Across the bridge, the ground shifted from brown to green, and a heavy mist gathered around my ankles. The source of this mist was impossible to ignore - just up the slope, a massive, gourd-shaped plant sat, emitting steam from pores all along its pale green body. A pink patch on its side glowed intermittently, and as I watched, a mist-like spray emitted from the red fronds at the top of the plant, sprinkling across the path.

On the other side of the path, sticking out from the overgrowth, a large wooden sign read, “Welcome to Valley of Mo’ara,” as well as other words I wasn’t sure how to pronounce: “Oel ngati kameie.” There was a map on the sign, too, though it was rather vague and filled with more unpronounceable words. The warnings next to the map were much more clear: Stay on marked paths. No campfires. Do not run from large animals. This last one was accompanied by a pictogram of a humanoid figure running away from a large dinosaur-esque head.

I continued up the slope, to a point where the path split in two, the left fork sloping downward while the right fork maintained its higher course. As I followed the righthand path, the thick foliage suddenly fell away behind me, revealing a wide, sunny view of something I’d seen only in commercials and, over ten years ago, in a movie: enormous moss-covered rocks hanging in the sky. The floating mountains of Pandora.

My eyes scanned the view, searching for wires or transparent support beams and finding none. The only thing attached to those rocks were vines, like the strings on great balloons. And though I knew, objectively, intellectually, that on the other side of the bridge I’d just crossed was a theme park, a childlike voice in my head whispered, “Oh wow, I really have traveled to another world!”