We heard a crash, the tinkle of sprinkled glass and screams.

So we sprinted ahead on the rainforest path - marked with signs reading: "beware of wild beasts" - to see what was causing the commotion.

We arrived, chests heaving, on the observation platform in the Wild Elephant Valley in the remote rainforests of Yunnan province's Xishuangbanna to see more than 20 pachyderms ruining a restaurant.

The massive mammals were using their trunks like wrecking balls and their tusks like bulldozers to bash through the walls of the tourist eatery at the platform's terminus. They stomped through the deck and whacked tables into the river below. A baby whapped small stools, tumbling them over the ravine and into the waterway.

"They're after the fruit!" another spectator howled.

The creatures rolled the coolers and fridges out of the building. Their doors flopped open and pineapples cascaded out. The creatures began gobbling them with a cacophony of crunches and slurps. These massive mammals weren't angry - just very hungry and very, very big.

When the elephants lumbered to the river to wash down their meals, staffers bolted over the bridge and hopped through the holes punched into the sides of the building to tow armfuls of valuables to safety. Soon, the bridge was loaded with cash registers, computers and speakers.

Workers gave free drinks and boiled corn they'd rescued to everyone watching.

We sipped and snacked as we watched the elephants do the same for hours until twilight inked out their plodding silhouettes.

Their crashes, splashes and trumpets punctuated the darkness.

We'd booked the tree houses atop the platform as part of our 2009 Spring Festival holiday travels through Yunnan. Our group included my wife, aunt, brother, father and mother, who had a fractured leg.

Mom's cast came into play the following day, when the elephants stood between the cable car drop-off and our tree houses.

We'd awoken to find the pachyderms had departed and teams of workers were clearing debris, including a photo booth's splinters.

So, we took the cable car to the attractions near the gate.

We returned around dusk to a guard instructing the disembarked crowd to stay put.

Finally, he shouted: "Go!"

So we did. As fast as we could.

Suddenly, another guard emerged, sprinting toward us, yelling: "Go back!"

So we did. As fast as we could.

Behind him, a massive gray form materialized mid-ground, filling in the cracks in the foreground's green foliage. Mom's cast click-clacked as she cumbersomely - yet swiftly - clopped toward safety.

Our second race to the platform's security was successful.

We stood on the elevated bridges, wondering how we were going to make it out of the jungle to catch our flight to Sichuan's provincial capital Chengdu in the morning.

That's when I noticed a monkey in our room. I leapt between it and our possessions, arms outstretched at my sides like a point guard.

The gibbon scurried out, snatched a takeout box from the trashcan and leaped onto a nearby branch. A passing cleaner casually whapped the leftovers out of the primate's paws with a flick of the broom resting on her shoulder, hardly even looking at the animal. The creature blasted up the tree, then scuttled out of sight.

We spent the night drinking with the guards and watching the elephants by flashlight.

The next morning we awoke to find the massive mammals gone.

So our family hopped the cable car out of Xishuangbanna's rainforest and arrived in the relative calm of Chengdu's concrete jungle.

(China Daily 03/02/2014 page3)