4 posts · Curated China travel tips
Summer break is coming and my two girls have already started their campaign for the best summer ever. My 6-year-old wants to see pandas again (we went to Chengdu last year and she still talks about it). My 4-year-old just wants to swim. Win-win: I found a hotel in Chongqing with an indoor pool AND a panda-themed kids club. Booked it in 10 minutes. Sometimes being a travel planner means planning for your own family too. If you are traveling to China with kids this summer, send me a message. I have a list of hotels that actually welcome children — not just tolerate them.
The most common question I get from families: "Is China safe for kids?" Short answer: yes. Long answer: I've been raising my two kids here for years, and the things I worry about in China are different from what parents worry about back home. I don't worry about stranger danger — Chinese people adore children and will go out of their way to help if your kid is upset. A crying child in a Chinese park attracts grandmas like a magnet. They'll produce snacks, toys, and comforting pats from nowhere. I don't worry about traffic — Chinese drivers are chaotic but aware. They expect pedestrians to do unpredictable things. What I do worry about: heat (summers are brutal in most cities), food spice levels (my kids eat mild, ask for 不辣 at restaurants), and bathroom access (not all public toilets are kid-friendly — I always scout one before the kids announce they need it). More detailed tips on the family travel guide. But the bottom line: if you survived a trip with kids anywhere, you'll survive China. And your kids will eat more dumplings than you thought possible.
I've taken my own kids across China — trains, planes, hotpot, the Great Wall. A mom's honest survival guide for families planning a **China Custom Tour** with children.
Saturday 8am and I'm already losing an argument with a six-year-old about why 2+2 equals 4 and not 5. She was so confident about it too — 'Mama, think about it. Two and two. That's five.' The conviction in her voice almost made me doubt basic arithmetic. I try to make Saturday mornings our slow study time. No rushing. No pressure. Just the three of us at the kitchen table with textbooks, crayons, and a plate of cut fruit that I spend more time arranging than anyone notices. My younger one 'helps' by coloring the margins of her sister's workbook. I pretend not to see. She's so proud of her artwork that I don't have the heart to stop her. An hour later we've covered: 4 math problems, 3 pages of Chinese characters, 2 minor meltdowns, and 1 breakthrough — she finally agreed that 2+2 is indeed 4, but only because 'you said so, Mama, not because I believe you.' Weekend mornings in our house. Chaotic, loud, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.
