Our car slows across the one-lane bridge, heading west until New Zealand ends.

I imagine giants above us, and stare up the narrow cliff sides as if up their bare legs; for the mountains of rock debris could be some fantastical gate destroyed by enormous hands. Boulders or pebbles, depending on your view.

Mine remains heavenward: to wild green walls, a snake of pale sky mirroring the river beneath, improbably light clouds.

“Pack for rain,” we were told. “Bring lots of bug spray.” It must be a land of mystery and opposites, this UNESCO protected coastline. Pinch-sized sand flies and mythical behemoths hidden in the forests. . .