My early foreign travel memories include swimming in the sea in the Costa del Sol when it was still a string of fishing villages, and learning to ski in Norway in leather lace-up boots on wooden skis.
In the late ’60s, Dad’s business meant the whole family went on a six-week holiday (while he worked) behind the Iron Curtain. My brother summed up our culture shock: “No Coca-Cola? No adverts? No fish fingers?”
We ate sheep’s brain soup and took a private tour through the Wieliczka and Bochnia salt mines. I did not appreciate this privileged moment until much later in life.
I cannot stay in one place for too long and always have an escape route in my back pocket. Even when commuting throughout my working life in London, I never bought a travel pass. This need to remain alert to the next adventure is in my DNA.
Dad instilled a love of history and literature, and Mum gave me a love of art. They both opened my eyes to the beauty and enchantment of the natural world.

Sign up for my occassional updates using the form, below.