Directions beyond the map.

Car, on foot, by taxi, step-free: each route is its own short set of directions. The visitor picks theirs and sees only what matters to them — nothing else to read, nothing to scroll past.

Expand each route here — this is the real content structure:

Open the real thing →

“Number 42” can mean a lobby, a loading yard, or a gate that moved twice. Proezi pins the arrival point to six decimal places — about a hand-width on the ground — and confirms the timezone with it, because arrival times and analytics days are place-local.

Owners search the address, stand on site and tap “Use my location”, or type coordinates by hand — then fine-tune with nudge buttons instead of re-typing digits.

Owners upload entrance photos and draw directly on them — arrows to the correct door, circles around the right bay, labels that say exactly what a stranger should look for.

The same annotated photo renders for every visitor, at every screen size, marks always in the right place.

Every upload rides one pipeline: validated by its actual bytes, decoded and re-encoded as a single WebP, stripped of EXIF and GPS metadata, stored under a random name outside the web root. The original file name never survives — a photo can’t carry a tracking pixel or leak where it was taken.

Each image carries a written description (shown under the demo photos) — required, because a visitor using a screen reader needs the door described, not just photographed.

Reception closed for lunch, bays resurfaced, main door replaced — switch a notice on and every visitor sees it the moment they open the link. Switch it off and it disappears. No republishing, no reprinting.

Each route hands off to the visitor's own map app — Google, Apple or Waze — aimed at the owner's exact destination, not the street address. Walking routes offer the apps that make sense for walking.

These buttons are live; they open real maps:

Every place has a print-ready QR sign. The code encodes the stable link, so when you edit directions, every previously printed sign serves the new content — reprint only if the door itself moved.

Each sign carries a short code matching the live page, so a visitor can spot an obsolete printout. Signs can be route-specific too — the ones on the right open straight on their route.

Edits happen on a draft; the live page keeps serving the last good directions until you press publish. Every publish is a frozen version you can roll back to in one click.

Anonymous counts only: page views, arrivals, and whether the directions helped — no accounts, no personal data, no tracking across sites.

Old directions are worse than none — they send people to a door that moved. Visitors always see when the directions were last updated and re-confirmed; owners get a review queue that surfaces anything not verified in 180 days, long before a visitor has to notice.

The reminder email nags without accusing: it says nobody re-confirmed recently — never that the directions are wrong. The one on the right is the real rendering.

Some places exist for a single occasion — a wedding, a product launch, a conference. Event mode gives the arrival page its window: visitors see when it happens, “Happening now” while it runs, and an honest note after it ends.

One tap puts the visit in the visitor's own calendar — the link in the demo really downloads the file.

Translate the place once — name, address, routes, steps — and visitors get the page in their language automatically: their browser's preference, or one tap on the switcher. Anything not yet translated falls back to the main language, so the page is never half empty.

Visitors open arrival links in the worst signal spots — car parks, lifts, loading bays. After one successful visit, the page keeps working offline on their phone, clearly marked as the copy they last loaded.

A one-line embed puts a “How to find us” card on any page — the contact page, the event site, the booking confirmation. It always mirrors the published place: edit once, every embedding updates.

Upload the company logo, set the brand colour — done. Arrival pages, embeddable cards and signs carry the host's identity, so visitors trust what they see.

Most arrival directions repeat: visitor bays, side entrances, gate codes, “take the lift to floor 3”. The template library offers proven starting points — this is the real content from the step builder, expand it.

Chains and multi-site teams perfect one place, then duplicate it: every route, step, photo and the pin come across into a clean unpublished draft. Adjust the details, publish, done.

Analytics say how many arrived; feedback says why the others struggled. Visitors point at the precise step that confused them — anonymously, in two taps, with no account.

One tap on the visitor page tells the host someone arrived. With notifications configured, the team gets an email within moments — the one on the right is the real rendering; without any, the arrival still lands in analytics.

A separate “Need help” reveals the host’s published contact line — only after the tap. And no visitor data is involved: the email carries the place, the route and the time, nothing about the person.

The last thing anyone should hunt for over messages is how to pay you. A payment page is one link: bank details for the US, Europe or India, a UPI QR to scan, or PayPal — exactly as published, on an account-free page that is never indexed by search engines.

It travels, too: UK sort codes, SWIFT wires, Canadian EFT, PIX in Brazil, CLABE in Mexico, BSB and PayID in Australia, CNAPS in China, Zengin in Japan — every rail with its public check digit verified on entry.

Owners edit drafts while payers keep seeing the last published version, and every page says who published it. Proezi never touches the money — it just keeps the details from getting screenshotted into the wrong chat.

GSTIN, EIN, EU VAT, LEI, USCC, ABN, CNPJ… every country proves businesses differently, and counterparties ask for the numbers one at a time. A business page is the third Proezi link: /p to arrive, /pay to pay, /biz to verify — printed on invoices, quotes and signs.

Every ID is checked against its public check digit on entry — the honest version of “verified”: format-checked, never a claim that a registry says the company exists today.

Owners bring colleagues in with a one-time, email-bound invitation. Four roles draw one line each — who owns, who manages, who edits, who only reads — and every permission is enforced server-side, not by hiding buttons.

Members sign in with Google only; there is no user password to phish. These are the role explanations the product itself shows.

These aren’t features anyone demos at a party — they’re the reasons the three links keep working. Strict security headers on every response, abuse rate-limited with an honest answer, health checks over the database, disk, workers, publication mirror and backups.

Backups are encrypted, off-host, and actually restored end-to-end in a drill before every release. Accessibility is a release gate, not a checkbox. The artifacts on the right are the real thing.