A slight misunderstanding with a bus driver very nearly results in our bags being driven to Xi'an airport without us, but fortunately with a bit of shouting and pointing disaster is averted. The journey is far less fraught than the one that brought us into Xi'an and we arrive at the airport in good time.

The plane descends into Guilin over paddy fields and the distinctive 'karst' limestone peaks for which this area of southern China is so well renowned. We depart the airport for the airport, unnecessarily laden with pink plastic palm trees, and pass by paddy fields manned by farmers working the land with oxen and carts. Kaka is (probably unwittingly advertising a special Chinese brand of throat lozenges).

A taxi links us to our hotel where we unload our baggage, before making our way to 'Reed Flute Cave.' Amazingly our taxi driver is still waiting for us as we leave the hotel. 'Mr Zhang' as he wishes to be known, takes it upon himself to be more than just a taxi driver. He develops into an all-round trip adviser for the princely sum of thirty Yuan (£3). Mr Zhang has a keen sense of humour too that transcends the language barrier. We laugh heartily as he 'sets' a group of hawkers on Stephen to stop them bothering us. The 'Reed Flute Cave,' so called because of the grasses growing around the cave can be used to make the musical instrument, is a huge complex hidden beneath a mountain. Beautifully lit rocks, formed into every imaginable shape loom out of the darkness around every corner. A calm underwater lake sits at the bottom, making perfect symmetry with the cave above. We also get the opportunity to see a one thousand year old tortoise, which we pass up, thinking it somewhat unlikely.
At Mr Zhang's suggestion we take a raft along the Li River to see 'Elephant Trunk Hill.' The setting is beautiful; the sun sets in the background as we moor at a beach where people are barbequing live crab. Just a short distance from Guilin town, life remains undisturbed by tourism. We float past women washing their clothes in the river, men fishing (with nets rather than cormorants, which are now little more than crowd pleasing gimmick), and children playing on the beaches.

Once again at Mr Zhang's suggestion we fine at one of Guilin's finer dining establishments. This is one of China's famous 'Pick Your Own' restaurants. After ordering we are taken outside, where the restaurant has a veritable menagerie of fish, snakes, ducks, chickens and some indeterminable furry thing resembling a groundhog. The waitress does the fishing, and before you can say 'haute cuisine,' the waitress hurls the fish against the pavement. Meanwhile a duck is being strangled and another fish is being smashed on the kerb - leaving the pavement looking more like an abattoir floor.