Seán Keenan

It’s typical of me that I’d end up on the wrong side of security while trying to break out of a museum. I had the perfect place in Cuenca to interview expats. The only problem was getting away from it. While I loved the grassy lawns and wooden boardwalks of the Remigió Crespo museum café, leaving it meant descending to the Tomebamba River walk, heading upriver for a block, and then ascending a lengthy set of steps to the street above. It was a bit of a hike.

Black and white Friesian cattle munch placidly on thick grass. They’re scattered, remarkably evenly, across a 40-mile plain rolling to the abrupt black slopes of volcanic peaks. I’m on a bus in Ecuador, and I mention the cows as a nod to my colleagues in the International Living editorial department. Last year, when I returned to the office after a trip to Thailand, someone asked me what the highlight of my trip was.

Peaks recede to the horizon in all directions. Some are topped by clusters of village buildings, but more often the mountaintops are unadorned green angles fading into a bluish haze. Roads are few, and those that there are snake tortuously up and down steep switchbacks.