Mohe, China’s northernmost city, enchants visitors during summer solstice with rich traditions, people-to-people exchanges

On June 21, 2025, the summer solstice bathes Mohe - China's northernmost city nestled at the northern tip of China's "rooster-shaped" map in Heilongjiang Province - in over 21 hours of daylight.

Tucked beneath the northern slopes of the Great Khingan Mountains, this region - China's northernmost and highest-latitude borderland, encompassing Mohe and six other counties - boasts the unique allure of being the "Arctic of China" or "the city of extreme cold."

Known for its "northernmost" distinction and frigid winters that can dip to -53 C, Mohe enjoys cool summers with average temperatures below 20 C. A viral song "Mohe Ballroom" has thrust this remote city into the spotlight, drawing travelers to witness the aurora, experience polar day, and step into the iconic ballroom. Here, the "Arctic of China" shines as a vibrant hub of cultural exchange, a city that "never sleeps."
A song opens a window to the world

As evening falls, the sky in Mohe remains aglow. At the polaris square in Mohe, perched atop 153 steps at the city's highest point, the "North Star sculpture" welcomes visitors from afar. Along the bustling commercial street below, buildings with rounded or pointed rooftops evoke an exotic charm.

On the basement floor of a commercial street in the bustling downtown area, the melody of "Mohe Ballroom" rings out every hour, narrating a timeless love story. Under the flicker of a disco ball, dancers sway in a hall frozen in the nostalgic style of the 1980s and 1990s.

The song weaves the tale of an elderly man in Mohe who dances alone in the Mohe Ballroom, a place where couples used to sway together when they were young. Under the name Zhang Dequan, he dedicates his solitary dance to his late wife, a passionate dancer who died in a devastating forest fire in Mohe in 1987.

From May 6 to June 2, 1987, the Great Khingan Mountains in Heilongjiang Province experienced the most devastating forest fire since the founding of the People's Republic of China. The blaze consumed 1.01 million hectares, with nearly 70 percent being forested land, destroying over 800,000 cubic meters of timber in storage yards and forests. More than 50,000 people were affected, 211 lost their lives, and 266 were injured, with direct economic losses exceeding 500 million yuan ($69.5 million), according to data released by the Chinese government.

"This soulful song has become a cultural window, lifting our quiet border town into the world's gaze," said Li Jinbao, the ballroom's operator. As the song gained traction, visitors flocked to the town. Once a modest venue for local dance enthusiasts, the hall now buzzes during peak seasons, hosting hundreds daily, including foreign tourists.

Li flips through his phone, showing videos of travelers from diverse backgrounds dancing and singing together. "Last time, a group from South Africa joined us in a circle dance - so lively!" he recalled to the Global Times. "We may not share a common language, but the connection flows through the music and movement."

On global social media, the song transcends borders, with English, Russian, Spanish, and Japanese versions resonating widely. A Brazilian netizen shared translated lyrics on TikTok, marveling, "Such powerful words! What kind of snow-covered land births such fervent emotions?" The song's reach is fueling Mohe's vitality.

Local tourism data shows a surge in inbound visitors over the past year, especially from Europe, the US, Japan and South Korea. Seizing the moment, Mohe has launched the "Aurora and Melody" travel routes, which blend visits to dance halls, aurora viewing, and experiences of forest culture.

"Before, we had clear off and peak seasons. Now bookings pour in year-round, with many requesting the Mohe Ballroom," Du Chunyan, a local travel agency operator, told the Global Times.

French backpackers Emily said, "The song's tale of a distant, heartfelt northern China drew us here. Standing in the real dance hall, imagining that lone dancer who never stops, feels like touching the song's soul."
A bakery bears witness to cultural harmony

Long before Mohe gained its current fame, this border town was no stranger to cultural exchange - stories of the blending of Chinese and foreign cultures had been unfolding on its soil for decades.

A 130-kilometer drive north from the city leads to Beihong village, a hamlet cradled by mountains. Home to 256 residents across 131 households, including 119 descendants of Russian ancestry, the village exudes Russian flair, according to local government.

Along a riverside path by the Heilongjiang River, matryoshka dolls dot the scenery, and villagers with "foreign faces" speak fluent local dialect. The low, staggered wooden cabins, built in the Russian "mukeleng" style - a term blending Chinese and Russian for log-framed houses - stand as proud relics.

Village elders recount Beihong village's origins in the late Qing Dynasty (1644-1911), when a gold rush drew settlers, forming a natural community. Proximity fostered Chinese-Russian intermarriages, blending customs and architecture.
Li Chunhua, 73, a doctor at the village clinic for 53 years, who has a tall bridge on her nose and deep-set eyes, descends from Russian grandmothers. "As a child, I loved the Basque Festival that marks the resurrection of Jesus. Families made delicacies, danced, and sang together - it was pure joy," she recalled. "My grandmother danced gracefully to the harmonica, teaching me her steps."

Daily life here merges traditions of Northeast China with Russian elements, especially in cuisine - Russian-style jams, pickled cabbage and suba soup pair delightfully with steamed buns and local dishes.

Near Beihong village's main street, there is a cartoon statue of "Bakery Auntie." Inside the "Russian Bakery," the aroma of sweets fills the air as Zhao Yinhua, nearly 60, busies herself by the oven. "Many families here know how to make Russian lieba (the Chinese transliteration of rye bread in Russian)," she told the Global Times, showing her ingredients.

"My mother-in-law who has Russian ancestry taught me to gather wild hops in autumn frost for authentic, additive-free lieba," she said. Her bread, loved by locals and tourists, sells over 200 loaves daily at peak times. "It's labor-intensive - fermenting overnight, adding flour every few hours. Even in Russia, this craft is rare now," Zhao told the Global Times. "I want to keep it alive as a testament to our shared heritage."

'Mixed-style' homestays offer warm cultural exchange

In the famed Arctic village, landmarks like "Northernmost Home," "Northernmost Dumpling House," and "Northernmost Post Office" delight visitors seeking the "farthest north." Across the Heilongjiang River, Russia's Ignashino village lies in view, its "mukeleng" houses echoing those on China's side.

Sun Cuirong, a third-generation Chinese-Russian villager, runs "Russian Home" homestay. She pours steaming black tea and serves rye lieba slices for the reporters. "Winters used to be our only season for running the homestay business, but now we're busy year-round. Guests love our 'mixed' vibe - it's authentic and memorable," she said. The family-recipe Russian snacks like large dumpling pies and burdock pickles, paired with iron-pot stews, offer visitors a distinct cultural experience.

Such homestays, embracing this fusion, have been flourishing in the village in recent years. At another homestay, host Li Na greets cyclists from Central China's Hunan Province. Her rooms blend Chinese amber and Hezhe fish skin art with Russian samovars and Northeast floral curtains. Hezhe ethnic group, which was once the only fishing and hunting community in northern China, traditionally used fish skin and bones to make clothes, shoes and decorations due to their long-standing fishing heritage.

In Li's homestay guestroom, amber and purple-gold ornaments in Chinese aesthetic style adorn the table, a fish-skin painting by the Hezhe ethnic group hangs on the wall, a vintage Russian samovar stands in the corner, and the flower-patterned cloth curtains commonly seen in northeast China form an interesting contrast with the Russian-style lace tablecloths.

"Sleeping in a 'mukeleng' room and waking to China's northernmost forests is poetic," she said.

Shanghai visitor Chen and his family recently stayed there. Morning light filtered through Russian-patterned window frames, carrying the scent of fresh lieba. "The kids were thrilled to brew tea in a samovar. At night, by the fireplace, the host played the accordion and taught us the famous Russian song 'Katyusha' under a tranquil sky," Chen told the Global Times. His wife admired the details: "Russian dolls alongside paper-cut window decorations commonly used in Northeast China, lieba with corn porridge - it sparked our kids' curiosity beyond any textbook."

Leaving a note in the guestbook, they wrote: "Pine-scented log walls and Russian folk tunes from an old radio blur time's boundaries. Outside, a Chinese national flag flies at the northernmost outpost. This fusion warms the heart."