The Hostel That Vanished: An Unexpected Travel Tale from Gansu, China

Traveling off the beaten path in China is one of the most rewarding experiences. Sure, you might face unexpected moments and surprises — but once you’re through them, and you start living those surreal situations that only China can offer, you realize something: those moments actually make the journey better. They become the funniest stories, the ones you’ll tell over and over, and never forget.

During my backpacking trip in Gansu, one of these surprises turned out to be the highlight of our whole adventure, the kind of story we still laugh about and tell with so much nostalgia.

This travel tale from Gansu is a perfect example of how leaving room for the unknown while traveling can lead to the best experiences.

Lost in Dunhuang, Gansu

“It should be here,” said the friendly Chinese driver, flashing a wide, toothless smile that hid just a hint of sarcasm.

In front of us, where our hostel was supposed to be, was nothing but a dusty glass storefront that opened into a dark, empty room, like an out-of-business shop.

“Should be?” Camille echoed, her worried gaze scanning the street through the window.

Around us, the silence. Only the occasional cars passing by, as if by accident. The cool evening air brushed my face through the open taxi window. The address matched. So did the house number. But there was no sign of our 5-euro-a-night accommodation. It wasn’t my first hostel experience in China, but nothing like that had ever happened to me before.

Luca got out to check. His strong Sicilian accent broke the silence.

“It’s closed, for real!” he called, shaking his head in frustration. “Guys, the hostel doesn’t exist. What now?”

We looked at each other, baffled. Camille and I exchanged a glance.

“Maybe it’s just around the corner?” I offered, trying to stay hopeful.

“No way. There’s nothing here,” Luca replied, pointing to the dark entrances next to the storefront.

Nico leaned over from the back of the taxi, as calm as always. “The driver says he might know a place nearby. Should we ask him to take us?”

“We don’t have much of a choice,” we all agreed.

Travel Tale From Gansu: Dunhuang & The Silk Road

Dunhuang was the final stop on our seven-day journey through the Gansu Province, in northwestern China. The photos of deserts, rainbow-colored mountains, and Buddhist temples carved into cliffs had instantly captivated us.

Five travelers with little in common, except for our love of adventure—and China. Despite our different personalities, we’d made it through the small dramas and surprises of the past week. Still, after hours packed into a crowded train, hungry and exhausted, the hostel’s mysterious disappearance was a real test.

As the taxi sped through the empty streets, I thought of Dunhuang as it once was: a major hub along the ancient Silk Road. Now, it felt remote. Not exactly a hotspot for many quality accommodations. The air in the taxi felt heavy with disappointment, even before we saw the next “hostel.”

Out the window, lit by moonlight, I caught a glimpse of the endless dunes we’d climb the next day. Fascinating how the road just stopped, no warning, no transition. One moment, asphalt; the next, sand. No middle ground. Like night turning to day without a sunrise.

Not Quite What We Hoped For

Ten minutes later, we pulled up to a place that, from the outside, didn’t look too bad. I changed my mind the second I saw the room…

…and when I saw the squat toilet, I looked at Camille. Her eyes said the same thing mine did: no way.

“Guys, I can’t do this. Let’s find something else,” I said with a mix of resignation and hope.

I’ve always been a go-with-the-flow traveler, but sometimes adapting means more than compromising. Sometimes, it means laughing at the absurdity and moving on.

A blinding neon light lit up the grimy white tile floor. The beds were low, uncomfortable, and crammed against mold-stained walls. I half expected a little mouse to come running out, searching for leftover Western snacks in our bags. Defeated, we walked back outside.

“I’d rather sleep on the street,” Camille laughed. Her humor already lifted the mood.

What I’d feared most—having nowhere to sleep—was becoming reality. Yet, I was surprisingly calm. If I had to be homeless for a night, at least I had the right people with me.

They say 65% of a trip’s success depends on who you travel with. I’d argue it’s even more.

We sat on the curb outside what was supposed to be our salvation. Killing time, we made a list of ridiculous ideas for how to spend the night in Dunhuang.“Maybe there’s a 7-Eleven nearby with some random Chinese guy to chat with,” Luca said, fiddling with his phone.

He had a talent for finding the weirdest and most fascinating locals. That’s partly why I agreed to travel with him.

“Or we could just ask someone to host us,” Nico suggested, ever practical.

After throwing around some wild and some semi-viable plans, we had started to make peace with our situation. Lost in imagination and jokes, we almost didn’t notice the light.

A Lucky Turn

A soft glow from a glass window just a few meters away. As if guided by instinct, Camille stood up and ran toward it.

“Camille, where are you going?” I shouted after her. She peeked inside. The light lit up her face. Then a smile. “It’s a hostel!” she screamed, arms raised like she’d just won a marathon.

We froze. It seemed too good to be true. Sure, we were Europeans used to higher prices than in China, but we were broke students with a tight budget. And this place, with its plush armchairs and slightly kitsch decor, looked way too fancy.

“11 euros a night? Yeah, we’ll survive,” I said, half-joking. Double the price of our usual spots, sure. But still just 11 euros.

That’s traveling in China. It throws a curveball like that, then gives you a surprisingly decent catch.

That night, in the shared bathroom, I took the longest shower ever. I thought: maybe in the future, I could try traveling with fewer plans and let the Universe handle some of it. It worked this time—why not again?

But I made a mental note: travel companions are not part of what I’ll leave to chance. They must be chosen with care. Imagine being stuck with someone who complains at every setback. Nothing ruins a trip faster. Still, sometimes, the people you meet by accident turn out to be the best ones to share an adventure with.

I was grateful for my crew. Even if, on the train ride back, I gave Luca a little nudge.

“Next time, let’s check the reviews on Booking.com, yeah?” I teased, smiling.

He glanced up from scrolling through our trip photos. A mix of guilt and amusement on his face. “Come on, admit it—now we have a story to tell.”

And he was right. Over the years, I’d tell that story again and again. Our stunned faces when we realized the hostel didn’t exist. Camille’s victorious sprint. The weird brainstorm session about surviving the night in Dunhuang.

Not everything goes as planned when you travel. But it’s the unexpected moments—and the people you share them with—that turn destinations into memories.

Dunhuang, with its golden dunes and the hostel that vanished, gave us exactly that: an unforgettable story.

Oh, and one piece of advice I now always give anyone traveling in China? Always, always confirm your hostel booking.

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This travel tale from Gansu reminded me of something important: not everything needs to be planned to perfection when you travel. Sometimes, the moments you didn’t expect become the heart of your journey.

Letting go of control, even just a little, can open space for magic. When you trust the unknown, things usually fall into place, maybe not the way you imagined, but often better than you hoped.

So next time you travel, leave a little room for flexibility. You might just come home with your own wild, funny travel story to tell.

…and if this travel tale from Gansu ever inspires you to visit this wild corner of China, don’t miss my blog post dedicated to our Silk Road adventure.