Paradise: what you get

I have spent 24 hours in the rainforest by an idyllic tropical beach.

To see: sunlight filtering through leaves of every shape and every shade of green; freshwater streams trickling over rocks, from the trees fringing the beach into the gently breaking waves, the whole soft-sand bay overlooked by tree-covered headlands; large orange-patterned butterflies on the beach, small mauve and yellow butterflies in the forest.

To hear: birdsong, including the bird that invented the first ever mobile phone ringtone; chirruping cicadas; waves (as well as, overnight, torrential rain and, now in the shaded bar by the beach, Dylan singing Just Like a Woman which shouldn't feel appropriate but does).

To smell: coconut washed up on the beach, damp vegetation, salt and wafts of pungent insect repellent.

To taste: heat and the sunscreen that gets on everything.

To feel: stickiness in every pore; rivulets of sweat down my back, front and face; fine sand in my bed, towel, camera, book; itching insect bites - on my arms, legs and back - but not, infuriatingly, the insects as they land on my skin; jellyfish stings should I dare go into the sea.

Captain Cook named this place Cape Tribulation. Perhaps he got jumping mites in his laptop too.

One of the places I was sorry to miss in New Zealand was the much-blipped tree in the lake at Wanaka. This mangrove is my wistful homage.

Backblip: Sanctuary
Backblip: Strangler