Dim sum at dawn, then a Shunde kitchen where the fish is the point.
The day opens around a teahouse table in old Guangzhou — the one locals queue for, not the one on the tourist street — where ordering is a small craft in itself: the dumplings judged by their pleats, the pot refilled before it is asked. The market that supplies that table is walked next, at bench pace; then the car runs south for about fifty minutes and the fish-ponds of the delta arrive, with Shunde — the UNESCO City of Gastronomy — at the end of the road. The core of the day is a private family kitchen booked for your dates alone, a river fish read from blade to banquet; the afternoon closes at Qinghui Garden and a bowl of double-skin milk steamed to order on the arcade streets. About five kilometres on foot, all of it flat, and no forced early start.
Everything on the ground is ours: our own guides, our own vehicles, our own crews — not a chain of subcontracted hands. The plan is written and priced line by line before you pay a deposit, and the same person answers you from the first email to the day you fly home.
No hotel is needed for this one. It is a day — and the day is the whole product: guide, vehicle, entries and lunch, arranged so nothing is left for you to organise and nothing is added on the ground.
Markets before kitchens, family tables and regional specialities — food treated as the culture it actually is.
Temples, teahouses, kitchens and workshops — the everyday side of the country, arranged so it happens around you rather than in front of you.
Your party only, your dates, your pace — one guide and one vehicle throughout, never shared with strangers.
Tickets, permits and timed entries held against your passport before you fly, then re-checked the week you travel.
“You learn a place at its table.”
One day, two cities — the table you order from, and the kitchen that cooks it
Day 1A private car and an English-speaking guide collect you at the hotel, airport or station, and the day opens around a teahouse table in the old city — the kind the locals queue for rather than the one on the tourist street. Tea first, then the ordering, taken slowly the Cantonese way: translucent prawn dumplings judged by their pleats, pork and shrimp siu mai, chicken feet, water-chestnut cake, a plate of greens and a congee, the pot refilled before anyone asks. From the table the morning walks straight into the market that supplies it — the lanes of Xiguan and around Liwan Lake, where river fish, vegetables and dried seafood explain the tables they feed — and then the car runs south for about fifty minutes, the towers giving way to fish-ponds and mulberry dykes, into Shunde, the UNESCO City of Gastronomy cooks call home. The core of the day is a private family kitchen booked for your dates alone: standing at the pass as the cook bleeds, fillets and slices a river fish, each slice a matter of blade-work, then sitting to a one-fish banquet — raw, steamed over mulberry leaves, finished clear-steamed or pan-crisped. Qinghui Garden, one of Guangdong's four great gardens, follows at digestion pace, the afternoon closes on the arcade streets of Dali with double-skin milk steamed to order, and a proper dinner — roast goose or a congee hotpot — is timed ahead of the family rush before the car sets you down at Shunde station, Guangzhou South, or your hotel door.
Walking distances and start times are anchors, not walls — your guide flexes each day to the weather, the crowds and your legs, and the order of sights may adjust for timed-entry slots and closures. Nothing repeats and nothing is retraced.
A private journey — your party only, your dates, your pace. Best in spring and autumn; runnable in every season with the hours re-arranged.
A private journey, priced per person on twin share at the level below. Three hotel levels and two guiding levels are available on the same days — the daily plan does not change with the bed. Tell us your dates and we will send the itemised version, usually within one working day.
A private English-speaking guide and a car on call for the whole day — no group, no flag, no waiting on anyone else.
Timed entry and reservations are booked to your passport before you arrive, so the day starts at the gate and not in a queue.
Lunch is chosen like a sight: a regional restaurant we use ourselves, not a canteen arranged for coaches.
Take it on its own, or fold it onto the front or back of a longer journey — the day is priced to be flexible.
China’s major sites run on real-name, timed entry booked against your passport, and the best-known ones cap visitors daily and release slots only days ahead. Once your dates are fixed we book the whole sequence, hold the confirmations, and re-check every one of them the week you travel — you bring the passport and walk past the queue.
Museums and palaces close one day a week (usually Monday); if your dates land on it, we re-order the days and tell you before you book, never after.
For spring and autumn dates, 60–90 days ahead is comfortable — the best houses and the timed slots both go early. Shorter notice? Ask anyway: we hold a small allotment in most cities and can usually move quickly.
This route sits inside a family of longer and shorter versions — ask us and we will send the alternatives side by side, with the days that would come out or go in, and what each one costs.
China runs across five climate zones, so the right months depend on the route rather than the country. Spring and autumn suit almost all of our journeys; the far west and the plateau we run later in spring and earlier in autumn.
Our days are built in short legs, broken every few hundred metres by something to see and something to sit down for. Where there are steps there are landings, and the vehicle is never further than the next gate.
Water and wipes ride in the car; a flask in cold months, shade and a long lunch in hot ones. Tell us about knees, hips and small legs in advance — the days bend around the answer, not the other way round.
Stone slabs, temple steps and long village lanes — broken-in walking shoes are the single best thing in the bag.
Mornings and afternoons differ by ten degrees or more across most of the year; a layer you can stash beats a coat you must carry.
A hat, sunglasses and a compact umbrella cover almost every day of the year.
Every timed entry is matched to it by name — carry it, and leave the queueing to us.
The vehicle carries the rest and meets you at every stop — pack for the morning, not for the day.
Refills ride on board, and hot water is what the country drinks — a thermos makes you local by day two.
Alipay or WeChat Pay set up before you land; we send a two-page guide with the booking. Cards work in hotels, cash almost nowhere.
Nothing starts before nine — no dawn calls, no rushed breakfast. We book each site's quietest slot instead, and let the day run at a civilised pace.
Dim sum at dawn, then a Shunde kitchen where the fish is the point.
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