I cautiously clambered out of my van and inspected the immense formation as you would a priceless work of art -- admiring its lines and its beauty, which lies not so much in its form as in the triumph of its remarkable creation. For when you consider that it was constructed over a century ago, it is truly a wondrous feat of human endeavour. I then noticed that the road narrowed even further in order to pass through this 'gate', and I glanced sceptically back at my hulking great campervan. It seemed all too easy to misjudge the width and not only scratch the paintwork but get disastrously wedged in, blocking this historic road forever and inadvertently becoming Queenstown's latest tourist attraction. But I hadn't come this far just to turn back now -- The three volumes of Lord of the Rings would have been no more than a short postscript to The Hobbit, if the heroes had turned tail at every minor obstacle. So I pulled in my wing mirrors and edged forward, praying that I wouldn't get jammed-in.

Inside the gate it was like another world, where the only things that exist are the towering walls and a distant square of sky, like a sunroof in the Eiffel Tower. I stopped at one point to examine what I had hoped would prove to be one of the original chisel marks but which, on closer inspection, seemed more likely to have been created by another hapless driver with a van slightly wider than mine. Somehow I eventually managed to scrape through (literally at one point, I fear), and continued victoriously onwards, with convenient disregard for the fact that I would have to repeat the whole episode upon my return.

I proceeded quite cautiously after that, which proved extremely fortunate and not only because it allowed me to savour the blood-red sunset, which lent the scene an even more enchanting light. For after several kilometres of intense concentration, punctuated only by my childlike gasps of awe and wonder, the road suddenly vanished without a trace. It was dusk and given the eccentric personality of the road, I (or rather Eugene) decided that an 'all-stop' was in order.

I realised with dismay that I had finally come to the end of the road. Not literally of course, but here it dropped away at such an alarmingly fast rate that from where I was standing it might as well have been vertical. I could almost certainly have made it to the bottom, but only a small nuclear explosion would have got me back up again.

I was therefore effectively trapped. I had two choices. I could use the van's rather inadequate mirrors to reverse for several kilometres in near darkness back up the road I had only just managed to negotiate driving forwards. Or, I could attempt a three-point turn on a road no wider than a generous footpath, in a decrepit 18-foot long van with no power steering and the traction of a drunken ice-skater.

As I was deliberating my equally unappealing options (and cursing Evel Knievel for providing Eugene with yet another golden opportunity to say 'I told you so'), my situation incredibly took a turn for the worse. In my wing mirror, I spotted a pair of headlights bearing down on me in an agonizingly inevitable manner. As they drew up and came to an experienced stop, I made out the form of a large four-wheel-drive jeep. Like any cool, collected person who finds themself in such a situation, I panicked. There was absolutely no chance of letting the jeep pass -- I would have had to move over considerably in order to allow a malnourished supermodel to squeeze by. Thus my decision was made for me -- I would have to attempt the impossible. I snapped myself out of my internal hysterics and steeled myself for the most nerve-wracking manoeuvre of my life.

As anyone will know who has ever had to perform a swift and sheepish three-point turn under the hawkish glare of an extremely disgruntled fellow road-user, the pressure of being watched infinitely increases the difficulty of the exercise. And this one was already harder than anything required by even the most advanced of police driving schools.