Through my picture book about the Massgames, I got in touch with the Lumas Gallery, which was very interested in my photos. However, as I only had a small amateur camera with me on my first trip, the resolution of the photos was not sufficient for the large formats that Lumas wanted. So I decided to take a second series. With decent equipment and an official photo licence. I was less interested in the spectacular long shots that Thomas Gursky, for example, had photographed. I wanted to find the “man in the masses”, to tear him out of the collective – and to do this I had to get as close as possible to the participants, either by getting close to the pitch or using extremely long focal lengths, preferably both.

However, the photo permit presented me with almost insurmountable problems. For almost a year, I had to listen to people telling me that there was no way I could do that. In Pyongyang, however, my efforts were well recognised. A Korean employee of the German embassy researched how I had first come to the country and contacted Koryo Tours to tell them that a strange guy from Germany was currently scaring up everyone and anyone in Pyongyang with a request for a photo permit. Nick Bonner from Koryo Tours then offered me his help and things slowly started to move. At the end of the summer I finally got a message from Nick: a door might open for me in Pyongyang. The best thing would be to get on a plane and just go for it. I plucked up all my courage, plundered my bank account and travelled to the “hermit kingdom” in September. I still didn’t have an official photo permit, but I managed to get my equipment through customs and was standing in the stadium that same evening. My guide Mr Li proudly presented me with my box seat: there was a long row of heavy armchairs where North Korean celebrities, including Kim Jong-un himself, were attending the opening of the Mass Games. This was the best view – but the seats were unsuitable for my purposes as they were far too far away. I pointed to the rows below the box directly adjacent to the pitch: that’s where I wanted to go. Mr Li initially waved me off, but with a lot of patience and further difficult negotiations, two days later I was actually standing right at the front of the pitch – closer than any other photographer before me.

A week later I was back in Beijing. Exhausted, but with a treasure trove of photos in my luggage. In Pyongyang I had only had time to fly over the photos, now I could finally view them in peace. The close-ups I had fought so hard for were perfect. But to my horror, the long shots were all blurred. Apparently my wide-angle lens had been damaged during transport. The long shots weren’t the core of the work – but without them I wouldn’t be able to present the series at Lumas. So I flew back to Germany, replaced my lens and a few days later I was back in Pyongyang, much to the amazement of my guides. I was now a “third timer”, one of the few Western tourists who had been to North Korea three times. But the difficulties continued. Two of the three shows I had booked were cancelled. The only shows that still took place were outside the validity of my visa. Again, Mr Li made the impossible possible. I was in North Korea for a day without a visa, then he arranged an appointment in a café where Western tourists were not allowed. To my great delight, I met Ms Pak Hyon-yi – who had been my tour guide on my first trip. She was now the head of the state travel agency KITC – and she was able to help. My visa was extended that same evening and the next day I was back in the stadium at the greatest show on earth, camera in hand, carefully shooting long shot after long shot, crisp and unique.