On the frozen banks of the Imjin River, displaced Koreans divided from their families for decades by war pay their respects to their relatives and ancestors.
They gather at the closest point to North Korea.
Their former homes are just beyond the Korean Demilitarized Zone (DMZ), which is surrounded by barbed wire on the edge of the most dangerous border in the world.
They line up at an altar piled with offerings of rice cakes and fruit.
It’s mostly elderly men, as according to Korean tradition ceremonies for Lunar New Year must be carried out by the eldest son.
They are shoeless, despite the bitter cold. They burn incense before pouring an offering of soju, a Korean rice wine.
They then bow deeply several times, many walking away in tears.
Han Sang-Joon, 77, was 10 years old when the Korean War broke out. He was playing at his cousin’s house and never saw his parents again.
As an only child he says he still cries for his mother and father every day.
“I always miss them. Reunification is my hope but it hasn’t happened yet,” Mr Han said.
Jo Kyoung-Hyum, 88, holds a private ceremony for his mother, father and two younger siblings.
He says his whole family moved to South Korea in 1950 just as the war started, but his parents returned to the North to check on other relatives and could never return.
“When I come here I can see my grandfather and grandmother’s spirits. I’m trying to put my father’s spirit in my heart,” said Mr Jo.
Mr Jo‘s uncle Jo Ki-Nam, 89, says his dying wish is to be reunited with his brother.
“Before I die my only wish is to meet my brother. They may have passed away already but my mind still thinks that my family is still alive and living there,” said Mr Jo.
Displaced Koreans have been coming to the DMZ to hold ceremonies on Lunar New Year for the past 42 years.
But as the years pass the numbers dwindle. So do their hopes of ever seeing their loved ones again.
I met Yoon Il-Young, 82, at his home two weeks before Lunar New Year.
He showed me letters he still writes to his long lost brother.
He says he met with the South Korean Unification Minister at the ceremony as he’s now leading a campaign for more families to be reunited.
“I feel like I’m back in my hometown when I see my North Korean people at this ceremony. Because of that I come here every year,” said Mr Yoon.
But until another reunion is organised by both governments, these ceremonies are a tragic reminder of the pain the long political divide on the peninsula has inflicted upon separated families.
