bathroom with no knob, much less a lock.
Books by this 'Eternal President' can be easily found in any North Korean bookstore.
We are told that hot water will be available only from 10pm to 1am.
On the bright side though, the room's heating is excellent and we feel warm and toasty during the chilly North Korean nights.
Paranoid journalists that we are, we also feel the walls and mirrors for bugging devices - the Internet is rife with rumours that your room will certainly have one.
We find none - as if we are qualified to do a sweep anyway and, more crucially, as if we are important enough for the North Koreans to care about who we are. But it is fun play-acting as James Bond.
Our 7am morning call isn't a phone call but a few sharp raps on our door followed by 'time to wake up' shouted in Mandarin, presumably by a hotel employee.
Staring out at the road outside our seventh-floor room on this foggy Sunday morning, I see the first scenes of North Korean life.
Many people are already out on the streets and walking briskly. Most are wearing thick, dark jackets to keep out the morning's spring chill.
There is a bus stop opposite the hotel and an orderly queue has already snaked to more than 100m long by the time the yellow double-decker bus arrives.
The bus is a popular mode of transport in Pyongyang, probably matched only by walking. Almost everywhere we turn during the day, we see huge masses walking from place to place.
Free housing: A residential estate in Pyongyang. Housing is said to be free for North Koreans in the city.
There aren't many cars on the streets. Of those that ply the roads, there seems to be a disproportionately large number of Mercedes and Volkswagens, both old and new models. Most look like they're driven by officials.
Cars are so unaffordable that nobody bothers to ask about prices, notes Mr Kim, who adds that he doesn't know how much one actually costs.
On the plus side, the pollution-free air in Pyongyang, which has a population of around three million, is wonderful and we embrace it.
We have breakfast in a big ballroom on the second floor of the hotel where porridge is served with fried vegetables and thinly sliced meat. Then I head to the hotel lobby.
Standing in the impressive space, one can't help but observe the little peculiarities in our quiet 'four-star' hotel.
For instance, the lobby is brightly lit, has a high ceiling, a marble floor and a grand chandelier.
But walk further into the hotel and you will see that the corridors are eerily dark. The lift, with a dull aluminium interior, reminds you of a cargo lift in an industrial estate in Singapore.
Behind the reception, an electronic panel with a world map and several clocks purport to show the time in different countries - except that none of the displays are switched on.
The counter is manned by four front-desk staff - stern-looking women in their 30s and 40s - but none of them speak English or Mandarin.
Mr Kim and Ms Pak are waiting for us at the bus, which takes us on our first real look at Pyongyang. The city runs in an orderly manner. Roads are devoid of signboard clutter and advertisement billboards - the normal markings of urban life - and dull blocks of high-rise buildings dot the landscape.
The wide streets, fringed with trees, are clean. But although many people are out and about, the atmosphere is oddly quiet.
We arrive at the first stop - the Mansudae Grand Monument in Pyongyang's central district. Situated there is a larger-than-life, 20m bronze statue of Kim Il Sung, with the words 'Long Live General Kim Il Sung' engraved in Korean on the right mural.
Ryugyong Hotel: The pyramidal Ryugyong Hotel in the Potonggang district of Pyongyang was designed to be the world's top luxury hotel in the 1980s, but a few years after its construction, the project ran out of cash. Now, like a skeleton, it's an incomplete, empty shell of a building with nothing inside.
Described by the guides as a 'sacred ground', the entire group is obliged to bow to the statue while a representative among us lays a bouquet of flowers at the statue's feet. Today there are huge crowds of locals because it is the birthday of the late president.
Next stop is the Tower of the Juche Idea located on the banks of the Taedong river 10 minutes away.
Built from white granite in 1982, the tower is a bare, vertical structure topped with a 20m-high torch.
At 170m, it is said to be the tallest man-made stone structure in the world. Inscribed at its base is the philosophy of Juche, which was pioneered by Kim Il Sung in the 1930s and preaches self-reliance.
'Man is the master of everything and decider of his destiny' goes his philosophy - or something along those lines.
The bus then takes us to another grey structure, the monstrously large Monument To Party Founding in Munsu-Kangan Street. It boasts three 50m-tall towers in the shape of a hammer, a sickle and a writing brush, representing workers, peasants and intellectuals respectively.
This was built in 1995 on the 50th anniversary of the ruling Worker's Party of Korea. Carved on the walls are the words 'Kim Il Sung the Great Leader will always be with us'.
From sping to autumn, these women are a common sight at traffic junctions in central Pyongyang. They direct traffic with stern, mechanical efficiency during the day and are employed to avoid having to use electricity for the traffic lights.
By this time, monument fatigue is setting in. Even before we are packed onto the bus to visit yet another one - the Triumphal Arch in Kaeson Street, which marks the site where Kim Il Sung addressed the Koreans at the end of the Japanese occupation in 1945 - one thought is already weighing heavy on my mind.
It doesn't get any more Orwellian than this.
Altogether, we visit five monuments today, all with signs and singing effusive praises of the country and its leadership. Even the flower show we are taken to in between provides no respite - the only flora on display are the two species dedicated to Kim Il Sung and his son Kim Jong Il.
Maybe it is the tall, grey, soulless buildings that you see at every turn. Or the constant party slogans that shout out everywhere (even if we don't understand Korean). Or the portraits of Kim Il Sung (as the 'Eternal President' of the country, there are more images of him than that of his son) looking down at us from every other building facade in the city.
The more monuments I see, the bleaker my mood becomes.
Even the bare willow trees that line the avenues - shorn of leaves because winter has just passed - seem to speak of untold sadness.
That night, we witness a mass dance by a 50,000-strong crowd on Kim Il Sung Square celebrating his birthday. It can't lift my heavy mood.
