As a kid, I lived in a Seattle suburb for a year. We could see Mt. Baker out the living room window – the whole, majestic mountain was right there, nearly always in plain view. Before that, my family had lived in Chicago and Minneapolis, where there are hills and “bluffs” but no real mountains. When I told the other kids this, that I’d come from a place without mountains, most thought I was pulling one over. I remember, when the dad of one disbelieving six-year-old got transferred to Minnesota, thinking, “now he’ll see.”
Probably, I’d seen mountains in picture books before I had Mt. Baker constantly in my line of site, but even if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have doubted the existence mountains. But I guess it’s easier to believe in what you haven’t seen than to believe that, somewhere else, what you have seen doesn’t exist.