Can you remember when you were first bitten by the travel bug? The roots of my yearning to travel, and to see exotic other places, were planted at a very young age by my Granny. She gave me a gorgeous old book, bound in red leather, embossed with gold, and with pages as thick as parchment. When I opened the covers, the musty scent of age wafted out like incense to tickle my nose. Inscribed in the front of the book, in delicate black ink, was her name and address, and the date she got the book, 1920. She was 13 when she was gifted the book, but she gave it to me when I was only 7.

I have very fond memories of sitting next to her on the old sofa in her house, while she read to me from the book, and then I would read to her…

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