In the Bay of Islands, a maritime getaway a four-hour drive north of Auckland, you'll find one of the world's last great paradises-a lingering Shangri-La-as well as the spot where Kiwi nationhood was born. About 1,000 years ago, Polynesian warriors called the Maori paddled across the Pacific to New Zealand, poetically dubbed the virgin land "Aotearoa" (or "land of the long white cloud"), and then proceeded to kill everything in sight, chiefly the giant flightless moa. The British didn't arrive until 1769; Captain Cook pegged a few Maori with a musket before fleeing to publicize his "discovery." Later, the Brits ravaged the ecosystem by adding farming-till then, the only native mammals were bats-and with 1840's Treaty of Waitangi, signed in the Bay of Islands, they coaxed the bickering Maori chiefs into the coalition that became modern New Zealand.

These days, the Bay's 144 islands are home to scads of dolphins and ideal waterfront towns like Kerikeri, Opua, and Russell (within miles of each other off Highways 10 or 11), where a wanna-be yachtie can disappear into a sleepy cove with a glass of wine. The heart of the Bay of Islands is the Waitangi National Reserve, in Paihia, where the seminal treaty was signed. The site survives as a fragrant seaside spot containing some of the country's most historic structures (09/402-7437; free). One of them is a Maori marae (meeting house), built without nails and carved in the Polynesian style. There, visitors can receive an intimidating Maori powhiri (a fearsome traditional welcome) and storytelling show. It's one of the least-touristy samples of Maori traditions (Culture North, 09/401-9301; US$21) in a country where 14 percent of the population claims Maori lineage.

A quick US$3 ferry from Paihia (on foot) or Opua (by car) brings you to the Russell Peninsula and its 6,000-acre conservation area for the elusive kiwi, the queer, nocturnal, flightless bird that gives New Zealanders their nickname. Russell, the tiny port, is a peephole to the country's pioneer past, and the self-subsistence and isolation of early New Zealand rhymes with that of America's colonial towns like Plymouth. Pompallier, austere in its wharfside garden, was built in 1842 as a Catholic mission and was recently restored as a working Bible bookbindery (The Strand, 09/403-7861; US$2). Upstairs, the property's history is illuminated by (no kidding) displays of dried rats and the artifacts found in their nests.

Sleeping

My top choice is the Arcadia Lodge B&B (10 Florance Ave., Russell, 09/403-7756), an eccentric 1899 dowager built from the wood of old ships, with a prime view; US$50-US$100 per couple, depending on the season. Waterview Lodge B&B (14 Franklin St., Opua, 09/402-7595, waterviewlodge.com) has airy rooms, attentive owners, and private balconies; US$25-US$34 per single, US$51-US$64 per couple, depending on the season. The cheapest is Saltwater Lodge (14 Kings Rd., Paihia, 09/402- 7075, saltwaterlodge.co.nz), probably the nicest hostel in NZ; US$8 dorm, US$19 double room.

Eating

In Paihia, Marsden Road is lined with fresh seafood restaurants charging US$8-US$12 for gourmet-quality meals. The water is so clean, the shellfish is grit-free; try Only Seafood at No. 40 (09/402-6066). The road into Kerikeri is another useful avenue for dining options.

Middle North Island

On the whole, it comes across a bit like Dorothy's Oz-ideal and virtually immaculate. The first time I saw the impossibly perfect countryside a few hours south of Auckland (which doubled for homey Hobbiton in The Lord of the Rings), I was an impoverished backpacker, enchanted by how tidy and timely everything was in this country of neighborly hamlets and a squeaky-clean working class. New Zealand is admirably progressive: For a start, nuclear power is banned (even on visiting American ships), a hot issue is the safety of genetically engineered food, and the country is currently served by its second consecutive female prime minister.

No longer a backpacker, I recently roamed this compact land the best way: by car. Few stoplights, nary a straightaway-it is driving at its best. Where else can you hear, as you ramble hilly two-lane ribbons of asphalt, the sort of heartwarming Main Street radio that didn't exist even in Frank Capra's day? "There's a lost brown dog down near the post office," announced one deejay near Otorohanga. "I think I know who owns it, but can you count your dogs anyway?"

The heaving farmland of the middle North Island, sweet as it is, belies the tumult beneath the cows' hooves. Under the arching green hillocks of Waitomo, southwest of Hamilton, underground rivers thrill novice spelunkers. Outfitted with a wet suit and a headlamp, I dove into a three-hour extravaganza that had me leaping down waterfalls, bobbing above eels in an inner tube, and drifting under the neon pinpricks of Godzone's most famous insect, the glowworm (07/878-6219, blackwaterrafting.co.nz; US$32). The timid (or coiffed) can see the worms in street clothes on a crowded 45-minute version of the tour (07/878-8227, waitomocaves.co.nz; US$11). Nearby, the three- hour Ruakuri Walk, through mossy, verdant woods and yawning caves, is but one of the country's countless free walks-it instantly became one of my favorites in the world (Waitomo Information Centre and Museum, Caves Rd., 07/878-7640).

Two hours east of Waitomo, in the active volcanic area of Rotorua, subterranean doings are more sinister. When I last rolled into town, a jolly gas-station attendant informed me that some foul emission from the bowels of the planet had once again set the city park alight. I asked him if, given his vocation, he was concerned. It says a lot about the affability of the Kiwis, and their love of the land, that the idea seemed to startle him.