Your heart sinks as soon as you see the email in your inbox. “I don’t know if you remember us but we’re friends of your aunt ...” More damn visitors. A peril of living in Shanghai is that it’s a city every one of your friends and relations would love to visit, if only they knew someone who could smooth over the foreign barrier. And now they do—you.

Welcome to the hell your life will become when it gets around that you have a spare bedroom. Your regular life will be suspended as you visit Yu Gardens for the eighth time and try to look excited at the prospect of another trip to the Museum of Science and Technology. At least it has the 3-D human intestines ride.

The problem is that visitors, like friends, come in every variety. There are those you’re happy to welcome, who replace your expensive breakfast cereal, do their own washing and buy you bottles of wine and Dragonfly vouchers as a parting gift. You’re genuinely sorry to see them go.

And then there’s the other 99 percent. The visitors who don’t like paying for anything. The ones who watch TV and smoke cigarettes all day in your house. The ones who bring extra friends, relatives or colleagues you’ve never met as a two-for-one deal. The visitors who sleep in until 10am while you cope with their kids’ jetlag at 5:30am. And the visitors who think that your Chinese must be at UN translator-level by now.

“Just tell the tailor I’ve gained weight because of my painful divorce but I’m planning to get back to a normal size soon.” Don’t even get me started on the ones who come to Shanghai to escape husband / wife / tax problems.

I don’t want to sound unkind, but the reality is, as one of my visitors candidly put it, “I could never have afforded this trip if it wasn’t for you guys!” They get an international holiday while I slowly go broke.

A wise Shanghai friend told me her number one rule: to maintain sanity, there must always be a two-week gap between visitors, no exceptions. Due to a character weakness I’m struggling to put this into practice, so instead, I’ve devised my own solution. I’ve compiled a dossier of maps, brochures, suggestions, addresses in Chinese and my husband’s phone number. The last is vital if you’re ever going to survive. Sounding like a fake-market tout I hand them the fat pink folder with a cry of “Inside look! Phone, SIM card, subway card, map, DVD, look! look!” and I rush out the door to resume my regular life.

Do you have any tips for hosting visitors? Tell us in the comments below.