My parents shared a love of travel, which they passed on to me.

My mother yearned for blue sea and sunshine beyond her Welsh borders – her ambitions born from happy family summer holidays spent on the beaches of Britain’s Cornish coast. A trip to Italy at 14 first spurred my dad’s love of adventure, photography and pretty girls.

The ink was barely dry on his mechanical engineering certificate when he signed up as a photographer for the British Royal Air force. This is how my adventures began.  I was just six months old (my brother barely two) when my mother’s dream of life abroad – somewhere sunny and warm – came true. The tiny key-shaped island of Cyprus in the Mediterranean became our home for three years before war permanently divided the nation and sent us packing back to the United Kingdom in 1974. Still, my mother always considered our posting to Cyprus among the best years of her life. Instead of living on the RAF base my parents opted for a traditional village life.  We may have lost touch over the years but the bonds of friendship we forged with both the local Greek and Turkish families (who ultimately saw themselves as Cypriots and adopted us in the same way) are still treasured, as are the memories of (once) uncrowded beaches and the smells and tastes of lamb – tender and succulent after being slow-cooked over charcoal in a kleftico oven.  My young days were spent harassing feral goats, chickens, geese and pigs, bobbing up and down in the chiffon waters, scrambling barefoot over ancient ruins and playing barefoot under the shady olive groves. It was heaven on earth to a little kid!

A further three years in Germany gave us plenty of time to see the highlights of Western Europe – from the comfort of our trusty Toyota pop-up-top campervan – before dad retired from the force and we emigrated to ‘the lucky country’, Australia.

With the gaps in my young memories filled in with countless hours of home movie nights, these experiences have given me permanent itchy feet.

A desire to travel was the reason I became a journalist. I initially wanted to be a foreign correspondent.  After five years honing my skills on police and court rounds, writing about personal finance, real estate and television celebrities for a metropolitan newspaper –  I went one better and became a travel writer.  My first major piece relived the booze-fuelled exploits of my fellow travel companions on a six-week Contiki tour of Europe – a total contrast from my first trip as a nipper 30 years earlier.  My job has since taken me to all seven continents. Instead of war zones, I’ve been privileged to experience the ultimate in luxury escapes as well as some budget beauties, traced the footsteps of Antarctic explorers and even swum alongside humpback whales in Tonga.

These days I share many of my adventures with my two young daughters. And this is, ultimately, what this blog is about.

The Little Miss in the title refers to each of them. I invite you to join me as I open their hearts and broaden their developing minds with the wonders of the world.

My parents’ friends often commented on how lucky we all were to travel. Well, we were and we weren’t. Many of them had the same opportunities as we did – the difference was, we took them.  As a special (now late) friend often reminded me: “Life is not a dress rehearsal”.

I hope our traveller’s tales and happy snaps inspire you to do the same. I’m sure you’ll be able to relate, so please, feel free to share your comments and experiences with us as well as any travel tips or suggestions of future places to see and write about.

Debbie Neilson-Hunter