HAT THERE
A collection of journeys - from misty mountains to village classrooms - where each trip became more than travel. These are the moments of exchange, growth, and memories I carry with me.
Footprints in Bá Thước
I've never understood why people dislike lists - I love them! Checking things off feels like therapy. So, travel lists combine my two favorite things: listing and traveling. In 10th grade, I got to check off Bá Thước.
We started at Pà Pan Elementary, a small mountain school with rustic walls and endless laughter. That morning, we hosted games - tug-of-war, badminton (I may have bragged a bit when they cheered), and jump rope. Later, we led a financial workshop where "little adults" leaned in to learn about saving and dreaming big. Before leaving, we painted and decorated a play space, a small reminder that learning should always include joy.
But the best part was the children: chatty Ngọc, confident Ánh, goofy Cường, shy Quân, and so many others whose names still echo in my mind. When we said goodbye, they hugged us tightly: "Don't forget our names," they said - and I haven't.
Bá Thước also stole my heart through its food and culture. I learned to make cơm lam, rolled bánh sừng trâu, and joined the villagers in múa sạp under a starry sky. We laughed through broken Thai phrases, grateful for every connection.
The next day, we explored Hang Dơi (yes, with real bat droppings) and, despite a few clumsy falls, it was worth it. Then came the rice fields - my favorite. Barefoot in the mud, I was reminded of childhood days with my grandmother, hands deep in the earth, feeling grounded in every sense.
Looking back, Bá Thước wasn't just a trip - it was an exchange. We shared what we knew and left with something greater: warmth, resilience, tradition, and the memory of children's laughter. Impact doesn't travel one way; it circles back, quietly, and stays with you.
Fansipan - The Peak Beyoond The Fog
The peak that taught me to look around
I've always been a beach girl - water over mountains any day. Yet there I was on a chilly morning at the foot of Fansipan, facing 600 steps after a cable car ride that already felt like a victory. This trip was special because my grandma came along - my favorite person, my steady Warren Buffett to my chaotic stock market self.
The cable car view was breathtaking: clouds curling around mountains, valleys below, and, thanks to Grandma's luck, a double rainbow arcing across the sky. I've always loved rainbows - they include every color, leaving none behind.
Then came the climb. Six hundred steps that burned, tested my breath, and my pride. When I finally reached the top, the view was... fog. Just white mist swallowing everything. For a moment, I felt crushed - until I saw my sisters laughing and my grandma smiling, proud and content. She hadn't done anything this strenuous in years, yet there she was, glowing with joy.
That's when I realized the peak wasn't the point - the journey was. The flowers along the path, a rainbow bug, the laughter. That night's dinner of smoky grilled meat and cơm lam tasted divine, maybe because everything - effort, joy, and love - had led up to it.
Bắc Kạn - Weaving Memories
I came to Bắc Kạn for the Bride to Business project, where we hosted a talk on financial technology and how child marriage affects women's lives. Serious stuff-but once the project wrapped up, the real joy began: slowing down, exploring, and finding beauty in small moments.
First was weaving. My clumsy hands tangled the threads while the artisans smiled and showed me brocade patterns-stories of mountains, harvests, and pride passed through generations. I realized I wasn't just weaving fabric, but touching memory itself.
Then came the đàn tính. Watching the craftsman carve and string it felt like seeing someone breathe life into wood. When he played, the sound floated through the mountains; when I tried, it was more of a "remix no one asked for," but I couldn't stop smiling.
At Hang Múa Hạ, the glittering stalactites felt like stepping into another world. I was, predictably, the last one out-but proud of every step, cheered on by my friends.
When the trip ended, I knew Bắc Kạn had given me more than a project. It gave me memories stitched like brocade-threads of sound, rhythm, laughter, and quiet strength-woven into a song I'll keep with me long after the journey.
