There was a program, on TV a long time ago, about the mountains, which run like a twisted spine down the western side of South America. They are a part of Peru, Bolivia, Argentina, and the length of Chile. It doesn't matter if you have never heard of these mountains, and it doesn't matter if you never visit them. Most people will never visit them either. Most people will never visit another country.

But the mountains are there, as remote and as largely unexplored as another planet.

The TV program was based on a journey, which some people made, with a camera. They went to film things that had never been filmed before. They went to film places that no person had ever been before. And they found plenty of things and places.

"We are the first humans to ever see this valley," said the commentator, "No human eye has ever come this far."

The valley was bowl-shaped and smooth. It was high in the atmosphere, and dry, with mountains covered in snow on all sides. The valley was brown and gold. It had thin, tough grass growing on it, and shiny rocks, polished by the weather. A cold wind blew against the microphone, making it roar.

As the first people to ever come that way stood in the valley that had never been seen by humans, a large bird, like an eagle, or a condor, glided across the sly. It watched the first people to ever stand in that valley as it spread its feathers to catch the waves and rivers of air which flowed over the humans.

And on the floor of the valley the camera came closer to a flower. It had almost been passed by and not noticed by the first people to ever walk by that flower. No-one had seen it, until the last moment. It was a small, delicate flower, with some white petals shaded yellow, and some other petals with red tips, and each flower had long, thin stamens, and its stalk was decorated with miniature leaves, and it was so graceful and beautiful that the camera spent more time on this one small plant than on all the other sights in the valley.

……………………………..

I first met Joshua when he was five. I was introduced to him at school.

"This is Joshua," the teacher said, "He lives very close to you, doesn't he?"

I had to say yes because it was true.