I plan trips I'd want to take.
What I do is build a frame. An itinerary isn't a checklist — it's an architecture. It needs space for the right stops, room for a few wrong turns, and the right people on the ground when something goes sideways. You don't see the frame, but it protects the art. That's the point.
My own taste runs unhurried. I prefer to spend time immersing myself in one region rather than collecting stamps simply to cover the map. I appreciate depth, long meals, and connection.
I came to this philosophy the long way. I grew up an army brat — the early years of my life were spent in a state of motion. I had the privilege of living in Bad Kreuznach and Dexheim, Germany. Weekends meant castles and villages, and family trips to Belgium, Paris, and Berchtesgaden that had me convinced, at six years old, that I had truly made it. Moving back stateside was a culture shock I never fully got over. For me, travel wasn't a treat; it was a language I already spoke.
I spent a decade working in hotels after that — across departments, on every side of the lobby. You learn, eventually, what makes travel land. It's always the same thing. Someone paying attention.
Then I took some time off. I hiked the Pacific Crest Trail for three months, and at the end of it I simply could not return to a desk. So I started planning adventures for others, while taking more of my own.
I've been where I'm sending you — or I know someone who has.
The walking route. That perfect meal. I don't recommend trips I haven't tested on my own time.
My relationships, your access.
I leverage my relationships to get you better access — upgrades, resort credits, amenities you can't book direct. The network is an open secret in travel. What I do is make sure mine shows up when you check in.
Someone on your side while you're there.
When your driver cancels at 3 AM in Athens or a reservation falls through mid-trip, I'm already on it. I keep a small roster on purpose — when your trip needs attention, you get mine.