New Zealand, 2025
Every journey carries two stories: the one written in facts, and the one whispered by the heart. I am delighted to share both what I learned and what stirred my soul.
Facts About New Zealand:
Absolutely spectacular: New Zealand is one of the most breathtaking countries on Earth.
The country stretches about 1,000 miles from north to south and is made up of two main islands, the North Island, volcanic and geothermal, and the South Island, mountainous and glacial.
New Zealand sits in the South Pacific Ocean, about 1,200 miles southeast of Australia across the Tasman Sea, and roughly 2,500 miles north of Antarctica. It is one of the most remote inhabited places on the planet.
Its population is about 5.3 million, mostly concentrated in cities like Auckland, Wellington, and Christchurch. Its natural beauty draws millions of travelers each year.
People of New Zealand are called Kiwis. The same name belongs to a rare nocturnal bird and a fruit (though the fruit came from China).
The capital is Wellington (not Auckland!).
Nearly a third of the land is protected as national parks, making it one of the greenest countries in the world.
New Zealand has more sheep than people, nearly 5 to 1.
A land of birds: With no native land predators, New Zealand became a sanctuary for unique birdlife, from the flightless kiwi to the curious kea and the melodious tūī.
The Māori people, Polynesian navigators, arrived centuries before Europeans. Their culture and traditions remain deeply woven into the nation’s identity.
The famous Haka dance is a traditional Māori expression of strength, unity, and spirit.
Many global films, including The Lord of the Rings trilogy, were filmed here, landscapes so cinematic they draw travelers from across the world.
South Island
I arrived in Queenstown late afternoon, flying in from Melbourne, Australia, and stepping into a town nestled deep in the South Island, cradled by the Southern Alps and resting on the shores of Lake Wakatipu.
Queenstown lies in the far south of the country, a place where mountains meet water in breathtaking harmony. From this southern gateway, my New Zealand journey stretched across the length of the land, carrying me from the very south to the far north, almost 1,000 miles, by plane and by coach, through landscapes as varied as they were unforgettable.
After I arrived in Queenstown, I went for a walk that very first evening. That’s when I met the tree, an immense, living sculpture that stopped me in my tracks. It felt like a sentinel of the land, whispering welcome traveler, you are on sacred ground.
From there, awe unfolded step by step. I expected New Zealand to be spectacular, but it revealed itself as something far greater, a masterpiece of nature.
Queenstown isn’t just a town, it’s an embrace between mountains and lake, adventure and stillness. Known as the adventure capital of the world, it pulses with bungee jumps, jet boats, and alpine energy. But what struck me was not just the adrenaline, but the harmony. Here you can stand at Lake Wakatipu and feel a peace so vast that it dwarfs even the most adventurous thrill-seekers.
On that first night in Queenstown, I took myself on a date, dinner at Finz Restaurant. Seafood and grill, the soft glow of lights over water, a menu that held both fresh fish from the lake and hearty lamb from the land. There was much to reflect on, much to process beneath the sky and beside that quiet lake. I felt a warm embrace of wholeness, knowing that I was enough. And I celebrated with Champaine!
The next day brought me into the raw magnificence of Fiordland National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, a wilderness so immense it seems to hold the country’s soul. The drive there stretched for hours, the coach winding through glacier-carved valleys, mountain passes, and forests heavy with rain. Every turn revealed something new: jagged peaks, mist drifting low, lakes mirroring the sky. By the time we reached Milford Sound, it felt less like arriving at a destination and more like stepping into a nature cathedral. From the deck of the cruise boat, sheer cliffs rose on either side, and waterfalls poured down their faces, Bowen Falls, Stirling Falls, and countless others born of the rain, silver threads tumbling straight into the pristine water. Surrounded by that majesty, I felt small yet infinite, carried not only by the boat but by the immensity of the world itself.
Cruising through Milford Sound I understood why Rudyard Kipling once called it the “eighth wonder of the world.” Mist clung to the peaks, while seabirds circled the waters below. I found myself reflecting that even mountains carry scars. The glaciers had carved them deep, and yet it was their very scars that made them beautiful. Strength does not hide its wounds; it transforms them.
The next morning brought another breathtaking and exhilarating adventure, a journey into Skippers Canyon. The road itself was an experience: rough, narrow, and precarious, carved into sheer cliffs with dazzling drops that made every turn feel like a brush with the impossible. It is said to be one of the most dangerous roads in the world, and as our 4x4 edged along its bends, it felt like passage into another time.
This canyon was once the beating heart of the Otago Gold Rush of the 1860s, when fortune-seekers came from across the world, chasing the glimmer of gold hidden in its rivers and rocks. We learned how men panned in icy waters, sluiced gravel, and tunneled into unforgiving stone, hoping for a fragment of a dream. Some struck riches, many left with empty hands, carrying only the hardship of the land.
Amidst this history, a small, weathered schoolhouse appeared humble, yet steadfast. I imagined children gathered there over a century ago, their voices reciting lessons that rose against the canyon walls. How extraordinary their resilience must have been, to find rhythm, hope, and education in such isolation.
Skippers Canyon was not just a landscape, but a story of risk, endurance, and human hunger for both survival and possibility.
That afternoon we visited Walter Peak Farm, where sheep shearing unfolded like a ritual of endurance and continuity. The rhythm of wool, work, and tradition carried a quiet wisdom. We watched sheepdogs move with silent precision, guiding flocks across the fields. Shearers worked with practiced hands, their gestures honed by generations. The simplicity of it, people and animals moving in harmony with land and season. It felt grounding. Not every story of New Zealand is about grandeur; some are about the humble cadence of life lived close to the earth.
North Island
From the South Island, my journey carried me north to the Bay of Islands, a place of dazzling light and water. Scattered across 144 emerald isles, it was like sailing through a dream. The sea was calm, the air fresh, the horizon endless. It was here I remembered again: travel is therapy. The ocean seemed to wash away noise and leave only stillness, clarity, and awe. Dolphins danced alongside our boat, their arcs cutting the sea like brushstrokes of joy. The famous Hole in the Rock stood massive before us, a gateway carved by waves. We did not pass through it, but simply seeing it reminded me of nature’s patience. Oceans don’t rush. They sculpt.
Waitangi Treaty Grounds. Where a Nation Was Born. In the Bay of Islands, beauty is not only in the water and the islands, but also in the history that unfolded here. At the Waitangi Treaty Grounds, I stood where New Zealand’s story as a nation began in 1840, with the signing of the Treaty between the British Crown and more than 500 Māori chiefs.
The museums here preserve those voices. The Te Kōngahu Museum of Waitangi told the layered story of the Treaty, its promises, its conflicts, and its ongoing meaning. The Te Rau Aroha Museum honored the Māori soldiers of the 28th Battalion, men who carried both the weight of war and the pride of identity. Walking through its halls felt like touching living memory.
Then came the Haka. Not on a screen, not in a storybook, but live, powerful, echoing in my chest. The performers’ eyes flashed, their voices thundered, their feet stamped the earth. It was not entertainment. It was spirit, pride, and heritage rising in front of us.
For me, this was more than a cultural visit. It was a reminder that history is alive, carried in bodies, in voices, in rituals. New Zealand is not only landscapes of wonder, but also people who remember, honor, and keep telling their story.
The last step of my journey was Auckland, known as the City of Sails. The name is no exaggeration. Two harbors embrace the city, one opening into the Pacific Ocean, the other into the Tasman Sea, and the waters are dotted with white sails, as if the city was constantly reaching outward. I ascended the Sky Tower, the tallest structure in the Southern Hemisphere, and from there the city unfurled in every direction, vast and shimmering.
Walking Auckland’s streets, I felt the pulse of modern life, cafés buzzing, shops spilling onto sidewalks, families wandering by the water. Yet what struck me most was balance. Here was a city firmly global, yet still anchored in its island identity, its sails always pointed toward both past and future.
New Zealand was not just a destination. It was a revelation. From mountains bearing scars to islands scattered like jewels, from the roar of a Haka to the stillness of a farm, it reminded me that life is not linear. It is layered, humble and grand, patient and fierce, scarred and beautiful all at once.
When I left, I carried more than memories. I carried echoes, of waterfalls, of voices, of footsteps on unfamiliar streets. These echoes remind me: the world is vast, but it is also intimate, always waiting to meet us when we walk toward IT with open eyes and an open heart.
Life Lessons Carried Home
Even mountains carry scars. Beauty is not the absence of pain but the endurance that transforms it into something magnificent.
Resilience thrives in unexpected places. A schoolhouse in Skippers Canyon taught me that learning and hope can take root even at the edge of the world.
Culture lives in practice. The Haka at Waitangi was not performance but pulse, showing that identity survives when it is lived, not displayed.
Wandering is its own meditation. Sometimes the best gift of travel is walking without a plan, letting the streets or the trails reveal themselves, and receiving what the land offers in silence.
New Zealand thought me the greatest lesson of all, a lesson that comes from the Maori people:
“He aha te mea nui o te ao? He tāngata, he tāngata, he tāngata.” “What is the most important thing in the world? It is people, it is people, it is people.”
Beyond mountains and seas, beyond cultures and stories, it is always people, the ones we meet, the ones we walk with, the ones we carry in our hearts.
Who are the people you carry in your heart, and how do they shape the way you see the world?
Until the next horizon,
Coach • Traveler • Believer in Intentional Living
