Snippets of Guilin.

Snippets of Guilin, Guangxi autonomous region, China.

May 2010.

Cover photo courtesy of Shujianyang.

Looking back, I do wish I’d spent more time in Guangxi—China’s impossibly beautiful, storybook province. But by then, my trip was already beginning to wind down, and I had just a week left to take in a handful of highlights before making my way to Hong Kong for a few final days ahead of my flight home.

With time no longer on my side, I chose to fly from Xi’an, trading what would have been an 11-hour train journey for a far more manageable two-hour hop through the skies.

I had chosen the city of Guilin as my base in Guangxi, a springboard for a series of day trips—first to the rural farmland and river trails of Yangshuo, then on to the mountainous rice terrace villages of Huangluo Yao and Ping’an.

It was a carefully plotted plan, but one that left me with just a single day to explore Guilin itself. Unusual for me—but I was determined to make every hour count.

Snippets of Guilin.

Guilin’s story stretches back over two millennia, its dramatic karst landscape shaping both its identity and its enduring appeal. Established as a settlement during the Qin Dynasty, the city grew into an important administrative and cultural centre in southern China, prized as much for its strategic position as for its natural beauty.

Over the centuries, poets, painters and wandering scholars came here, all keen to capture the surreal limestone peaks that rise like ink strokes from the earth. Even today, Guilin remains synonymous with the classical Chinese ideal of landscape—where mist, water and mountain exist in delicate harmony.

And nowhere is that harmony more accessible than in Seven Star Park. Sprawling across a vast swathe of greenery on the eastern bank of the Li River, it takes its name from the seven peaks that resemble the pattern of the Big Dipper. Covering a whopping 300 acres, the park feels like a condensed version of Guilin itself—caves, hills, waterfalls and quiet corners all folding into one dreamlike terrain.

References to the area date back as far as the Sui and Tang dynasties, though its transformation into a grand public recreation area didn’t fully take shape until the 1950s.

It was a misty, humid morning as I wandered along the park’s earthy garden trails and riverside paths. The Li drifted quietly beside me, its opaque green surface barely disturbed. Perfect conditions, in fact, for a thoughtfully posed photo.

I may have overdone it slightly.

Seven Star Park.

Before too long, I reached Flower Bridge, a grand, stone-arched structure dating back to the 10th century. According to an information board at its entrance, its name comes from the spring months, when blossoms fall onto the water below and drift beneath its arches. The result is a painterly scene that has long found its way into classical Chinese poetry and painting.

Beyond the scenery, there are cultural relics, carvings and sculptures to discover. Inscriptions from Tanqian, a prominent Buddhist monk and meditation leader who lived during the Sui era, remain engraved at the entrance. Moreover, I stumbled upon a magnificent bonsai garden, where an array of majestic species sit among a cluster of Buddhist statues.

Eventually, I reached what is widely considered to be the park’s stunning centrepiece: Seven Star Cave. Formed over millions of years by water eroding the region’s limestone karst, the cave reveals a vast network of chambers filled with stalactites, stalagmites and otherworldly rock formations.

Photo courtesy of Liu Huijuan.

Unfortunately, I arrived at the back end of a scheduled tour and only caught a fleeting glimpse inside.

But the surrounding courtyards offered plenty in return—most notably this atmospheric cave shrine, where carved Buddhist figures emerge from the rock face. As if on cue, a pair of locals in flowing costume posed for a photographer, lending the scene a quietly surreal, almost staged quality.

Snippets of Guilin.

It was well after noon by the time I exited the park. From there, I made my way down to the Li River for an atmospheric stroll along its banks. The sky seemed to grey by the minute, though this certainly didn’t dull the river’s quiet allure.

Joggers passed by, dog walkers ambled along, and young couples lingered by the water’s edge, while the occasional boat drifted past, carrying lunching tourists.

And then there was this man, sitting and doing nothing at all—perfectly capturing the river’s unhurried, languid mood.

Somewhere along that riverside walk, it suddenly hit me just how ravenous I was. Fortunately, I stumbled upon a waterside noodle spot at exactly the right moment. It was nothing fancy—just one (rather grumpy) man and his baskets of ingredients. All I had to do was choose my noodle type and point to whatever I wanted thrown into the wok. Pic ’n’ mix, if you will.

This meant I could simply gesture and sidestep any linguistic theatrics. The result was a perfectly serviceable plate of stir-fried chicken and vegetables for just a few euros.

A Cheap and Cheerful Lunch.

It was while I was devouring this that a large jar of pale, swollen plums caught my eye. They sat steeped in a cloudy, amber liquid—suān méi tāng, a sweet, sour and faintly smoky drink popular across southern China.

Curious, I ordered a cup and watched as the man quietly ladled the ghostly liquid into a plastic cup. It was unusual, but oddly refreshing—and a welcome sugar boost for the rest of the day’s wanderings.

From the river, I mapped out a walking route to nearby Shan Lake. Within half an hour I had joined a lakeside trail and was enjoying the misty, moody, mid-afternoon views.

Shan Lake forms part of the city’s historic moat system, originally linked to waterways constructed during the Tang Dynasty to protect and define the old settlement. Over time, its defensive role faded, and it evolved into a scenic urban lake.

The lake is home to the elegant Sun and Moon Pagodas, Guilin’s most recognisable modern landmarks. The taller Sun Pagoda, a striking copper structure, stands at nine storeys, while the slightly smaller Moon Pagoda, built in glazed tile, rises to seven. Both opened in 2001 as part of a broader effort to reimagine Shan Lake’s historic waterfront.

Connected by an underwater passage, they are designed to be explored together—though for many, their greatest appeal lies in their appearance at night, when one glows a rich gold and the other a soft silver, their reflections doubling the spectacle in the still waters of Shan Lake.

Sun and Moon Pagodas.

Photo courtesy of the King of Hearts.

Later that evening, after a hearty hotpot dinner that somehow escaped the attention of my lens, I decided to take a walk to see the famous Lijiang Waterfall Hotel and its nightly water and light show. Each evening, since it opened in the early 2000s, its facade transforms into one of the world’s largest artificial waterfalls.

Watching this spectacle unfold is an experience in itself. Crowds gather expectantly along the street as the lights dim and a low hum builds behind the scenes. Then, without much warning, the water spills over the edge, rushing down the glass in a shimmering torrent, illuminated by shifting colours.

The whole scene felt dreamlike—somewhere between natural wonder and staged performance—before the flow subsided, the lights returned, and the hotel slipped quietly back into the night.

My time in Guilin had been far too short, but a success nonetheless. By morning, I’d be boarding a bus out of the city and on to Yangshuo County—one of China’s most celebrated rural heartlands.

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