“There is a peculiar pleasure in riding out into the unknown. A pleasure which no second journey on the same trail ever affords.”

When I was a young child, my grandmother and I would venture out into the weekend shopping hustle and bustle in search of the best travel deals we could find. A big colourful picture in a travel agent’s window portraying surf, sand and swaying palm trees was enough to tease and get even the most precocious child’s imagination running wild. Never mind that we didn’t have the money to actually go to Bora Bora, or Lahaina, or Penang – as long as we got the brochures and the catalogs we were happy. For me that happiness bordered on ecstasy. I pored over those booklets so much I swear I got a tan just staring at them.

I was the kid who, like Frodo, looked at maps and wondered what lie beyond the edges. When you grow up in a small town, even the edges of that town seem like an adventure. A stately coconut palm instead of a stunted oak… a blue ocean instead of a gray pond… a flashy bathing suit instead of a reversible windbreaker. I was smitten – I had to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. And often.

“Make it Rhodesia this year.”

“Come to Ceylon for the beaches and stay for tea.”

“British Honduras – a bit of the old country on the cusp of heaven.”

Times and destinations may have changed, but my desire to experience what’s beyond the ‘edges’ hasn’t dimmed in the slightest.

As Holly Golightly said: “I’m going, and that’s all there is to it!”

But where to this time….