Being on the top of the world!

I walked away with the orange-pink sunset of my last evening still imprinted on my retina, and some sand tickling between my toes. Hanging down my back was the reassuring weight of my backpack; was it really necessary to bring that Spanish-Dutch dictionary along? In my pockets yet another messy ball of little papers with various names, e-mails and must-see spots. Each little scrap triggering some wonderful memories of conversations and encounters with other travellers who, just like me, have spent a long time on the road.
This is how I arrived in the messy bus station of Playas, Ecuador. No need for watching time schedules nor making reservations, helpful bus drivers tend to almost tear people apart in order to make them step into their rickety, yet colourfully decorated bus. On the rearview mirror I caught a glance at a sticker with a woman´s name after the word "I" and a little red heart; who is this woman, his lover, wife, daughter, mother...?
Hissing, squeaking and lurching, during the following five hours the bus made its way up to Riobamba, a quaint small town at more than 2700 meters above sea level, tucked into the highlands of the Andes. With enough time to contemplate the landscapes and to lose myself in thoughts, I watched how the arid, dry lowlands steadily made way for an incredible mountain scenery in various intersecting shades of green.
For centuries, the indigenous people of this region have been growing their crops in several layers -also called terraces- to maximize on the distinct qualities of each plateau.
From a distance, one sees the fields dotted with people in turquoise, bright purple and candy-apple red clothing. Getting closer, one can distinguish small children playing while men and women are hard at work in their tiny steep fields, some of them with babies wrapped in a sling on their backs.
All of a sudden the road meandered through a village, where a bustling market was going on. On both sides of the street the most bizarre looking exotic fruits and vegetables were piled up, waiting to be sold for a good bargain. People ran up and down, and finally I was able to see their faces; dark harsh eyes avoiding my curious gaze, raven black hair with a blue reflection in the right-angle midday sun, blushing red cheeks and wrinkles indicating that their faces are constantly tormented by the unmerciful sun and wind.
The whole setting catapulted me back in time 500 years, if only it was not for that sudden chirping sound after which a bright blue dressed woman hastily grasps in her bra and pulls out a hypermodern cell phone.
The spell is broken. Nevertheless, I am thankful for having been a first-row spectator of how modernization knocks even on small village´s doors, adding new elements but unable to dramatically change the original way of living of their inhabitants.