I don’t usually follow strangers down side streets, but hear me out.

I was on a tag-along trip with Iñigo, this time to Lyon. He was giving yet another talk (what can I say, he’s very in-demand!), so I set out on my own.

What a great city!

It’s not crowded, and there are fantastic restaurants and charming neighborhoods to explore.

There’s a Renaissance old town, an important silk weaving tradition, and well-preserved ruins from when Lyon was the capital of the Gallo-Roman empire.

Architecture, food, history, craft … it basically checks all my boxes.

One of the things Lyon is known for is its murals—giant street art representations of local life, famous native sons, and other scenes. The “Mur des Canuts” was the largest in Europe when it was painted (it may still be), taking up the entire side of an apartment building.

I was photographing the mural when a local approached me and another guy taking pictures, and started telling us about it. He explained that the canuts were the silk weavers and that the atelier pictured in the mural still exists … and we could visit if we wanted.

Not wanting to get roped into a shop with a sales pitch, I politely declined. But the other guy said he’d go, and as I started to walk away, something in me said, “What the hell.” I told them I’d come along too.

And I’m so glad I did!

There wasn’t even a shop to pitch, and I had the most wonderful time learning about the history of the silk trade in Lyon (all in French, go me!), seeing demos of the jacquard machine (invented there and essentially the world’s first computer program—I still don’t understand how it works), and hearing stories of the family who’s run the atelier for generations (they still live downstairs—we had to stop to get the key from them!).

[Small aside: It turns out that the current owner’s father was incredibly important in the industry. He wove the silk for Queen Elizabeth II’s wedding dress, invented “chameleon silk” (the kind that changes color depending on how you move) and worked with all the top fashion houses, and helped develop denim with lycra in it (merci, Papa Jacques!! 🙏🏼🙏🏼), among other accomplishments.]

It turned out to be such a special experience, and I would have missed it if I hadn’t left myself open.

Which is really why I wanted to share this story with you today, Reader.

Because the point isn’t that I said yes—it’s that I had the space to say yes.

Of course, there’s a balance to be struck.

Overplan and you don’t leave room for spontaneity; underplan and you’re likely to miss the good stuff or be hampered by logistics.

On my own trips, I’m looking for that Goldilocks sweet spot. I’ve done the research, I know what’s good, I’ve got a few things locked in: the restaurants worth booking ahead, the market that’s only on Tuesdays, the timed-entry ticket to the big thing I don’t want to miss. And then I leave the rest open.

When I’m planning for you, the hotels are booked, the logistics are handled, and the guide and driver provide that perfect balance of insider knowledge and flexibility. And I always make sure there’s breathing room so you have time to explore on your own—or just relax if you want to.

If that sounds like exactly the kind of trip you're looking for, book a call. I’d love to help you find that sweet spot.

Because the best trips aren’t about go-go-going and checking sites off a list. They’re about discovery and the opportunity to really connect with the place—and that only happens if you make space for it.

P.S. If you ever find yourself in Paris with a weekend free, Lyon makes a great little overnight. It’s under two hours away by train, and that was just about the perfect amount of time to feel like I’d really seen it (go on a weekday if you can, Friday was much quieter than Saturday). Plus it's the foodie capital of France—we had one of the best meals we’d eaten in a long time. You can easily do a trip like this on your own (I’d be happy to provide some recs!). And when you’re ready for the bigger one, the kind that’s worth getting right, I can help make it happen.