Wherever you're going — Tokyo for the first time, Marrakech in November, the corner of Lisbon you keep meaning to find — we'll plan the trip a friend who actually knows you would have planned. Day by day, hour by hour. Around how you eat, how you walk, when you sleep, what you've outgrown, what you haven't yet seen. We compose by reading what you carry, walking the route on a map, and removing the third coffee shop.
Tokyo · Kyoto · Lisbon · Marrakech · Mexico City · Hokkaido · Patagonia · Andalusia · Sicily · Reykjavík · and the city you've been to three times that still has rooms you haven't entered.
No card. Free to begin. Your plans are yours, kept quietly in your account.
A specimen Day 1, below. The venues are real. The walking minutes are honest. Vegan means a kitchen that actually serves vegans — not "we have a salad." If a restaurant is in your plan, it is there because of you, not because it filled a slot.
Pick up your JR pass at the green window before clearing customs. Saves a 40-minute queue at Shinjuku tomorrow.
Drop bags, splash water on your face, head out before jetlag wins. Lobby is on the 41st floor.
Vegan kaiseki, gentle on a tired stomach. ★ 4.4 · ¥4,500/person · reservations recommended on weekends.
Lantern-lit alley, classic Tokyo first-night photo. Eight-minute walk from dinner; no need to take a train.
Six small acts of attention. Each one we'd do for you over a long lunch, if we had the afternoon.
First, the moments that define each day — sunrise at Fushimi Inari, low tide at Miyajima, the one omakase you've been dreaming of. We set them in stone before anything else moves. On a recent Tokyo plan, the 16:30 Haneda landing was the first fixed point; everything within 12 minutes' walk of Bellustar shaped the rest of the evening.
Hotels, meals, transit, slow afternoons — placed with care. Walking minutes that honor your stride. Train transfers that respect your luggage. Dinner before your stated cap, not at it. A 09:00 temple in Higashiyama and a 12:30 reservation in Pontochō is not a six-minute taxi; it is a seven-minute downhill walk through Yasaka, past a tea house at a hairline angle from the path.
A kissaten before the temple opens. A small museum nobody mentioned. A bench by the canal. Each day's quiet hours given to the things you'd remember a year later. And the third coffee shop, removed — when a morning had Weekenders, % Arabica, and Kurasu inside a single kilometre, we kept the first and let you find the rest.
A complete itinerary lands — already routed, already tagged with bookings, weather, prayer windows, dietary flags, accessibility. It is good. It is not yet shown to you. We strike the bus numbers we could not verify and replace them with the train line we could.
A close re-reading. Walking times sanity-checked. Cross-contamination in halal kitchens. Opening hours, lottery deadlines, prayer-time conflicts, the morning Tokyo Camii closes for repairs. Small things, attended to. Read at 06:00 the next morning, in the same light you will read it in — before the writer of the day before is consulted.
Anything the re-reading caught is fixed before the plan reaches you. A short letter, in your language, explains the choices we made for you — like a friend handing you the plan with a smile. The colophon at the foot names what was checked, on what date, and the sources consulted — so you can see the work, not just the result.
You'll watch the rhythm in real time as your plan composes — most arrive in under two minutes.
A handful of real preferences change a trip more than people think. Two travelers asking for Tokyo + Kyoto:
Vegetarian. Early riser. Max 8 km/day. Curious about temples.
Foodie. Late sleeper. Loves a splurge. Curious about whisky.
We re-derive the trip every time you change those answers. No "regenerate" button needed.
Quietly attended to, on every plan. The kind of thing a friend who has been there before would think to mention — and a stranger never will.
Every venue in your plan is one a person could walk to today — checked address, current opening hours, today's rating, the booking link, a phone number that answers.
The torii at Fushimi Inari are quiet from sunrise until eight. The first light at Bagan, the Marrakech medina before the call to prayer. We schedule the visit to land in the quiet window, not the photogenic one — those are the same thing, only earlier than the guidebooks say.
Miyajima's great gate is in the water at high tide and on dry sand at low. Both are beautiful — they are different photographs. We pull the day's tide table and route your ferry to the version you want to see.
Five daily salah, with the Maghrib window held open at sunset. Friday Jumu'ah kept clear — your day routed past Tokyo Camii or the Kyoto Mosque. Quietly, without you having to ask.
Some doors close months ahead. Ghibli Museum opens its lottery on the tenth, ninety days out. USJ Express, teamLab, Tokyo Disney — sixty. We surface each deadline on the relevant day, in red, weeks before you'd think to check.
Halal is a kitchen, not a label. Mirin and sake migrate into broths. Dashi often carries pork. We read every kitchen — pork-broth, alcohol-in-cooking, certification, cross-contamination — before a venue enters a meal slot. Trust is structural, not cosmetic.
A bad knee, a stroller, an aging hip, a long day already. Step-free entries, walking caps, uneven-stone aversion — read from your sentence once, honored on every block thereafter.
Yen, real, won, riyal, naira, peso. Always shown alongside in the currency you carry. Refreshed daily, cached so the subway can't take it from you.
Forward a boarding pass; we'll extract the route. On the day of travel, your flight's status sits at the top of your trip — gate, delay, real arrival time — without you having to open another app.
Paste a Google Maps link into Smith and it's added at the right time, with the right walking-distance warnings. Or just type what you want:
Reorder blocks, swap a restaurant for a vegan one, change the day's pace from "headliners" to "hidden gems" — every change re-flows the logistics, every warning still fires.
The judgment that takes years to acquire. Distilled. Applied silently.
The torii gates run quiet from sunrise until eight. By ten the lower paths are loud. Cats live near the upper shrines; the climb is forty minutes if you stop. We schedule the visit to land in the quiet window, not the photogenic one — those are the same thing, only earlier than the guidebooks say.
Verified · May 2026 · shrine office hours, sunrise table for 35°N
A halal label on a menu does not always mean the kitchen is halal. Mirin and sake migrate into broths. Dashi carries pork stock more often than not. We read each kitchen for cross-contamination risk and certification status before a venue is even allowed into your day's meal slots. Trust is structural, not cosmetic.
Verified · May 2026 · Japan Muslim Association certification list, JHA registry
The great floating gate is in the water at high tide, and on dry sand at low. Both are beautiful; they are different photographs. We pull the day's tide table for the date you arrive and route your ferry — and your sunset — to the version of the gate you actually want to see.
Verified · May 2026 · JMA tide tables, Hiroshima ferry timetable
A plan is the easy half. The harder half is what happens when the rain begins at Miyajima station, when a friend texts a restaurant at 11 p.m. in Lisbon, when the kids are tired and the temple is still forty minutes away.
Your trip lives in your pocket, on every device, online and off. Smith — your companion — is one tap away. Tell it the plan has changed; the day re-flows. Paste the boarding pass; we'll watch your flight. Open the app on the train tomorrow; today's plan is already there, even underground.
You: "The group wants ramen instead of the planned seafood — we're tired and the kid is melting."
Smith: Eight minutes from your hotel — Menkichi Ramen, open until 01:00, halal-certified, soba on the menu for the youngest. The 19:30 seafood booking is cancelled with a one-line message. Tomorrow's first stop has been moved from 08:00 to 09:30 — you'll need the sleep.
The plan re-flows. The morning's calendar reminder cancels itself. Nothing else moves unless you tell it to.
Beneath that one moment is the rest of the machinery, quiet until needed: today's plan on your home screen, calendar reminders synced across your devices, offline maps for the subway, real-time flight status on departure day, and bookings extracted from a forwarded email. Smith speaks your language, not ours.
We make plans for the family of four on their first long-haul, and for the solo writer back in Lisbon for the fourth time. The standard is the same.
For the first-timer in Tokyo. We set 06:00 at Sensō-ji because the Nakamise stalls don't raise their shutters until 09:30 — the courtyard is yours for an hour.
For the retired couple who have earned a quieter pace. We pin a 5-km walking cap, end dinners by 18:30, and route around Kiyomizu's stairs in favour of the temple side-gate.
For the family of four whose youngest only eats noodles. We anchor Iwatayama Monkey Park at 11:00 — not 13:00 — because the four-year-old's nap landed at 13:30 in the questionnaire.
For the woman travelling with her sister and her mother. Tokyo Camii pinned for Friday Jumu'ah, the Maghrib window held open at 18:40, a private-bath ryokan in Hakone for the night an onsen will not do.
For the professional extending a Tokyo conference. Quiet on the work days — only meals and bathhouse blocks. The four-day Kyoto leg afterward holds its first Shinkansen reservation 14 days ahead.
For the returning visitor. We open with the south door of Ippodo Tea, behind the cypress — the front entrance was the wrong door, and you'd been three times.
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