We arrived last night in Moon Hill Village, near Yangshuo, China. With the darkness of the night cloaking the karst towers, the scenery appeared intriguingly mysterious. This morning, the darkness had lifted but left behind a layer of fog that blanketed the limestone formations, creating an eerie, yet enchanting landscape.

Our day was spent exploring the area on bikes. Along the way, we pedaled beside innumerable fields of rice, ripe for harvest in a stunning green and yellow. In fact, we were familiarized with the harvesting process, spotting it in many different stages. Many locals in this rural area only knew one English word, hello. When greeting us, they yell (seriously, yelling), "HEL-LO." It makes me a little nervous, if I'm being perfectly honest, so I always check over my shoulder to make sure they're not sending a mob after me.

I now understand why the Chinese are all thin. I would be too if I used chopsticks all the time. Towards the end of the meal, I submit to my growing frustrations and give up on trying to clean my plate. Luckily, the amazing Italian restaurant at our little bamboo palace of a hotel has forks. This is a vacation. I shouldn't have to get frustrated about eating.