What changed, and when.

The map moves with buttons. Beside the zoom buttons on the guide’s map there are now four arrows. Each press moves the map a third of the way across, in that direction, with a tap, a click or the keyboard, so you no longer have to drag it — on a phone, with two fingers. Moving the map was the last thing in the guide that only a drag could do. If you have asked your phone for less motion, the map jumps rather than glides.

Cards you can read. At the end of a place’s photographs, the cards that lead to its Instagram or TikTok keep their colours, and their text now sits on a dark panel, so white letters no longer disappear into the bright end of the colours.

Named in your language. The map’s zoom buttons, the heart that saves a favourite and the rating stars told a screen reader what they do in English, whatever language the guide was written in. They now say it in the guide’s own language.

The check by hand, with a keyboard and a screen reader, by someone who did not build the guide, has still not happened.

Before the first pilot host signs in, we went through their first day ourselves, in Dutch, as the owner of a small hotel: setting up the place, writing its area guide, personalising it for a booking, answering a guest, inviting a colleague. Nothing stopped us. Quite a lot confused us, and this is what changed.

A first screen about your place. The dashboard’s first screen no longer talks about planning a trip. It counts what you have — your area guides and their languages, the guides you made for bookings and, for owners and managers, how often your area guides were opened over the last thirty days — and offers one next step, whose button opens exactly what it names: setting up your place, writing its area guide, or personalising it for a booking.

Your place. You can now rename it; its web address stays as it is, because it is on the cards you printed. Each area guide’s status shows beside it. The favourites panel says when your picks are not saved yet, and your browser asks before you leave the page with them unsaved. Adding a language offers only the languages your place does not have yet, and says so once it has all six; and your place’s first area guide starts in the place’s own language.

Personalising for a booking. It starts from your area guide in the language your dashboard is in, not from the English one, and the editor no longer asks for trip dates on an area guide, which has none.

What your guests see. A guide made for a booking now shows your welcome and your address below the guest’s own greeting, and in Dutch — or French, German or Spanish — it names its days in that language: “Dag 1”, not “Day 1”. Your area guide no longer offers “Add to plan”, a button that led to a day plan the guide does not have.

Guest feedback, in your words. The screen where your guests’ ratings and messages arrive no longer shows our internal codes and notes. You see what the guest said, about which guide by its name, when, and what you can do; statuses and their history are in plain words; and a reply you have started typing stays where it is when you change the message’s status.

Dutch all the way through. Times read the Dutch way (“3 min. geleden”), your plan and your team’s roles are named in words rather than codes — a pilot reads “Pilot”, never “free” — and every message the dashboard shows when the server refuses something has been read again, so it uses the screen’s own words and says what you can do next.

After checkout, a way on. A guide you personalise for a booking stops working a week after the stay. A guest who opens it later used to meet a dead end; now, when your area guide is published, they get a link to it — in their language when you have one in it. It is the public guide only: the wifi and door codes stay with the guests who are in the room.

Tips that open themselves. In the guide, a tip that is cut short opens when it is tapped, and one that is already complete no longer pretends there is more. A place’s website is now a clear link, and easy to hit with a thumb.

Your plan’s numbers, counted as we count them. The Organization screen shows your live guides against your plan’s limit — guides personalised for a booking included, expired and revoked ones not — which is exactly what decides whether a new guide can be made.

Invitations that no longer work say so. An invitation that can no longer be used — because the person who sent it has been suspended, has left the team or may no longer invite — now reads No longer valid in the list instead of Pending, with the reason beside it.

The website now explains everything the product does, and your public page now speaks every language your guide does. All of it is live.

How it works, from start to finish. A new page, How it works, walks through everything a host can do, in the order you meet it: your place and its area guide, the code in the room, what only guests see, a guide for one booking, your favourites, your public page, your guest’s side, what comes back to you, your brand and your team. Where one of our examples shows a step, a link opens it, and the examples now open each guide in the language of the page you are reading.

Your public page, in every language your guide is in. Make your area guide in German and your public page answers in German too, with the German guide behind its button. A guest who asks for a language you have not made yet lands on your page in its main language, and the day you make that guide, the same address answers in it.

A list of the public pages. Guides, in the footer, lists every public page that search engines may find, so every one of them is linked from our own site. A page is listed only once it has earned that: you asked, we approved it, and it carries enough of your own words.

Your data, in writing. Security & privacy says where your data is kept, which services handle it for us and what for, how signing in works, and what is not there yet: there is no two-step sign-in, and the page says so. Accessibility names the standard we aim for, how we test, and what we know is not right yet. Anyone who finds a security problem can reach us through the standard file at vidiveni.app/.well-known/security.txt.

Your place keeps one area. Once your place has an area guide, every language you add is made around the same area, so your favourites are the same places in every language. If you set up your place in the dashboard, the list you pick favourites from used to stay empty; it now fills from your area as soon as your first area guide is made.

A guide without our name on it. The hotel in our examples now shows a guide without the “Powered by VidiVeni” line, and its card says so. Taking the line off is part of the Hotel plan.

Three changes: two to how your guides look, and one to how many guides your organization makes with AI. All of it is live.

Your new look, in a real guide, before you save it. On Organization, Preview in a guide opens one of your own guides in a new tab — your area guide, if you have one — in the colours, logo and support address you are editing, before you press Save. Nothing is saved, it does not count as a guide or as an open, and the link stops working after 15 minutes. If your organization has no guide yet, it shows our demo guide instead.

Your area guides follow your branding. Save new colours, a new logo or a new support address, or upload a logo, and your area guides — the ones behind the QR code in the room — take it at once, in every language. Until now an area guide kept the look it was made with. A guide you personalised for a booking keeps the look it had when you handed it over: that guest already has it.

One count for your whole organization, each month. The guides your organization makes with AI are now counted together, per calendar month, instead of per person and per week. The guide list shows how many you have made this month and the day the count starts again. Guides you personalise for a booking are not counted: at the limit, making a new guide with AI waits for the new month, and personalising one for a booking still works.

The dashboard a host works in has grown this week, piece by piece, around what running a place actually involves. All of it is live.

Your place has its own screen. Your place, second in the menu, holds a short checklist of what is still to set up, the area guide in each of its languages, and the place itself: its address, your own words, your favourites and the details only guests should see. The dashboard speaks Dutch as well as English.

One code for the whole place, in every language. Print one QR code per place, on a card for the room, the desk or the welcome folder. When your guide exists in more than one language, a guest picks theirs first, and a language you add later appears on the same card without reprinting it. The card prints on A4, with A5 and A6 one click away.

A copy for one booking, in one step. Personalise for a booking turns your area guide into a guide for one stay: the arrival and departure dates, and the guest’s name if you want it on the guide. The copy has a plan for every day, its own link, and stops working shortly after the stay.

Your favourites, marked in the guide. The places you pick now carry an Our favourite mark in the guide your guests install, and you can add a line of your own to each one: which table to ask for, which day to go. That line appears in the guide only, never on your public page.

What guests say, on one screen. Messages and ratings now share one screen, Guest feedback, with a view for each. The menu shows how many guests have written since you last looked, and Your place shows how often your area guide was opened in the past month. That is a count: it never says who opened it.

Your logo, uploaded. Instead of an address you host yourself, you can upload the file. We make it at most 512 pixels on its longest side and save it at once. Guides you make from then on carry it, and a guide already made keeps the logo it was made with.

When a colleague leaves. An owner can now remove someone from the team. Their account stays theirs and they can still sign in, but they no longer see anything of your organization, and the guides they made for you stay with you.

Every screen a host works in now speaks Dutch as well as English: the guide list, the wizard, the guide editor and its share panel, the team screens, the feedback inbox and your profile. You choose the language on your profile page.

The mail we send you — the invitation, the message that confirms your address, the link to reset your password — now arrives in your own language, in any of the six your guides can be written in. We take that language from your invitation or the sign-up page, and write in English when we do not know it.

Two things stay in English: the screens only we use, and some error messages that come straight from our server. The guide your guests receive was always written in their language, and that has not changed.

A week ago this changelog listed what a host could not have yet: no public page for your place, and no guide that outlives a booking. Both exist now.

One guide for every guest, with no end date. Set up your place under Organization → Your place — its address, a few sentences in your own words, and the places you would send a guest to — and make its area guide. That guide has no dates and never expires, so the QR code you print for the room keeps working. It has two links: the ordinary one you can share anywhere, and an unlisted one for the QR in the room, which also shows your wifi, the door or key-box code and your check-in times. Guides for a single booking are still there when you want one with a guest’s name on it.

A public page about your place, at vidiveni.app/gids/ and the name you chose: your own words, the places you picked with a line about each, and how far they are from your door when your address pins to your street, plus a button that opens the guide. No photos and no advertising, and nothing on it that only your guests should see.

Being found in search is something you ask for. A page can be opened by anyone with the link, but search engines are told to leave it alone until you tick Let search engines find this page and we have read it — and it needs enough of your own words to be worth finding. Even then it will not compete with your own website: its title leads with the area, not your name, and it never describes your business to search engines as a hotel or a B&B. That is your site’s job.

Every page says where to report a problem. Anyone can report illegal content on a page to [email protected]; we read every notice, and if we ever change your page because of one, we tell you what we changed and why.

The pages for B&Bs, hotels and guides now show a live example of the guide that kind of host hands out. The businesses in them are invented, and their own first sentence says so.

Still not built: your own list of places the catalogue does not have, your own web address, a connection to your booking system, and a checkout.

A guide has always been written in one of six languages — Dutch, English, French, Flemish, German or Spanish — chosen when you make it. The site selling that guide was in two. If you run a B&B in Wallonia, a hotel in Cologne or tours in Seville, the page explaining the product was not in your language, and the first thing you had to do was translate the pitch yourself.

All six now, on every page that describes the product. Dutch stays at the root and the rest live under their own prefix, with addresses in their own language: /en/pricing/, /fr/tarifs/, /de/preise/, /es/precios/, /vl/prijzen/. The globe in the top bar opens a list of all six and takes you to the page you are reading, in the language you picked — not to the front page, which is what most language switches do and what makes them not worth using.

Flemish is published as Belgian Dutch. It is its own guide language and its own version of this site, written in a Flemish register rather than copied from the Dutch. To a browser or a search engine the page declares itself nl-BE, which is what Belgian Dutch is actually called; /vl/ is only the address.

Every page names its five translations, so a search engine can offer a reader the right one instead of guessing, and each language has its own share card when a link is posted.

What did not change. The legal pages, this changelog and the roadmap are still English only — a policy is a binding text and translating one is a job for a lawyer, not for us, so it waits. The screens you make guides in are still English too. And the guide your guest receives was never affected by any of this: it has been in their language from the start.

VidiVeni used to be a free app for travellers who wanted to build their own city guide. It is now a product for the people who receive those travellers: B&B owners, hotel teams and freelance local guides. The site you are reading changed with it.

The reason is the part hosts kept telling us was hard. Every digital guest guide gives you a house manual to fill in and then a section called “the area” that stays blank, because filling it properly means describing forty places in four languages and keeping them right. That part already existed here, grounded and checked. So we turned the product around: you put your name on an area guide that is already written, add what only you know, and send it with the booking.

What a host gets today, and nothing here is a plan: a guide per booking carrying your logo, your two colours and the support address your guests write to, frozen as you handed it over; a share link and a QR code you can print for the room; six guide languages, one per guide, so a German guest reads German throughout; installation from the browser with no app store and no account, and full offline use afterwards; logins for colleagues with a role each, and one view over every guide your team has sent out; your own inbox for what your guests report about your guides; the “Made with VidiVeni” line switched off on request; and guide quotas set per business.

What is not built, said as plainly: there is no public page for your property, no evergreen guide that outlives a booking, no list of your own places, no custom web address, no connection to your booking system, and the screens you make guides in are still English. Those are on the roadmap, and none of them is in the price.

The free traveller tier and the waitlist are gone. Nobody was on the waitlist and nobody held a free consumer account, so no account changed and nothing was deleted. Accounts are now created by invitation, while we set every host up by hand during the pilot; the way in is a demo request.

The site is Dutch first. Dutch lives at the root, English under /en/, and each page points at its twin. The old English addresses — /pricing, /about, /for-business — redirect to their new homes; existing links keep working. Legal pages, this changelog and the roadmap are English only for now.

Prices are not published yet, and that is deliberate: the first hosts run the pilot for free in return for their honest opinion, and we would rather agree what this is worth with them than post a number and defend it.

Paste a guide link into a chat and the preview that appears was built from the guide’s title. Because we suggest a title containing the travellers’ names, that preview often said who was going, to anyone the link was ever forwarded to. It is now the destination and nothing else — “Amsterdam Trip Guide”, with a line about the city, in the language the guide is written in rather than always English. Cards drawn the old way are deleted, and every link gets a fresh one.

Previews already sitting in someone’s chat history cannot be recalled. If a name is in a guide you were given and you want it out, the privacy notice inside the guide says how to ask; we can take it out of the guide and its preview whether the link still works or not.

Our automated accessibility check covered this website and the dashboard, and stopped at the guide itself. It now opens a guide on a phone in both themes — the sheets, the map, the picker that swaps a place, and both report forms — and what it found there is fixed.

Text is no longer faded to suggest it matters less; it is a lighter or darker ink instead, so it stays readable. Every control you tap is at least 24 pixels, there is a skip link, and the buttons on the photo carousel, the map and the legal notice now speak the language your guide is written in rather than English. Nothing needs a swipe or a drag except panning the map.

This is not a claim that the guide is accessible. The pass by hand — keyboard and screen reader, by someone who did not build it — has not happened yet.

Send a message from this website while your connection is down and it used to fail exactly as a rejected email address does. Every form now says which of the two happened and what to do about it. A message that goes through moves you to the confirmation, and an error repeated twice is announced twice — a screen reader used to fall silent on the second try.

A button you cannot press looks like one now, grey with a readable label, instead of a faded green one that read as broken. You can reveal a password as you type it, and a mismatch is flagged while both fields are still in front of you. Escape closes the menu on a phone. The security check loads when you start filling something in, rather than for everyone who visits.

Our terms described billing — recurring plans, non-refundable fees, thirty days’ notice of a price change. None of it exists; there is no checkout on this site. That section is called Price now and says what is true: free for travellers, a small paid pilot for travel businesses agreed in writing, and no card details asked for anywhere. Guide links carry their real lifetimes, and closing your own account is described, because you can.

The privacy notice lost a payment processor we do not use, a report to a guide’s creator that nobody receives, and a deletion window nothing enforced. It gained the notice a traveller is owed when their name sits in a guide somebody else made — in all six guide languages — naming what is kept, who it reaches, and how to have it removed.

A report used to tell you only that it had been sent. Under “Your reports” in the guide, each one now says where it stands — received, being checked, fixed, or closed without change — in the language your guide is written in, alongside any reply. The last status stays readable with no signal; fetching a newer one needs a connection, and a report sent from a guide that had not updated since the late-August release is not in the list, because nothing was kept to find it by.

A problem reported from the dashboard comes back the same way now, on your profile, instead of disappearing into our inbox.

Partway through a trip the guide asks once how the app itself is working. Once, never on your last day, and declining it ends the matter.

Text here was set at eighty-one different sizes, each picked one page at a time. It now comes from one short list, chosen by what a thing is — a card title, a lead paragraph, a label. The privacy policy is the clearest place to see it: its body had quietly been rendering two steps smaller than the rest of the site, and now matches it.

Motion is one vocabulary too. Every control answers at one speed and every panel at another, the bouncy overshoot is gone, and asking your system for less motion is now honoured everywhere — including the home page’s photographs, which sit still in a single row of eight. On an iPad held upright the navigation becomes a menu instead of crushing the links along the top.

Creating a guide used to mean watching a timer count up over rotating messages, with no way to tell whether it would take seconds or minutes. The wait now shows the step it is actually on, and roughly how long that kind of guide takes: about twenty seconds for a city we already know, two to four minutes for a city new to us.

You can stop and discard it, and nothing is published. You can also close the window and carry on; a small notice follows you around the dashboard until the guide is ready, and takes you back to your guides when it is. The language no longer carries over from your previous guide, because a guide’s language cannot be changed once it is made.

Your guide list now says when a guide’s photos are still arriving, and the editor has a button to go and fetch them.

A routine photo refresh on our server was quietly deleting its records of photos it could not find on its own disk. Since our images moved to cloud storage that was nearly all of them, and in some cities every one. It stopped on 10 September. The AI impressions we show where no real photograph exists had also stopped arriving in early July; they arrive again, and the three cities stuck waiting got theirs on 11 September.

Inside a guide, a place without a photo now says “No photo yet” in words instead of showing an empty frame, and while photos are still being fetched the welcome card tells you how many places are waiting. Come back to the guide later and it checks again on its own.

The first screen of this website now shows a real guide on a phone, captured from the product rather than drawn, in the opposite theme to the page so it stands out in either. The three screens explaining how a guide gets made were drawings of our creation window; they are screenshots of the real thing now, and the share link and QR code in the last one open a real demo guide.

The sign-in form used to fill half of that first screen for every visitor. It now opens in place of the phone when you choose Sign in, without moving the page. Photo credits on narrow screens wrap onto a second line instead of cutting off the licence.

When your session ran out, or you opened a dashboard link on a new device, signing in dropped you on the dashboard’s front screen whatever you had been doing. It now returns you to the page you were on, and a short note tells you why you were asked to sign in.

The addresses people guess lead somewhere too. /login, /signin, /sign-in and /portal open the sign-in form, /account opens your profile and /app the dashboard, instead of a page that was not found.

Brand colours on the Organization screen used to be hex codes typed into a box. Each one now has a colour picker beside it, and the preview draws two small guides — one light, one dark — in your colours, with the contrast figure the guide itself will use to decide whether your colour can be shown.

When a colour will not read in one of the two, the screen offers the nearest shade of the same colour that will, and one click puts it in the form for you to look at. Nothing is saved until you press Save.

Our automated accessibility check used to look at one page of this website and one screen of the dashboard. We pointed it at every page here, in light and dark, and at the dashboard’s screens as three different kinds of user, and it found 48 failures — nineteen distinct problems between them, every one live. All of them are fixed. The check now covers those pages and screens, and a dashboard change that fails it does not ship.

Most were text too faint to read comfortably, including the private-beta banner at the top of every page. Others were star ratings a screen reader announced as nothing and filter menus with no name. Two limits are worth stating plainly: an automated check catches only some kinds of problem, and this one opened no pop-up windows and left several screens inside a guide unchecked. None of this is a claim that everything is accessible.

An invitation email used to say only that someone had invited you to VidiVeni — and when an owner invited a colleague, it called them a “client”. It now names the organisation and the role you are being invited as.

Two traps on the Organization screen went with it. Setting the country to “Not set” could fail the save and take the logo, colours and support address you had changed alongside it down with it. And the Save button sat at the bottom of a very long page; it now stays in view while you have unsaved changes.

If you build guides for your own trips, the dashboard used to call them by four different names. They are “My trips” throughout now, matching the menu.

The limits read in the order they apply: how many guides you can have at a time comes first, above the weekly cap on creating new ones. Revoking a guide’s link no longer promises you can restore it, which only we can do; it tells you that you can duplicate the guide for a new link instead. And reaching a limit no longer tells you to contact an administrator you do not have.

When a guest added one of your guides to their home screen, an Android phone showed your icon and an iPhone did not: iPhones ignore the icon list Android reads, so iPhone guests got one of ours. Guides now hand iPhones your favicon, or your logo if there is no favicon, and fall back to the destination’s icon only when your image cannot be loaded. An iPhone takes the icon at the moment the guide is added, so a guest who added one before today keeps ours until they add it again.

Our 26 August entry promised your icon on a guest’s home screen. It is now true on both kinds of phone.

Until now your colours reached the icon, the link preview and the footer of the guides you hand out, and everything in between was still ours. Your colour now runs through the guide itself — its tabs, day pills and buttons — and your organisation’s name, with your logo if you have set one, sits on the cover photograph.

A colour is only used where it can be read. We check it separately against the light and the dark version of the guide, so a navy brand with a gold accent shows navy in light mode and gold in dark mode, and a colour that reads in neither leaves ours in place. The Organization screen shows you the verdict before any guide exists.

Your name appears on guides created from today. Earlier guides show only the logo, if you had set one, because what a guide carries is fixed on the day it is made.

The heart and settings buttons have left the menu bar. They wait on the cover photo, and once you are reading they come back as a small pair in the corner whenever you scroll up — so your saved places stay one flick away without sitting on top of what you are reading.

Scrolling was rebuilt underneath. Reload a guide and it opens where you were rather than at the top. Bottom sheets now follow your finger when you drag them closed, and scrolling back up through a sheet’s own list no longer shuts it by accident. And scrolling no longer makes the whole guide redraw itself many times a second.

Signed in as part of an organisation, the dashboard used to greet you by your username — often your email address — and describe your whole team’s guides as if they were yours alone. It now names the organisation and your role in it, greets you by your first name when it has one, and says “Your team has” when the number is your team’s.

Guides a colleague made show who made them, by name and never by email address. The Team screen speaks your organisation’s language too: it filters and counts members, managers and owners, rather than the platform’s internal roles.

Placing a venue into a day of your plan could only be done by clicking or tapping, which put the heart of the dashboard out of reach for anyone who navigates by keyboard. That is fixed, along with more of what a keyboard or a screen reader ran into: interest options that could not be reached at all, a city search a screen reader could not follow, menu entries that were not real links or buttons, and no way to skip straight to the content. The guide creation window now keeps keyboard focus inside it while it is open; not every other window in the dashboard does the same yet.

One of the fixes is for everyone. Clicking just outside the guide creation window used to throw away all three steps you had filled in. It no longer does.

Swiping sideways past the end of a row of tabs could send you back out of an installed guide altogether, mid-trip and mid-gesture. A sideways swipe now stays inside the guide.

The thin line that shows how far through a section you are stays on screen while you scroll quickly, instead of sliding away with the menu at exactly the moment it is useful. And on tablet-sized screens the first day of a long trip can be reached again: the day row used to centre itself past an edge no swipe could get to.

Every photograph on this site is one out of a real guide. Until today you could only see that on a laptop: below 900 pixels wide the whole set was switched off, so anyone arriving on a phone read the words and saw none of the pictures. They are there now at every width — fewer and larger as the screen narrows, down to a single print above the headline, rather than shrunken copies of the desktop set.

Each one also carries its source and photographer on the image itself, read straight from the file our image pipeline writes the moment it fetches a photo. Three of the credits we had previously typed out by hand had already drifted from it. A photograph we cannot attribute from that record now shows no credit line at all — a gap we can go and fix is better than a byline we composed.

If your phone refused to save a change to your plan or your saved places — storage full, or a browser set to block site data — the change looked saved and was gone the moment you closed the guide. The guide now tells you straight away, in its own language, and the warning clears itself as soon as saving works again.

The screen you land on if the guide itself breaks now speaks your language and follows your light or dark setting, instead of a bare error. And a guide whose link has expired now stops opening offline too, as it already did online — saying the link has expired, rather than asking you to find a connection that would not help.

Telling us a place has closed, or that something about your guide is not working, used to be a one-way message: an answer could be written, and nothing in the guide would ever show it to you. The guide now lists the reports you have filed from it on this phone under “Your reports”; when one is answered, the reply appears there.

Checking for a reply needs a connection. A report filed with no signal waits on your phone until it can be sent, and the list says so; if the guide cannot check, it says that too, rather than implying nobody answered.

Hotels, agencies, tour operators and concierges now have a page of their own, with a “Request pricing” form on it. It lists only what is built and working today — no per-seat table, no trial clock, and no link into an org dashboard that does not exist yet. What is missing is named on the page as missing.

Set your logo, favicon, brand colour and accent colour once under Organization, and every guide your team creates from then on carries them — through to the icon that lands on a guest’s home screen. Your support address travels with the guide too, so a guest with a question reaches you rather than us.

Branding is stamped onto a guide when it is created, not read live. Rebrand next season and new guides pick it up; the ones already installed on a guest’s phone stay exactly as you handed them over.

Real photographs carry their source and photographer credit. Where we have no usable photograph of a venue, the guide shows an AI-generated impression and labels it as one, plainly, on the image itself.

We would rather tell you a picture is an impression than let you arrive expecting the room in it.

Open your guide mid-trip and it now leads with where you are supposed to be right now: the current slot by the actual time of day, whether the place is open, how far it is on foot, and directions in one tap. The rest of the day is still there underneath — it just stops being the first thing you have to scroll past.

Restaurants close. Museums move. A tip that was good last year stops being true. Every venue in a guide now has a way to say so, in all six languages, and it works with no signal — what you flag is held on your phone and sent the next time you are online.

Reports go into the shared catalogue every guide is built from, so telling us once fixes it for the next traveller as well as for you.

“Download for offline” used to save your text, your plan and your photos, and then hand you a blank grey rectangle where the map should be — in exactly the place you were most likely to need it.

The map tiles for your destination now download with the rest of the guide. Aeroplane mode, a foreign SIM you never bought, a basement bar with no signal: the pins are still there.

Guide content has been written in English, Dutch, French, Flemish, German and Spanish since April 2026. The interface around it was not: install prompts, offline banners, countdowns and error messages all stayed in English, so a Dutch guide was Dutch until something went wrong.

All six are now translated throughout.

Venue cards used to give you a name, a photo and a neighbourhood. They now carry opening hours where we have them, the street address, and a directions link that opens in the maps app you already use. Rather less standing outside a closed door working out where you are.

Installed to a home screen, a guide now shows an icon for its destination instead of a generic placeholder — so three guides on one phone are three distinguishable apps. Share the link and it unfurls with a proper preview card in the chat you sent it to.

Creating a guide now asks who is travelling, how many of you there are, whether there are kids or a dog, what kind of trip it is, what you are into, and how you eat. That shapes the greeting, which places land in which day, and what the preparation tab tells you to bring.

It deliberately does not rewrite the venue descriptions. Those stay the same for everyone, so nobody gets a restaurant described differently because of what a form said about them.

Every venue in your guide now has a pin. Tap one for the card, or open directions straight into your phone’s maps app.

Pins are placed from the venue’s own address where we have one, and from the neighbourhood or the city centre where we do not — and the map tells you which, rather than dropping a confident pin on a guess.

The first guides reach invited travellers. Everything before this date lived in a code repository rather than on anybody’s phone, which is why this changelog starts here rather than at the first commit.