Beyond Marrs

We left Hanoi, and let the city unspool behind us as concrete gave way to fields, rice paddies, and farms. Hopping on a sleeper train, we snaked our way along the Red River and left the lowlands behind, gradually making our way to the craggy northwestern highlands on the border of China. Having spent a week here in Bac Ha, I am convinced that this southeastern tail of the Himalaya – which includes northern Thailand and Laos – represents the best of what southeast Asia has to offer. Limestone mountains and valleys, clad with dense jungle foliage and pock marked with caves and underground rivers, dotted with villages and terraces of corn and rice. Ada put it best: “It’s like Seldovia, in Vietnam!” There’s a warmth here—people wave as we walk by, many greeting us with a cheerful “hallo!” Bac Ha has welcomed us in a way that feels familiar, almost like home. Ada and Willem quickly bonded with the neighbor kids, playing together every evening until we had to tug them away for dinner. There’s something simple and universal about children at play, undeterred by language barriers, forming friendships in the most effortless way.

We arrived the day before the well-known Sunday market here in Bac Ha, and woke up early to make our way there through a steady drizzle (also reminiscent of home). The market itself was oriented around a central square, with consumables at the center and textiles and crafts around the perimeter. We ambled through the center, pondered what some of the more unfamiliar things might be, and looked for some morsels to eat. We saw spices of all kinds, dried fruits and chili peppers, vegetables that were foreign to us, fermented leafy greens, traditional medicines, large piles of tobacco, mushrooms, raw meats, animal organs, snakes, nuts, ginger root, plums, coconuts, and gigantic scrolls of cinnamon bark. We snacked on colorful balls of sticky rice dipped in crushed peanuts, fried dough balls stuffed with sweet bean paste, dried apples, crispy corn cakes, and hunks of freshly chopped sugar cane. Nearly half of the Bac Ha District is Hmong, and their intricate, colorful textile work is somewhat mesmerizing to look at, much in the same way as their contoured terraces of rice and corn that stretch along the mountainsides around town. Eventually, we all bought zipper pouches from a charmingly persistent Hmong woman, but only after she and her companions fawned over Willem’s nose and cheeks and swiftly dressed Ada in traditional Hmong clothing. Resistance was futile. By the end of the day at the market, we walked away with a half kilo of honey comb attached to a tree branch, and passing by a small toothed ferret badger tethered to a root ball, decided to move along. 

The next day, feeling ambitious, we set out on a hike over a pass to the east of the village, following narrow switchbacks past quiet farmsteads and wandering water buffalo. As we reached the ridge and descended on the other side, we greeted flocks of chickens with a friendly “hello” while carefully declining the company of more assertive packs of dogs. Eventually, we left the road behind and entered a maze of tiered rice paddies perched on a slender, grassy ridge that fell away steeply into the valley below.

Beyond the terraces, we scrambled up a prominent hillock, rewarded at the summit with panoramic views stretching in every direction. Here, the sheer scale of the terraced landscape was striking—crafted over generations, they flow with the natural contours of the hills like ripples, appearing more like an organic extension of the land than something imposed upon it. Satisfied with the view, we retraced our steps, winding back down through the snaking roadways in search of dinner.

On our last full day in Bac Ha, our host suggested a cultural exchange with a local school. Following a lazy morning, an energetic group of 8th graders arrived at our homestay, and after a lively discussion about the similarities and differences between Bac Ha and Seldovia, we joined them for their end-of-year field day. Ada and Willem jumped into games like “hammer, scissor, bag”—a playful twist on rock, paper, scissors where points are marked on faces with charcoal—along with tug-of-war, jump rope, piggyback races, and some spontaneous dancing. Willem and I joined a football (soccer) match, which then evolved into wrestling, much to Willem’s delight.

As the day wound down, Kate and I reflected on what is most likely to make our year abroad most meaningful. While we will continue to explore landscapes, cultural sites, and bustling cities—each enriching in its own way—the real magic for Ada and Willem are the friends that they will continue to meet along the way. Those connections are what produce the most unforgettable moments. As we continue our journey south, we’re eager for more experiences like this.