Yangshuo, China

After our three-hour flight from Beijing to Guilin, we grabbed a taxi for what was supposed to be a peaceful 90-minute drive through the countryside to Yangshuo. The scenery slowly shifted from city to lush green fields and dramatic hills as far as you could see, and we were all getting excited to see our next spot: the Ancient Garden Hotel.

That is… until GPS betrayed us.

Our driver couldn’t understand where we wanted to go when we told him, so we showed him the address that we had found for the hotel online then had ChatGPT auto translate into Mandarin for us. This, in hindsight, may have been our mistake. Marshall plugged that into his phone and the driver followed the map down the highway until he turned down this long, skinny dirt road. The road continued to get smaller, bumpier, and less maintained until the bushes and tree branches were literally scraping both sides of his car as we squeezed through. You could practically hear the paint peeling off.

After a few minutes of this he stops and said we’re here (in Mandarin). WHERE?! It was a teeny tiny walking trail with 12 dogs running around, this couldn’t be the place. We did NOT get out of the car and frantically looked on our phone and with barely 1 bar of service we tried to see where we’d gone wrong. When we finally checked a different GPS app, we realized we were still three miles away from the actual hotel. He turned around, retraced the scratched-up path, and took us toward the correct address. Ouch! How do you say sorry in Mandarin again?

When he finally pulled over and said we had arrived, we all stared out the window and thought, “There’s no way this is it.” The street in front of us did not look like the charming hotel we’d seen in the photos. More like a few hundred year old ruins and a 70 year old gas station. As we tried to again explain that this wasn’t the right place while the driver was asking for payment, a man walked up, opened the door, and asked if we were staying at Ancient Garden Hotel. We said yes but asked if he was sure this was the right place and he said “110% sure, let me help you with your bags”. Turns out, the hotel was tucked behind the street a few hundred feet, hidden from view, built in and amongst the ruins. Phew!

We followed him down a long alley, turned a corner, and there it was: the gorgeous, historic courtyard hotel from the pictures, framed by the unique mountainscape in the background.

We were starving, so first order of business: lunch at the hotel’s rooftop restaurant. Simple, delicious, and with those epic mountain views—exactly what we needed after a long travel day.

After eating, we stopped by the front desk to plan out the evening. First up: bamboo rafting on the Yulong River.
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Marshall and Tyson climbed into one bamboo raft, while Wesley and I took another. Each raft had a captain who stood at the back and steered with a long pole, pushing us up the river against the current. The water was calm and peaceful, with farms and mountains all around us. Every so often, we’d reach a small dam, and the raft would tip over the edge, giving us a quick splash of cold water as we dropped down. We went over four dams in total—just enough to make it fun without totally soaking us.

Back at the hotel, the boys jumped straight into pool mode. They first slurped a yummy snickers milk shake and then grabbed the blow-up paddles board to cruise around on. We got lots of swim time in and let everyone burn off the last of their energy.

​That evening, we headed out to the Impression Sanjie Liu Show, which is a must-do cultural experience in Yangshuo. As we were walking into the venue, a random guy tapped Wesley—our nine-year-old—on the shoulder and tried to sell him a beer. Of all people in our family, why did he decide the elementary schooler was his best shot at closing the deal?
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Somehow, our hotel worked some magic and scored us front-row tickets, which made it even more incredible. The walk to the theater area was through a path of 100+ foot bamboo forest and traditional Chinese buildings. The show is set outdoors along the river, with the mountains miles away lit up as a natural backdrop. There were hundreds of performers singing and dancing on boats and rafts across the water. It was surreal and so cool—like a live performance woven right into the landscape.

The next morning we had a vintage sidecar tour on the agenda. The guides rolled up with two vintage motorcycles with sidecars….and two drivers. Seeing our look of confusion, the tour guide tried explaining that the kids would be in the sidecars while Marshall and I ride on the back of the motorcycle straddling the driver.

That was… not what I had in mind.

I had been picturing us actually driving the sidecars ourselves, which is exactly how it was shown in the pictures on their website. We definitely did not want to be chauffeured around town, we wanted to explore and take it at our own pace. So we made a game-time decision and the guide kindly called his boss and swapped out the vintage bikes for newer electric sidecars that we were actually allowed to drive around the country roads. We lost about an hour of tour time during the swap, but it was absolutely worth it.

Once we finally got going, we zipped through the countryside, winding between fields and rivers with the amazing peaks all around us. We drove as fast as we could, which is apparently our family’s default speed. Driving a sidecar, though, is a whole different skill—you have to constantly remember there’s this extra chunk of vehicle hanging off your right side.

Marshall learned that the hard way when he accidentally side-swiped an old lady on a rickety bike. She was understandably upset, climbed off, and inspected her bike like it was a brand-new Tesla that just got keyed. This thing was so rusty and beat up, there’s no universe in which it could look more damaged than it already did—but she definitely gave him an earful (in Mandarin).

I wasn’t exactly driving like a pro either. I hit a couple of curbs and even drifted into a ditch a few times. No major damage—just my pride.
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About halfway through, we switched into three-wheeled vehicles with roofs, which were amazing purely because they shielded us from the 90-degree sun. Shade plus breeze made the second half of the ride much more comfortable.

When we got back to the hotel, the fun came to a screeching halt.

Wesley started feeling sick and soon was in full-blown vomit mode. About an hour later, Marshall went down. Shortly after that, Tyson joined the club. In the meantime, I felt totally fine, so clearly they had all eaten something I skipped.

While the boys were collectively destroying our bathroom, I spent hours by the pool, working on my laptop and soaking up vitamin D. Every now and then I’d check on them, and it looked like a scene from a low-budget disaster movie.

Of course, in the middle of the night, it finally hit, and I joined the throw-up party. We got through the night by drinking half of a water bottle every time we needed to do the duty and by the morning everyone was feeling well enough to get out of dodge and move to the next spot. Even though we didn’t get a wink of sleep the boys champed it up and impressed us with their fortitude and ability to stick things out during hard times with a positive attitude.

After a night of no sleep and nonstop throwing up, we woke up feeling like zombies who’d been run over by our own sidecars. But the travel schedule waits for no one.

We had to check out by 10 a.m., pile into a car for an hour-long drive to the train station, and then catch a three-hour bullet train to Hong Kong. Everyone was exhausted, slightly traumatized, and running on pure willpower and the hope for a comfortable bed.
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Some trips end with a bang; Yangshuo ended with us dragging our queasy selves toward the next adventure—Hong Kong.