Kim had arranged to meet an old colleague, and instead of the street-side eateries and small local restaurants we’d been exploring, we were taken somewhere altogether more elaborate.

From the outside, it didn’t immediately give much away. But once inside, the scale revealed itself.

The restaurant unfolded like a maze — long corridors branching into more corridors, each lined with private dining rooms hidden behind heavy doors. It felt less like a restaurant and more like a series of discreet, self-contained worlds. Every group tucked away in their own space, out of sight, out of earshot.

You couldn’t help but wonder what kinds of conversations these rooms had hosted over time. Business deals, family negotiations, celebrations, quiet discussions — the kind of interactions that are never meant to spill into the public space.

There’s a long tradition of private dining in China, especially in cities like Guangzhou where relationships — guanxi — are central to both business and social life. Meals aren’t just about food; they’re about trust, hierarchy, and connection. And spaces like this are designed for exactly that.

For us, it felt like stepping briefly into that world.

The food itself was exceptional — beautifully presented, carefully paced, and clearly designed to impress. But interestingly, it wasn’t the local Cantonese street-style cuisine we’d been expecting. This was something more refined, more international in influence, almost curated to suit a different kind of audience.

For the boys, the novelty was in the setting — their own private room, the formality of it all. For Kim, it was a chance to reconnect. And for me, it was the atmosphere that lingered — the sense that behind every closed door, a different story was unfolding.

It was a completely different side of Guangzhou.

Not the chaotic, open, street-level city we’d come to know — but something quieter, more controlled, and in its own way, just as revealing.

If the restaurant had felt enclosed and hidden, this was the complete opposite.

The Pearl River opens everything up. Wide promenades, open air, and a steady flow of people out enjoying the evening — families, couples, groups of friends, all moving at a slower, more relaxed pace than the daytime rush.

And then there’s the tower.

Up close, the Canton Tower doesn’t just dominate the skyline — it feels almost unreal. Its twisting structure is lit in shifting colours, constantly changing, reflecting off the river below. Boats drift past, their own lights adding to the scene, and the whole area takes on a slightly surreal, almost cinematic feel.

The boys were immediately drawn to the energy of it — the lights, the movement, the scale. For them, this was Guangzhou at its most exciting.

The Pearl River has been the lifeblood of Guangzhou for centuries — the reason the city became one of China’s most important trading ports, connecting it to the outside world long before the skyscrapers arrived.

Now, instead of trading ships, it’s light shows and river cruises.

A shop where everything looked like it belonged in a museum… but was made entirely of chocolate.

Not just small displays or decorative pieces, but full-scale creations. Life-sized animals stood frozen mid-step — elephants, giraffes, creatures you’d expect to find on the African savannah, not in a shop in southern China. Alongside them were intricate replicas of local architecture, temples and buildings recreated in astonishing detail, all in chocolate.

At first, it didn’t quite register. The level of craftsmanship made it hard to believe it wasn’t carved wood or painted resin. But the closer you looked, the more surreal it became — every surface, every texture, every tiny detail… chocolate.

Lucas was completely in his element.

You could see the internal conflict playing out — admiration versus appetite. Was this something to photograph, or something to eat? (The answer, unfortunately, was mostly the former.)