A few months ago, I was heading up towards Aguas Calientes in Peru to visit Macchu Piccu. I had to take a colectivo for something like 6 hours along dead scary dirt road (the emphasis on dead) that wound along the sides of mountains above sheer drops. When we got to Hydroelectrica, I wanted to check that I had understood the bus driver correctly so I asked a couple I thought spoke English. They confirmed that this was the end of the road. We signed the register to visit Macchu Piccu and then walked miles along a railway track in the afternoon heat to get to the village of Aguas Calientes. A huge storm was brewing and about an hour away from our destination, it POURED down on us. I was soaked through my raincoat in minutes and soon became cold. I continued chatting away to the couple but lost them as I went in search of a cheap hostel. The next day, I woke up at 4am to climb Macchu Piccu and, at several points during the following days, I ran into the couple again. Each time we said goodbye, I assumed that I would probably never hear from them again. But here I am, several months later, visiting them in Barcelona and catching boss views like this one.