Ban Gioc is a waterfall more than 200 metres wide on the Vietnam–China border, where the Quây Sơn River comes down through the karst hills of Cao Bằng in three broad steps. The steps are not decoration. The cliff is capped with hard dolomitic limestone over far softer siltstone and shale, so the soft rock is scoured out from beneath until the cap loses its footing and snaps off. That is why the crest keeps retreating slowly upstream. Teeth of dolomite above the lip split the current as well, so the water comes down in separate threads with wooded rock islands between them. In the dry months the cliff is wider than the river can cover, and you can pick one thread and follow it down all three steps. Once the monsoon has filled the Quây Sơn, from September into November, the threads swell together and the face goes over as a single sheet.
Blue-canopied bamboo rafts pole out from the Vietnamese bank and work in toward the lowest tier, close enough that the spray wets your face before the boatman turns back. The rafts from the Chinese side do the same a few metres off. Paths thread the rice fields and conical limestone peaks that ring the falls, and the roar fades and returns as you walk. In autumn the paddies around them ripen gold. A stepped path climbs the hillside behind to the terraces of Phật Tích Trúc Lâm, where the roar drops to a hum. From up there the cascade reads as one thing: the smaller Vietnamese fall on the left, the shared main drop on the right, the river going on into the karst. The line through it was fixed by treaty only in 1999, and marking the ground took another decade. Down at the foot of the falls that old survey marker still stands at the edge of the rock, close enough for you to put a hand on. The ground trembles faintly under the weight of the water, and the far bank is another country.