personalstory

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.

My daughter told me last night: "Mama, when I grow up I want to be a travel planner like you. But I'll plan trips for grandmas." I asked why grandmas. "Because they're the ones who actually have time to enjoy things." Out of the mouths of six-year-olds. She's not wrong though. I've spent 15 years watching travellers pack too much into too little time. The 6-city, 10-day itineraries. The "we can sleep when we get home" approach. The frantic rush from one attraction to the next. And then I watch the ones who do it differently. The retired couple who stayed in one Chengdu neighbourhood for a week and got invited to a local family's home for dinner. The solo traveller who spent three afternoons in the same tea house and ended up learning calligraphy from an elderly regular. The best China trips aren't the ones that cover the most ground. They're the ones where you let the country happen to you. Not bad advice from a six-year-old.

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.

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 weekend is almost over. Both girls are asleep. The kitchen is clean (finally). I'm sitting on the balcony with a cup of cold tea that I reheated twice and forgot to drink. Sunday evenings always feel like this — a little tired, a little grateful. This week I'll be planning trips for a Swiss family who wants to see Zhangjiajie and a Canadian couple who want to eat their way through Chengdu. Not a bad way to start the week. Goodnight, everyone.

Sunday evening ritual: both girls in the bath, water everywhere, my younger one using her rubber duck as a submarine to "attack" her sister's boat. The bathroom floor is a lake. I'll have to mop it later. But right now I'm leaning against the doorframe listening to them giggle and negotiate bath toy treaties. This is the part of parenting no one puts on Instagram. And honestly? It's the best part.

My six-year-old just asked me: "Mama, when you die, will you still be my mama?" Out of nowhere. While I was chopping vegetables. I stopped chopping. Sat down. Told her: "Honey, I'll always be your mama. That doesn't stop." She nodded, satisfied, and ran off to find her sister. Kids don't warn you before they hit you with the big questions. They just drop them in the middle of a normal Sunday afternoon and leave you standing there with a knife in one hand and your heart in the other.

My youngest asked me last night: 'Mama, do you plan trips for other families the same way you plan for us?' Made me stop and think. No, I don't. Not at all. When I plan for clients, it's all spreadsheets and time blocks and backup plans. Train A at 8:47. Buffer of 40 minutes. Restaurant B confirmed. Weather check at C. I treat their time like it's precious because it is — they flew 20 hours to be here. When I plan for my own family? Chaos. We miss trains. We eat lunch at 4 PM because the kids wanted to stay at the playground. We change plans on the fly. My husband has learned to stop asking 'what's the schedule' and just enjoy wherever we end up. But here's the thing I told my kid: both approaches work. A well-planned trip gives you confidence. An unplanned afternoon gives you memories. The trick is knowing which one you need right now. She didn't fully understand. But she will.