I'm ashamed I didn't know this about NZ. Now I can't wait to go back

"Good morning, Miss Sarah!" says Sadmono, my cruise-ship cabin steward. I've never seen someone smile so much. "Is everything OK in your room?" he asks.

Last night, someone left a towel swan on my bed. I bet it was Sadmono. I had been dancing to a '90s cover act playing on the World Stage and, with a couple of drinks under my belt, stumbled into my room when the large white bird met me. I laughed so hard I had to send a video of it to my best friend. It was just so unexpected. It was just so delightful. My face is sore from all the smiling. That's the thing about this ship - it's infectious.

"Good morning!" I say back. "Everything is wonderful!" Then another five good mornings to random people in the corridors later, I am back at the World Stage, waiting to join a shore excursion. This morning I'm heading out on a winery tour outside of Christchurch.

I am on Holland America Line's Westerdam, a mid-size ship that has cruised from Sydney to Melbourne and Hobart, and now we are heading up the coast of New Zealand. This is my first time in Kiwiland and I am taken by how quirky and friendly the people are - they call us their "cousins". But there is a different side to NZ I didn't expect: one of resilience, a nation bonded by natural disasters and the beautiful but treacherous landscape they call home. Here are the shore excursions I can't stop thinking about.

Waking up in Lyttelton Port in Christchurch is a sight for sore eyes. What a pretty spot. The town lights set into the surrounding mountain twinkle in the early morning, making the city glow gold against the green-blue water.

I am drinking wine today, NZ's prized export. Our group takes a bus an hour's drive to Waipara, the fastest-growing wine region in the country. You would be forgiven for thinking NZ is all about sauvignon blanc, but in this area of the South Island, pinot noir, chardonnay and riesling are more their speed. After relishing a particularly clean-tasting pinot gris from Torlesse Wines, we head to Georges Road Winery where I meet Pepper the Wine Dog, who has her own Instagram page and greets every visitor with a lick and a waggy tail. Their riesling is top-notch, too.

Our group is happily giggly with wine, and then the excursion takes a sombre turn. As we take a bus tour around Christchurch, I'm ashamed I hadn't considered the country's earthquakes and their effect on daily life until now. In 2010, a large earthquake shook the region, ruining homes and buildings in the city centre. Then, a year later, the unthinkable happened: another quake erupted right under the city, killing 185 people and injuring several thousand.

Over a decade later, repairs are still being undertaken on city buildings, including the beautiful old Christ Church Cathedral, which is boarded up. Steel supports that shift with the weight of the buildings can be seen on every new build, because if there's one thing Kiwis know, it's that there will be more quakes. In recent years, Christchurch was hit with another tragedy when more than 50 people were killed in the mosque shootings in 2019. We drive past the Memorial Bridge, a monument to the dead, and our driver, Bronnie, explains a banner in a nearby building window that reads "Kia Kaha Christchurch" means "stay strong", a phrase spoken regularly by the locals in the aftermath of the tragedies.

They have a delightful name for holiday homes on the South Island, they call them "cribs", and we see some choice waterfront examples while cruising through the picture-perfect Queen Charlotte Sound at Picton in a pleasure boat on our way to do a bushwalk around Mistletoe Bay.

On land, our guide Sue shows us kawa kawa leaves, which have medicinal properties, and we happen upon a weka, a native flightless bird, which Sue says is "very cheeky - they steal things". The bush along the bay line is fern-filled and reminds me of Jurassic Park. The endemic punga tree fern is plentiful here. Its leaves, with silver undersides, have become the country's sporting emblem.

The sounds of the NZ bush are fascinating. This is a country so close geographically to Australia, and with so many similarities, but untouched by humans for so many thousands of years more. Cicadas are everywhere - but they seem to be humming to a different rhythm than those back home - and above that, we hear a NZ fantail chattering. I laugh when Sue expresses NZ's pride at not having any spiders or snakes that will jump out and bite you. "Not like in Australia."

There is a chill in the air in Wellington but none of the wind the city is famous for. We are at Zealandia Te Mara a Tane, a conservation ecosanctuary with an extraordinary 500-year vision to restore the valley's forest and freshwater ecosystems as closely as possible to a pre-human state.

Humans didn't inhabit NZ until about the 13th century when Polynesians took to the ocean and found themselves in the land of the long white cloud. What they found must have looked like a bird paradise.

Rory, our guide, almost gallops around the fenced urban sanctuary, he's so excited to tell us about the park's 40 species of birds, some rare and protected, including pied shags nesting in a nearby tree. Every now and then we hear a screeching overhead, and it's the large forest parrot, the kaka, sporting plumage in an unusual but beautiful brown colour.

Many of NZ's native birds are ground-dwelling because, back in the day, there was no natural predator, but now with introduced predators, including rats and weasels, and the Australian possum, which decimates the forest canopy, they need sanctuaries like Zealandia. Rory says it's working: "NZ is one of the only places in the world, which can say its biodiversity is improving. Largely because of this place."

We are about halfway up the North Island in the city of Napier, part of which was built on land that lifted out of the sea during a devastating earthquake that razed the city in 1931. It was built entirely in the Art Deco style of the day, which is why Napier is known as an Art Deco city. There's that theme again: devastation and resilience. And it's always measured with an equal dose of humour. Our guide, Dave, tells us earthquakes are so common in NZ that Kiwis "don't get out of bed for anything under a 5.5 ... we'll be right!" he laughs.

We are visiting the Art Deco Distillery in the beautiful old National Tobacco building, where we taste six types of gin, the ship guests becoming merrier with each serving, and it's not even midday.

The eggy smell of sulphur permeates my nostrils as I enter Whakarewarewa, The Living Maori Village in Rotorua. The village is famous for its geothermal pools, which bubble and steam away like something from a science fiction film. The pools are hailed for their healing properties and touted as a cure for ailments, including rheumatism and arthritis. Our tour guide, Kylie, tells us her daughter suffers from eczema until she comes to the pools and baths.

Many young Maoris move away from the Living Village when they're of age but they come back to visit the town - and the pools - for culture, connection and a sense of belonging. As we pass over a bridge, a group of kids shouts to us to throw down some coins. Kylie calls them the "penny divers" and remembers when she was that small. "We would jump off the bridge for a dollar, we'd do the haka for two dollars," she says, explaining generations have grown up with tourists visiting the town.

As a pool bubbles and pops, I think of the sheer power under the ground here. Land that produces all those earthquakes but can also heal your skin and your soul, a strange juxtaposition. Kylie says we'll be eating lunch cooked in the "murderous rippling waters" that reach 100 degrees. We look at the pool respectfully as our sunglasses fog with its steam. The next pool we come to pops and farts, and Kylie calls it the "grumpy old man", with both humour and awe. There's that resilience again, a matter-of-fact acceptance and reverence for the power of the land.

Kia Kaha, New Zealand - until we meet again.

The writer travelled courtesy of Holland America Line