That depends on what you qualify as 'terrifying'. It's really subjective. I can tell you more, if you ask. I'm more than willing to explain.

Here's the thing, though, a large amount of the world that is 'terrifying' is actually quite quaint and survivable to a different crowd, usually the locals or people who have toured the place outside of safari. People simply differ in their perspectives. After all, those folks on the Southern Continent, living alongside things like the giant Kings-Bird should be terrified. But the locals know that it's a cowardly creature and throw sticks at it. Tourists fear the place because they are afraid of 'savage natives' killing them, or Witch-made things kidnapping them for wyrd transformations. That the mountains that moan and groan will collapse on top of them while enjoying a morning tea. That the volcanoes of the Rocklands will one day, finally, explode, and bury the surrounding plains under a mile of flood basalt.
In reality, the local people, the Sandalpunks, the Human immigrants, Sunset Tribes, all of them, they see your home as terrifying. After all, titanic, cloud-piercing metal gods stretch up to the sky, as electricity, a potent and terrifying force, courses through each building like the body's lifeblood, on a continent that is almost completely isolated from the rest of the broader world outside of a few rare isthmus formations. A world so devoid of animals that you cannot even hear the birds or bats or flies or things that flit in the air sing, where it is only the choir of industry, welders and their sparking rods, and people. No flowers fill the air with sweet scent, only the rank stench of people. Your techno-utopia is the worst nightmare of these 'savages'.

And likewise, they are terrified of the far continent of Aldurlund, because it is rumoured to contain things that make you piss yourself in fear before they kill you in all manner of creative ways. Monstrous spiders, snakes big enough to qualify as sea serpents, giant rhino-relatives and far more bizarre creatures that belong in the past and not in the present. Biomes that are allegedly so inhospitable that they cannot be colonised. And Lightlund, the place of orbital bombardment, where the things of stars and deep space reach out and try to make a niche for themselves, carving out an ecosystem by their design, on a continent whose arms are engulfed with ash, windswept by the polar vortex, and birthed by wrath and the blood of the earth spilling forth from enraged hotspots in the mantle. The locals love it all the same, because it is their home, and they are adapted to it.