The picture had been spruced up with glitter in places, a sure sign that it was not an artwork of any lasting value. My father hated the picture, aptly describing it as "junk", but my mother adored it. She would gaze at it for hours and say to me: "We'll go there one day, my boy, I promise you."

Sadly, she never got to see the China she had dreamt of. Not only was it difficult for Westerners to travel to the country in those days, the family finances could never stretch that far. I was recounting this story to a colleague of mine at work one day, since he had grown up in Shanghai. He told that similar pictures were commonplace in China and that it probably depicted a scene from Guilin, a city in the south-east part of the country.

I remembered the name, and a decade later, when I was scheduled to attend a conference in Hong Kong, I decided to visit the city that had inspired my mother for so many years. I did some research on the Internet about Guilin and discovered that it was one of the most popular tourist destinations in China.

One reviewer wrote: "The otherworldly landscape of Guilin, with its limestone towers and green tranquil rivers make this one of the most magical regions of the world." I learnt that the best time to visit was from April to October, so my visit in late May would be perfect.

After my conference ended, my wife and I flew directly from Hong Kong to Guilin Airport on Dragonair, landing in the evening. We had booked at the Sheraton Hotel, based on the rating and prices we found on the Internet booking site HotelTravel.com. The hotel was perfect for our three-night stay. I particularly appreciated the free Internet access, which allowed me to send off some important emails resulting from the conference.

After an early night, we were up early to meat our tour guide. Mr Cheng, who explained that his name meant "accomplished" in Chinese, went through the various sightseeing options with us. We explained that we did not want to rush through every attraction, but would prefer a more leisurely pace. He had already booked us on the famous cruise on the Li River to Yangshuo for the next day.

We set off to see the Solitary Beauty Peak, which is located in the centre of the town and dates back to the Song dynasty of 1127. There is a 14th century palace from the Ming Dynasty at the foot of the hill with a fascinating mausoleum, but the reason people come here is to visit the pavilion on the peak. It offers panoramic views of the surrounding mountains, which have names like Wave Subduing Hill, Folding Brocade Hill and Seven Star Crag. It is a magnificent sight, but be warned that there you have to climb 306 steps to get there. It’s worth it, though.

Then we visited the caves on Elephant Trunk Hill, considered a landmark of the city. They were spectacular and well worth a visit. However, the highlight of the afternoon was a display of traditional ethnic sports held at a minority centre. The ethnic groups, who have lived around Guilin for thousands of years, play games which date back to the Jin Dynasty between the years 265 and 420.

One of the fun games, Tiaoban, resembles a seesaw, but players bounce each other in the air, doing somersaults and flips. There were other games, one resembling an early version of soccer, but the most entertaining of all was Dang Qiuqian. In this game participants swing from ropes tied to big trees, trying to swing as high as they can and performing acrobatic acts. It was like watching the trapeze act at the circus.

That night we were exhausted after all our climbing, so we dined at the hotel and, once again, were in bed early. The next morning, after a delicious buffet breakfast, we were ready for Mr Cheng when he arrived to collect us for our cruise. The Li River cruise runs from Guilin to Yangshuo, a distance of about 80kms. However, it takes around seven hours and then you return to Guilin by car or bus.

What a spectacular trip it is! The river is lined with the magnificent Karst peaks, surrounded by rice paddies and green spectacular. It looked just like my mother’s painting. Water buffalo roam through the fields, peasants work in the paddies and fishermen float by on bamboo rafts. It was like cruising into the distant past, eons away from a world of concrete and computers.

It is truly a photographer’s dream. Mr Cheng explained the names of all the peaks and places along the route, explaining the mystical tales behind them. He read us a translation of a poem which aptly describes the sight before us: “The river is a green silk ribbon and the hills are jade hair-pins.”

On our third and last day we had planned to visit Yuzi Paradise, a sculpture park outside the city. However, I needed to catch up on emails and my wife wanted to go shopping. She bought some embroidered balls, which are thrown by maidens to prospective beaus, a hand-painted folding screen, a Yixing clay pot and Burmese jade.

However, she had also managed to find a painting of the river which was very similar to the one my mother had worshipped. When she pulled it out with great ceremony, I got a lump in my throat. Although it is certainly no masterpiece, it remains something I will treasure forever. My mother would have smiled.