Walking from Wellington’s Botanical Garden to the city centre you see: gorgeous flowers, pensive gravestones, loopy street sculptures, funky people, and slightly disturbed art galleries all in the span of two hours.

The kayak safety briefing took nearly four hours. We were taught how to use the emergency flares and what do if the boat is capsized by a killer whale.

It was later revealed by our instructor, Tim, that this has never happened to anyone.

He taught how to board the two-seater kayak in case someone falls off and how to read the mood of the sea for signs of storms ahead. And we learned how to land in case one arrived.

It didn’t. The sea during our two-day tour of Abel Tasman National Park was as tame as the baby seals we paddled with.

Watching the sun rise and set again. They’re pleasures so rare for those like me, city dwellers robbed of the horizon by tall buildings.

But in the Pacific, where the sun rises and sets, respectively, around 7am and 7 pm, I’ve had the privilege of witnessing these shows nearly every day.

Here is a selection of the best moments from sun-up to sundown.

By 8 am the sunlight starts to slither in the window, lazy as we. The windows are fogged and dotted with condensation from a 10-hour sleep. We crack open the curtain to see it it’s raining (almost never) or sunny (almost always).

From the window we can see the sea, the grass, the asphalt, the neighbours or the mountain. The most important decision to be taken presents itself: have breakfast here or drive to a prettier or more intimate backdrop? If we’re lucky there’s a bathroom nearby. Other times we ned to hold it in and brush our teeth with water from a collapsible gallon.

You can say it’s a cross of LA’s Mulholland Dr. and San Francisco’s The Haight district: a winding uphill street lined with eccentric homes, tie-dyed Volkswagen vans, and an unmistakable counter-culture vibe. This is Holloway Dr., the most colourful hippie enclave in Wellington, situated at the top of Te Aro disctrict.

Here are some of the sights we saw.

One does not simply walk into Mordor. One takes a bus with 50 other people, hike for about eight hours, then take a bus back.

The suggestion came from Yvi, a soft spoken German-Swiss girl, as we soaked in a river fed by hot thermal waters in Taupo.

“You never heard of the Tongariro Crossing,” she asked, incredulously. “It’s considered the best one-day walk in New Zealand.”

The lure of the superlative. Since we arrived in this country, we hadn’t embarked on any grand adventure that demands courage, stamina, or strategy. Apparently our time had arrived.

At Whakarewarewa, a Maori village open to tourists, the ladies learned to play the poi, an dance accessory that was fromerly a wepons-training tool.

In New Zealand’s Hot Water Beach, you can make a natural hot tub by digging in the sand, which brings up volcanic-heated water. Just make sure the waves don’t ruin your effort.

When Lynn Barber, star journalist at The Guardian, informed her kiwi friends she would visit New Zealand, their reactions were remarkably alike:

“Beautiful scenery,” they told her. “Really nice friendly people – you’ll hate it.”

Lynn wrote that to love this country one must really like nature and not be too discriminating when it comes to culture. NZ, she said, is a terrestrial paradise in countless ways, a clean country with virgin land and pristine air where landscapes that take your breath away come fast and without relent.

The lady at the tourist information desk was surprised. Surprised that we wanted to try a hangi, a traditional Maori meal steamed in sulphur pits, on its own.

That is, without the Vegas-looking dance performance with it.

“I’m sorry, you can only have the hangi as part of a package,” she said.

So began our disappointing stay at Rotorua, one of New Zealand’s top destinations, partly because of the strong Maori presence there. The brochures promise an authentic cultural experience, full of folklore, sing, dance, and food.