Riding a remote desolate dirt track somewhere around the Chimborazo volcano in the Ecuadorian Andes, Paul and I were talking how remote it felt. The track ran along the endless green highland grasslands and hills, zigzagging around jagged peaks and crossing small valleys. It felt like we were the only humans on Earth: the howling winds ruffled the grass, and there was no sight of any human activity – no houses in the distance, not even a pasture fence.
Suddenly, turning a corner, we saw a tiny figure walking down the dirt road. As we rolled towards the little silhouette, we realized it was a small girl wearing a traditional Andean costume. She held a tatty rope in her hands.