Inside North Korea‘s ‘Hotel of Doom’: The Ryugyong Hotel, a Monument to Unfulfilled Ambition
Pyongyang, North Korea – For over four decades, the colossal Ryugyong Hotel has dominated the Pyongyang skyline, a stark and silent pyramid looming over the North Korean capital. Never opened to guests, the 105-story structure-once intended to be the world’s largest hotel-stands as a potent symbol of economic overreach and unrealized dreams. Now, rare glimpses inside reveal a building repurposed not for hospitality, but as a massive, external video display.
North Korea cautiously began welcoming limited numbers of western tourists earlier this year, the first as the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic. While Russian visitors were permitted entry in 2023, the broader reopening marks a shift in the country’s isolationist policies, offering a unique, if tightly controlled, window into a nation shrouded in secrecy. The Ryugyong Hotel, a constant fixture in Pyongyang’s landscape, embodies the complexities of North Korea’s past, present, and uncertain future. Its story reflects the nation’s economic struggles,its ambitious construction projects,and its evolving methods of projecting power and propaganda.
Construction on the Ryugyong Hotel began in 1987, intended to showcase North Korea’s economic prowess and host the 1989 World Youth and Students Festival. Though, economic hardship following the collapse of the Soviet Union-a key trading partner-halted progress in the early 1990s, leaving the concrete shell unfinished for decades. the building’s distinctive pyramid shape, designed to resemble a modern, futuristic hotel, became a source of international ridicule, earning it the nickname “hotel of Doom.”
For years, the Ryugyong Hotel remained a hollow monument, its exterior covered in scaffolding and plastic sheeting. Attempts to clad the building in glass were plagued by quality issues and financial constraints.Construction resumed sporadically, but the hotel never neared completion.
In recent years, North Korea has repurposed the Ryugyong Hotel, installing a massive LED screen on its exterior. The screen displays propaganda, national celebrations, and, increasingly, commercial advertisements. This transformation signifies a shift in the building’s purpose-from a symbol of potential to a tool for state messaging and a potential revenue stream.
While the interior remains largely inaccessible to the public,limited images reveal unfinished rooms and a stark,utilitarian aesthetic. The hotel’s fate remains uncertain, but its enduring presence serves as a constant reminder of North Korea’s ambitious, and often unrealized, aspirations. The Ryugyong Hotel stands not as a welcoming beacon for travelers, but as a silent, imposing testament to a nation’s complex history.
