Shouts for Vietnamese coffee topped with salted ice cream ring out along Hedi Road, where women in bamboo hats ladle drinks from roadside stalls. I arrive at my destination, Saigon Cafe, decorated with light yellow walls, mint green blinds, and scenes from the 1992 French film L’amant painted on the terrace. As I ascend to the second floor, I savor my slow-dripping coffee, relish its rich sweetness, and gaze across the Beilun River at the Vietnamese countryside. But despite the architecture and coffee, I am not in Vietnam—I am in Dongxing, China’s only border city with Vietnam that is connected by both land and water. Sitting at the southwesternmost end of China’s mainland coastline, the city carries traces of recent history, cross-cultural connections, and hidden stories that quietly reward the curious.

Located at the southern tip of Guangxi and carrying the nickname of China’s Gate (国门), Dongxing’s history as a border town stretches back 1,500 years. During the Qing dynasty (1616 – 1911), over 30 boundary stones were erected to demarcate the border between China and Vietnam in Guangxi, eight of them are in Dongxing. One stands right in front of Saigon Cafe, now protected by a glass enclosure.

In more recent history, Dongxing sat on the front line of China’s 1979 Counterattack in Self-Defense on the Sino-Vietnamese Border, and the city remains a living museum of that tumultuous period. Cafes occupy what were once bomb shelters, while shops are decorated with military kettles and grenade cases leftover from the war.

My next stop, the memorial hall for qiaopi (侨批), the remittance letters overseas Chinese sent home, which sheds light on the city’s turbulent history. Since the Ming dynasty (1368 – 1644), coastal Chinese have ventured abroad in large numbers for trade and other opportunities. They used qiaopi to send both their hard-earned savings and messages of affection back to their families. According to the exhibition,  Dongxing’s role as a qiaopi hub peaked in the 1930s and 40s. After the ports in Guangdong’s Shantou and Hong Kong fell under Japanese control in 1939 and 1941, operators established a secret 3,000-kilometer route through Dongxing, crossing active war zones. Known as the “Dongxing Post Road,” it kept letters, money, and essential supplies flowing to millions of families in Guangdong and Fujian.

Today, Dongxing may no longer hold the same weight in international trade, but the small city of 220,000 still thrives as a lively center for border commerce. During peak travel season, over 26,000 people cross the Beilun River bridge daily, linking Dongxing with the Vietnamese city of Mong Cai. Vendors sell everything from Miss Saigon perfume to herbal balm, instant Pho noodles, and coffee packs. And almost every coffee stall has an avocado stand beside it. “No need to add water—it’s naturally green and creamy,” one vendor explains, showing how Vietnamese avocados are perfect for milkshakes. Trucks piled with tropical fruit rumble through the city, and according to Guangxi Daily, 22,000 tons—including durian, passion fruit, and dragon fruit—were imported through Dongxing from January to April 2025.

Even the footwear has a local flavor. A popular local souvenir is rubber slippers whose soles are molded into the spiky skin of a durian. “If someone annoys you, you can give him a kick with these slippers,” the vendor jokes.

Dongxing’s street food also has a distinctly Vietnamese flair, from grilled pork wrapped in rice noodle sheets to banh mi sandwiches and even some more adventurous delicacies.

“I get fresh duck eggs and hatch them for 15 days,” a woman in a bamboo hat explains, pulling out a red stool and inviting me to sit by her stall selling qutou (屈头) eggs. Literally “head-bending,” the name refers to the curled embryo inside a partially hatched egg. The dish requires no special cooking—just boil and enjoy the liquid and meat inside. Originally from Vietnam, qutou eggs are now a staple in Dongxing’s food market. “If you don’t try these, you never really came to Dongxing,” the woman insists. 

In Vietnam, they are eaten simply with ginger, salt, and pepper. Here, the stall adds a Guangxi twist: radish slices, shredded ginger, mint, and purple shiso, all drizzled with green lemon juice. Not for the squeamish, the dish is surprisingly refreshing.

By afternoon, a drizzle begins, typical for the city’s subtropical monsoon climate. I follow locals under the high-ceilinged arcade of a qilou (骑楼, literally “riding on the building”), an architectural style that blends Chinese, Southeast Asian, and European elements with shops below, living quarters above, the upper floor seemingly “riding” the street-level walkway.

While traditional southern architecture favors black-and-white palettes, here in Dongxing, bursts of yellow, pink, green, and blue surround me. French arches and carved railings adorn the qilou balconies. As vendors unfurl an orange canopy, rain cascades like a curtain. Instead of an ink-brush scroll, the qilou in the rain feels like vivid, globally inspired watercolors.

On my way back to the hotel, I pass a hill dotted with lush banana trees and a sign reading “Baishi Banana House.” I’m surprised to learn that Qi Baishi (齐白石), one of 20th-century China’s greatest painters, drew inspiration for his famous “Banana House” (《芭蕉书屋图》) from the endless green stretches here in Dongxing. He stayed in the border city in 1907 and 1909, leaving behind hundreds of paintings and carved seals.

In 2019, the Dongxing government rebuilt the small house from Qi Baishi’s painting on the same slope he once visited, complete with white walls, black tiles, and wood-carved windows. Next door, the Qi Baishi Culture and Art Museum, opened last December, displays over 80 calligraphy and painting works, rubbings from various periods of Qi’s career, and records of his time in Dongxing.

On this rainy Monday afternoon, however, the door is closed. Just as I turn away, a woman emerges from the banana trees.

“I am Tang Shuzhan, the fourth-generation successor of the Qi Baishi style,” she says. “Since you walked up the hill on this rainy day, it is yuanfen (缘分, fate). Let me show you inside.” She takes out a key and opens the door.

Inside is a simple room with a desk, brushes, a bike, and a bed. “Qi learned to cycle in Dongxing and crossed the bridge to visit Vietnam,” she explains. “This iron bed is from Vietnam, with some French elements.”

Pointing to a painting, she adds, “Qi painted that quail in Dongxing. But that Hami melon? That’s mine.” Growing up in Xinjiang, she says, drawing the sweet melon reminds her of life’s sweetness. Now in her 60s, Tang studied under Qi Youlai, Qi Baishi’s grandson, and her technique closely echoes the master’s.

“Why did you come to Dongxing?” I ask.

“I followed Qi’s footsteps here in 2018 and have stayed ever since. The winters are warm, and there’s plenty of rain and fruit,” she smiles. Besides the Banana House, she runs an art classroom teaching Qi-style painting. From wild lychees to river shrimp, Dongxing’s nature and life provide Tang and her students with endless inspiration.

Following her into the backyard, a hidden orchard unfolds—mango and longan trees, green carambolas dotted with tiny pink flowers, and more. She grabs a long, forked pole and shakes down a few as a souvenir.

“I paint them as well,” she laughs.

As I bid Tang farewell and descend the hill, my pockets bulge with carambolas and my mind buzzes with the day’s discoveries. Dongxing, a small city at China’s border with Vietnam, feels like a magical gateway where history, culture, and unexpected delights collide. Perhaps one day I’ll return to Tang’s art class, hoping to capture a bit of Dongxing’s magic with a brush.