New Zealand is a country in the southwestern Pacific Ocean consisting of two main islands. Together, they are close to the size of Colorado. Both north and south islands are marked by volcanoes and glaciers. The south island’s Fiordland and southern lakes were the scenery locations for mythical Middle Earth, in Peter Jackson’s “Lord of the Rings” films.

“Kia ora” is the first sign to greet you when you step into the Auckland Airport on New Zealand’s North Island. It simply means “hello” in a complex structure of greetings in the native Maori language. After that, as you proceed through the lines of security, immigration and customs, you are bombarded with a constant repetition of recorded warnings of this country’s strict rule of agriculture and importation. You can be deported or detained for bringing any food or plant life into the country.

Being mindful and respectful of these laws, I was totally surprised when a sweet little beagle dog jumped up and placed his paws on my handbag. He then sat down in front of me, his eyes fixated on my purse. I was quickly accosted by his handler who yelled at me to stand still, not pet the dog, as he was a “working dog” and called on her radio for “back up.” I was taken to a secluded corner and my handbag was opened and its contents dumped out on a table.

“What food items, did you have in here?” they asked.

“I had an egg salad sandwich,” I said.

“Where is it?” they asked.

“I ate it.”

“Where did you eat it?”

“In Chicago.”

“How long ago?”

“Let me see,” I said. “I had a three-hour layover there, after the flight from Buffalo, then traveled over four hours to Los Angeles, where I had a two-hour layover and then this 15-hour flight, crossed the international date line, lost Christmas Day, because you are a day ahead of the rest of the world. So I think it would have been approximately 25 hours ago.”

I was cleared and released along with another suspect – a young man who had forgotten he had an apple in his backpack.

There has never been an outbreak of rabies in New Zealand and their magnificent environment is the envy of the world. This diligence is to be respected and honored. New Zealand has a richly varied flora of imported and native species, the indigenous varieties having developed quite significantly due to the geographic isolation of the country, before the influx of human migration and plant imports became common. New Zealand’s forest ecosystems, for example, are being considered as the second most endangered of the world, with only 7 percent of the natural habitat remaining. There are also no snakes in New Zealand, which seems so odd, given the fact that its close neighbor Australia is home to many venomous species.

MUDLIN

I had rented a backyard cottage on line through Airbnb – about a 15-minute bus ride from downtown Auckland. The cottage was a converted artist studio hugged by banana trees and wild hibiscus. This was perfect, a short walk to coffee houses and ethnic restaurants, with excellent public transport. An hour after arriving I was on the bus heading for the wharf in Auckland to map out my activities for the next few days.

That’s when I met Mudlin.

The first thing I saw as she stepped on the bus was her crazy red leather high-top sneakers – way too big for her tiny feet. She had a beautiful open smile and when I told her I liked her red crazy shoes she promptly sat next to me and began to tell me her life story, after admitting that her shoes really belonged to her son. Of course, her life story would take more than a 15-minute bus ride, so at our destination, Mudlin said, “Hey let me shout (treat) you to coffee.” We sat together for the next two hours talking. She was interesting, had lived a full life and spoke three languages: English, Maori and French Polynesian. Her real name was Madelaine and after she corrected my pronunciation of her name several times, I could only remember her preferred French Polynesian pronunciation, by joining the words Mud and Lin. From then forward I called her Mudlin.

Mudlin had grown up in the Cook Islands, showing intelligence and a curious mind as a young girl. She was sent to a boarding school in New Zealand. She had spent most of her life in Auckland and the Cook Islands. Teased about being a native Cook Islander by her fellow students at boarding school, she told them she was from a tribe of cannibals; they had better “watch out, as their plump white bodies were considered a delicacy in her tribe.” She never married, had a son by a long-term relationship that ended when she became pregnant. Mudlin raised her son with the support of her island family, her brothers and father being positive male influences in her son Steffons’s life. Mudlin was retired from civil service as a book keeper and interpreter. During her working years, Mudlin purchased a house on the fringe of the city when at the time her peers were moving and buying homes in the suburbs. Real estate in the city of Auckland has sky rocketed in the last few years, and Mudlin was recently offered 2 Million New Zealand Dollars ($1.33 million U.S.) for her home, which was in bad shape. No doubt, it would have been promptly bulldozed and a new home built on the valuable land.

“What would I do with $2 million?” she asked. “I am happy here, I have my cats, the shops are close by for ‘take away’ (take out food) and I love my garden and my neighbors. I have enough money to feed myself and my cats and birds. Let Steffon sell it after I am gone.”

Mudlin invited me to afternoon tea at her house two days later and it was a treasured day, meeting her outrageously handsome son Steffon, and her best friend Mary. The conversation was the same as it probably is with seniors in any part of the world. Politics and how the next ruling politician may affect their pension and changes in their beloved culture were the topics of concern. Mudlin showed me how to prune Wisteria vines and sent me home with a bunch of magnificent large gardenias, which added an elegant touch to my one-room studio and were still fresh when I left for the next guest to enjoy.

GOVERNMENT

New Zealanders have free medical care and they seem rather satisfied with its quality and availability. The average New Zealander has an average life expectancy of 81.6 years of age.

The New Zealand education system is acknowledged internationally as a high performing system. Of the 65 countries and economies participating in the latest Program for International Student Assessment (PISA), New Zealand’s 15-year-old students were ranked fourth out of 34 OECD countries on the overall reading scale. New Zealand also performed well above average on math and science.

New Zealand is a constitutional monarchy with a parliamentary system of government. This means that the head of state is a sovereign (currently Queen Elizabeth II). The Queen is represented by the Governor-General. New Zealand uses a Mixed Member Proportional voting system which makes it unlikely that any one political party, (e.g. National; Labour; Green Party) will win a majority of the seats in the House.

The party with the most votes usually forms a coalition or agreement with the other parties. It gets complicated trying to understand the Maori presence in this system. The native Maoris have the option of voting for whoever is running for any party, or nominating their own representative.

There have been many noted accomplishments of New Zealanders, but none more loved than its favorite son, Edmund Hillary.

Hillary was the first person to reach the summit of Mount Everest in 1953, along with his Sherpa guide Tin zing Norgay. Hillary would go on to join expeditions to the North and South Poles in 1958, giving him the distinction of being the only person to reach both poles as well as the summit of Everest.

Hillary always gave credit to the people of Nepal for his success. A humble bee keeper from Auckland was knighted by Queen Elizabeth; would shun being referred to as Sir Edmund, preferring to be called “Ed.” Following his ascent of Everest, Hillary devoted most of his life to helping the Sherpa people of Nepal through the Himalayan Trust, which he founded. Through his efforts, many schools and hospitals were built in Nepal.

It is in Hillary’s spirit that one feels compelled to push themselves physically to their capacity when in New Zealand. The country seems to have a sports-friendly culture, with places on public transportation for bikes, skis and surf boards.

So this old girl hauled herself up one side and down the other on the Island of Waiheke after taking the 45-minute boat ride from the wharf in Auckland to the island. Young back packers were passing me by, but I made it – 15,000 plus steps on the pedometer in 90 percent humidity.

MALCOLM

I got back to Auckland and dragged myself across the street from the wharf where I found a gaudily decorated Mexican food truck, smack dab in the middle of the park.

That’s when I met Malcolm.

“I want two hard-shelled tacos,” I said.

“I don’t sell hard-shelled tortillas. That’s fried food and not healthy,” he said.

“Listen young man, when you’re my age and have just walked over Waiheke, then you can preach to the choir, but right now I am hungry, cranky and thirsty, so give me a burrito with lots of shredded pork, beans and rice,” I said.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

OK, now I have to start the litany and wait for signs of recognition.

“Ellington?” Nothing, of course. I don’t know why I bother.

“Jamestown, Lucille Ball’s hometown?” – Nothing.

“Buffalo/Niagara Falls.” Ah, yes. I see the light go on in his eyes. Without missing a beat, he leaned forward and said, “The Bills are up by six points. New England is in overtime with the New York Jets and Brady doesn’t seem to know where he is. He seems confused.”

I was speechless. It was Monday in Auckland, Sunday in New York, and my husband had hurried up our telephone conversation some hours earlier to watch the Bills kickoff.

“Aren’t you profiling, thinking everyone from Buffalo is a Bills fan?” I asked, still cranky.

“No, everyone from Buffalo is a Bills fan,” he answered.

Malcolm sat with me while I ate the delicious fattening burrito, calling his wife to join us from her job at the Craft Beer Atrium across the park. Lisa ran bare foot through the park, juggling a pitcher of beer. Apparently there is no open container law in Auckland. Malcolm had once owned and worked at restaurants in Nantucket and New York thus his interest in the Patriots and the Jets.

I asked Malcolm why he followed the Bills.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“That’s OK. Neither do we,” I said. “We just never give up it’s family”

The latest restaurant they had owned was in Brooklyn, and the business had enjoyed success for five years. Things started to change; he was stressed, overworked and spending little time with his family. The restaurant business became fickle after one cool review.

When their home in New Jersey was badly damaged during Hurricane Sandy, he said that when he walked inside and saw sand up to the third floor, they decided it was a sign to sell all and move home to New Zealand. Embracing a simpler life, they bought a Mexican food truck and were enjoying more family time together; business was good along with increased appetites for his good Mexican food.

Malcolm made up a care package for me to take home for dinner – delicious prawn taco and avocado cheese appetizers.

What a great day in the park in Auckland.

As with many native stories, there are several versions of how New Zealand was first discovered. According to tribal natives in the Maori tradition, it is believed that they came from an island or a group of islands in the South Pacific Ocean, led by Kupe a native of the Cook Islands, using stars and ocean currents as his navigation guide over 1,000 years ago. Ao-tea-roa was the name Kupe called this land, meaning “Land of the Long White Cloud.” There are similarities between language and culture of the Cook Islands, Tahiti (which Mudlin says is the most beautiful place on earth) and Hawaii.

The first European to arrive was Abel Tasman, a Dutchman in 1642 who named this land New Zealand after the Dutch Province Zeeland. Later, this country was navigated and mapped by Captain James Cook who dominates history in the Pacific Islands. New Zealand has a total population of 4.5 million people and 30 million sheep. Wool and lamb exports led their industry for 130 years. It is now led by beef and dairy. New Zealanders call themselves ‘Kiwi’s a reference to the native flightless bird that’s about the size of a chicken.

HORACE AND VERA

After a week of eating on the go, and zapping food in the microwave, I decided that on my last night I would celebrate this wonderful week at one of the better harborside restaurants. Eating alone in a restaurant is the only time I feel uncomfortable when traveling solo. I chose a table with a great view of Auckland at night with the ocean reflecting the lights of the buildings and the Sky Tower.

That’s when I met Horace and Vera.

“You know you have our table,” I heard in a British cockney-like accent. I looked up and for a moment, I thought I was looking at Ricky Gervaise, the same devilish grin and mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Too bad, I was here first,” I said.

He laughed as his wife was rolling her eyes and shaking her head, as I am sure she did many times living with this character.

“Really, I am just finishing up my desert,” I said. “Please sit down. I will be leaving soon”

They introduced themselves as Vera and Horace, from Sussex, England.

“I have never known anyone named Horace,” I said.

Horace continued, “My wife has never called me Horace.”

“What does she call you?”

“‘H,’ pronounced ‘Haaych.’ It’s kind of like. hey you.”

“If you had a husband named Horace, would you call him Horace?” Vera asked.

“Only when I was mad at him,” I answered.

With that, Horace ordered a bottle of good New Zealand wine and proceeded to pour a glass for both Vera and me.

“I tried to change my name to Bill when I was 10 years old,” Horace said.

“And how did that go?” I asked.

“Not good, they ignored me,” he said.

“Well,” I said, “I was married 20 years before I found out my husband had a middle name. He always said his mother didn’t give him one, which I thought strange, as she was rather flamboyant. I was going through some papers one day and I found out his middle name.”

“What was it?” Vera asked.

“Ferdinand,” I said.

“Oh My God. That’s worse than Horace, no wonder he kept it from you,” he said.

Horace and Vera were on their way to Australia and had stopped for a week in New Zealand. Their college-aged children were in New York traveling, hoping for a white Christmas. Several texts and selfies taken in Time’s Square were popping up on Vera’s phone. I met up with Vera in Sydney a few weeks later and introduced her to the popular Paddington Market while Horace went sailing.

A week in New Zealand is not enough time to explore the beauty of this land, its history and culture, but the people I met, the memories I have, will always be cherished.

Diana is the author of the book “Dunny Mans Picnic” a War Bride’s Journey. She lives in Ellington, and is a supported living specialist at The Resource Center.