fjordland
Fiordland. Misty. Rainy. Cold. Grey. All of my Northern European nightmares rolled into one. For this, I crossed the world? So the heavens could rain on me? Then, the mist clears, and a cliff - a huge, tree covered granite slab of such vast area that it fills your entire field of vision like some slate grey and pine green Rothko - appears.
And you get a shiver down your spin, and the hairs on the top of your head stand on end. And it’s possibly caused by the cheap speed you’ve been taking to deal with a sinus infection, but it’s more likely caused by the realisation of just how insignificant you are - even on your sixteen story ship - in the face of such unimaginably huge natural wonders.
Oh yes, you think; for this, I crossed the world.