When you arrive in an unknown land you process what you see based on what you know; past experiences, sights and sounds. I tried to have no preconceived ideas of New Zealand other than I knew it was the home of hobbits, dwarves and elves. But having travelled half way round the world I was surprised by my initial impressions.

I wasn’t even out of the airport before I involuntarily started to draw comparisons; I felt like I’d come home – to Wales. The two countries reminded me of twins separated at birth. They both have heart-breakingly beautiful, lush, verdant countryside. They both have a lot of sheep. They both have a lot of rain. New Zealand was even part of the colony of New South Wales, until 1841. (New South Wales was named by Captain James Cook, who thought it looked like South Wales in Britain.)

Ok, Wales has fewer vineyards, and fewer volcanoes for that matter, but you don’t have to scratch the surface very far to draw other parallels.

I was born in Wales and it’s therefore very close to my heart. I recognised the hedgerows, the rolling hills, the fecund fields. Even the crash barriers are the same. Ok, some of the plants are a little more tropical than the land of my fathers, and the road signs are different, but reading the signs I faced a similar panic to many an Englishman crossing the Severn estuary heading to Wales – I couldn’t. I found it almost impossible to pick out the syllables that would allow me to start sounding out place names. I wracked my brain for my six-year-old daughter’s reading lessons, but still floundered.

And that leads to the biggest similarity of all. Both New Zealand and Wales are countries dominated by non-natives. The indigenous populations live in harmony or become absorbed. New Zealand is very proud of its Maori heritage. Wales’s original lineage, now dominated by the English, is hidden under so many layers of history, even most Welshmen have forgotten their roots; for this little corner of Britain is not Germanic by descent but Iberian.

Keep digging

I’m sure if I kept digging I would be able to find more similarities between these nations. In fact, quite literally, I bet that if you dug a hole, starting in New Zealand, you would be able to follow the umbilical cord of attachment, through Middle Earth and into Wales. It’s a kind of portal from one place to another. Before you go rushing to your globe to see if this is actually true, I am stretching the truth, although it’s close; if you started digging on the beach on the southern most tip of New Zealand you would end up in the North Atlantic, a little wet, but not too far off the UK coast. Who lets a couple of kilometres get in the way of an interesting theory?!

A photo memory

Either location lends itself to the wink of the camera’s eye, but New Zealand’s sky appears bigger, its waves rougher, its mountains higher. Just add driftwood and stormy purple skies with bubbling clouds to a walk along the beach at Hokikita, and that’s a memory I will cherish through photos.

Sometimes the perfect photo is about turning left instead of right. At Rotorua, I heard fireworks and stepped outside to investigate. I couldn’t see any glittering starbursts, but the sky reflected in the lake was a soft pink that glowed through the clouds. Idly wondering why it was such a brilliant sunset in the east, I turned round to face west to be met with the true meaning of the word brilliant. The east “sunset” was just a reflection of this fiery sky. Within five minutes all evidence had disappeared.

And then there are the picturesque lakeside views that look perfect until the seamless white sky breaks in half, harpooned by snow-capped mountains. Sometimes the best photographs are hidden from view, a secret known only to a few, and revealed only for the shortest of time. I’d love to say my photos of Wales are just as stunning, but these twins have very different personalities.

We’ve started heading north again now, back through Queenstown, stopping for lunch and to enjoy the stunning lakeside, and on to Wanaka.

Wanaka may be a small place but it has everything you need to make it home while you explore. It’s not got the buzz of Queenstown, but that is probably why you stop here. It’s laid back, has some great bars, and the setting couldn’t be more picturesque, with snow-capped mountains sliding into greeny-blue waters. Get on a bike, take a hike, or fly with a parachute – there are many ways to see the sights.

We started our day in the saddle, pedaling around the lake. When the children were very small it was quite easy. My husband and I both had a child’s seat on the back of our bikes and away we would go. The children would, more often than not, fall asleep and we could spend the day eating up the miles. But children have a habit of growing. When they got too big for the back of the bike, we switched to trailers. Now with a six and four year old we had to work out the next stage. We settled on hiring a little bike for our elder daughter, and a tag along one-wheeled addition, fixed to the back my of husband’s bike, for our younger daughter. We have now relinquished some of the cycling control we once had and that means we can only go as far, and fast, as our daughter is able to pedal. So a tame, but fun, morning was spent pootling on the lake shore. We must have been going slowly because even our younger daughter had the chance to remark how beautiful it was.

After a spot of lunch back in town, we switched tyres for our own treads, and took off for a little hike to the top of Mount Iron. It’s a short 90 minute circular route, which despite the whinging and whining of our two mountain goats, we are pleased we undertook. The view from the top is far-reaching, and is a full 360 degree panoramic picture.

The reward for the children came at the end. I told our youngest that the treat was a banana (she really loves bananas) but they were even happier to get their minds exercised at Puzzling World. I wouldn’t usually visit a tourist attraction that had no connection with the local area. When I’m travelling I like learn about my surroundings. But Puzzling World had piqued my curiosity, and it is such a strange place, and a famous Wanaka attraction, that I had all the reason I needed to pay a visit.

The brainchild of Stuart Landsborough, and today run by his daughter and son-in-law, Puzzling World offers a Great Maze (now celebrating it’s 40th anniversary) alongside illusion rooms, holograms, mind-teasing sculptures and, bizarrely, some Roman toilets. It’s not a huge museum, and if you spend too long trying to work out each puzzle or brainteaser your head might explode, but it’s a great way to spend a couple of hours.

Wanaka is a town I could return to.

Oamura was our next stop along the eastern coast. It's a long drive, but you get an insight into how big this small country really is. Tired of eating tarmac, despite the changing scenery, we might sometimes grumble that we would prefer to stay in one place, especially with young children in tow, but there is still so much to discover. Three weeks is not enough, but a whirlwind trip such as this helps to give you perspective.  I have a hunger to try to understand why we live where we do and why we return to certain places. I always like to start a country trip with a broad-brush approach.

One of the regrets I have about this section of our trip is that, short of time, we decided to miss out the Moariki boulders. It is one of the reasons I wanted to travel so far south on the east coast. These perfectly round rocks on the beach, surrounded by mystery, resemble dinosaur eggs. Something to return to, I guess.

It was time to head across country to Te Anau, following the mountains all the way, rounding corners to discover blankets of purple and pink wild lupins, and hillsides covered in bright yellow broom. We had been used to thick cloud cover by now, but if I say that the average annual rainfall in the Te Anau area is six metres, that probably gives you a few clues of what it was like. Wet is one, insufficient word for it. Te Anau is a popular launching of point for day trips to the serene Milford Sound inlets and fiords, accessible by one dead-end road.

Milford Sound is one of the pinnacle sights that draws tourists to the Fiordlands, and is one of the country’s biggest tourist attractions. Ironically, it’s not even a sound, given that it was a created by glaciers, but it follows the suit of other “sounds” in the Fiordland coast, lapping on to the Tasman Sea. 

Tour guides practically clapped us on the back, congratulating us for choosing one of the best days to see it. I’m sure this was said through gritted smiles – not many people like standing in the rain. But in one way they were right. The rainfall meant than the black mass of mountains surrounding the Sound had sprung several leaks; waterfalls that are only turned on during rainy weather. So we were able to see a pretty spectacular show. However, it was raining, and as rain and cameras don’t mix too well, I have little evidence to prove this. You'll just have to hope that it is raining when you go.

A coach took us from Te Anau to Milford Sound, which gave us the opportunity to relax and look out of the window, and a boat gracefully glided us around, before we boarded the bus once more. Even in the wet weather we were a welcome meal for the sandflies, so if you adhere to one piece of advice, take plenty of repellant.

Our home for the night was a cosy log cabin, complete with log fire and home baking from our hosts. Keplar Oaks isn’t an ordinary B&B. It’s a unique homestay with a difference, within the Fiordland National Park Scenic Reserve, just five minutes from Te Anau. With a friendly bouncy dog bolting around, rabbits and lambs to feed, and ponies to ride, my two little girls were in animal heaven.