Nothing makes you feel isolated like finding out that you live twenty-five miles from where the wreckage of a plane was discovered after six days of searching.
We can practically zoom in to peer into the front window of a home by using Google Earth, but we can't find a plane after a half-dozen days of looking.
That is the definition of remote.
Hermits would not want to set up solitary shop in my neck of the woods. It's too far off the beaten path. A recluse would feel deserted. A lone wolf would become lonely within twenty-four hours. Superman could erect a southern Fortress of Solitude, and never be detected.
Note to Self: If I ever even think about going into seclusion...it won't be necessary. I already live there.