Monday tomorrow. Both kids have school, I have three trip proposals to finish, and somewhere in between I need to buy groceries and figure out what a 7-year-old means by "I need yellow socks for the school play." Some weeks feel like a juggling act. But I wouldn't trade this life for anything. Here's to a good week ahead — for all of us juggling our own versions of yellow socks.

A client once asked me: "Why do you do this? Isn't planning other people's trips exhausting?" I laughed because... yes, sometimes it is. But then I get a photo of a family on the Great Wall at sunrise, or a message that says "my kids still talk about the hotpot night," and I remember why. I don't sell tickets. I help people make memories they'll carry home. That's the part no booking platform can do.

Sunday evening. The girls are finally asleep. I reheat my tea for the third time and sit down to plan next week’s schedule. A family from Germany emailed today — they want a 14-day trip covering Shanghai, Guilin, and Chengdu. I’ve done this route a dozen times but every family is different. This one has two kids aged 7 and 10, so I’m thinking: fewer temples, more food markets, and at least one panda encounter they’ll talk about for years. Sunday evenings at home are my reset button.

7 AM at my local market in Chongqing. The vegetable vendors are already on their second round of customers. An old lady selling bok choy sees me coming and shouts: Hey! The mom with two girls! Your youngest liked the spinach last time! She remembered. I have no idea how she remembered. She packed me an extra bunch of scallions and said free, for the girls. This does not happen in supermarkets. This does not happen anywhere outside China. This is what I mean when I tell my clients: come for the sights, stay for the people.