The Hmong women slouched toward the outside of the market

The market was wrapped in morning mist. Muang Sing, a small town in northern Laos close to the border, has long been known as a trading hub despite its modest size. Even before the sun had fully risen, people were already gathering there, carrying bundles of vegetables, fruits, textiles, and household goods as they moved about. A market is not simply a place to buy and sell—it is also a social stage for the villagers, a venue for casual chatter interwoven with the art of haggling.

Amid the bustle, I noticed a woman of the Hmong people. She stood out distinctly from the surrounding Lao with her unique hat and the embroidered costume of her tribe. The Hmong migrated south from China generations ago and now live across Laos, Vietnam, Thailand, and other parts of Southeast Asia, where they continue to preserve their vibrant embroidery culture. The intricately stitched cloth that fetches high prices in tourist shops is, for her and her peers, nothing more than everyday attire.

The woman walked with her gaze lowered, a large cloth bag slung over her shoulder. From the look of it, the bag was already full of rice and vegetables she had bought at the market. When Japanese people imagine a market, they often think first of fish or meat, but in Muang Sing it is the mountain tribes who display wild greens or sell sticky rice neatly packed into bamboo tubes. In a place where preservation techniques remain limited, food must be eaten the very day it is bought. It struck me as oddly familiar—an echo of pre-refrigerator Japan, unexpectedly conjured here in the hills of Laos.