New Zealand has the to-and-fro trade of island nations, and towns of comforting old-fashioned slowness that make you think of slippered pensioners and portraits of a youthful Queen Elizabeth hanging in post offices. This Hobbit-y homeliness is a comforting veneer on a land of fanged mountains and wave-lashed coastlines. Seven Seas Mariner hasn't even left Auckland harbour before houses and lights are swallowed up by the black bulk of the ancient Rangitoto volcano. A dark ocean beckons.

I'm on my first Regent Seven Seas cruise, and it seems apt that I'm heading out of Auckland. Seven Seas Mariner is like New Zealand: cosy, compact, well kept and a little retro. The mid-size ship, which carries 700 passengers, underwent refurbishment last year. Many of its public spaces feel new and spacious. The atmosphere is quiet, and the on-board activities tend towards the traditional: bingo, shuffleboard, cards. It recalls the days when cruising was about comfort and service, not flashy gimmicks. I like the ship's stately appeal yet refreshing informality.

Next morning we're docked in the suburbs of Tauranga. Wharfs are piled with timber. Mt Maunganui looms, its trees bonsai-ed by the wind. A track around its base runs for four kilometres, passing chilly pocket-sized beaches and providing great views of passing container ships. It's a breezy, beautiful walk. There's time afterwards to stroll through Maunganui, with its rows of chintzy shops full of woolly jumpers and honey.

Sailing away is my favourite moment in cruising. The quay shrinks, a new adventure begins. On Seven Seas Mariner I'm always on my cabin balcony, leaning over the rail and watching daredevil harbour pilots. In New Zealand, the pilot's boat is usually bright orange, pitching like a rollercoaster and slick with spray. Pilots make a nimble leap and hook on to safety lines before their boat is tossed away in our ship's wake.

By day three, I've realised  there's a pleasant pattern to New Zealand cruising: buzzing little ports, wild scenery, cosy towns, improbable accents. New Zealanders are a little bonkers in a friendly kind of way. "There are 57,000-odd people in Napier. And I'm not exaggerating, most of them really are 'odd'," confirms our local guide Will next day. Art Deco Napier is another old-fashioned place. It has beautiful flower-filled gardens, blue buildings and shops serving crumpets. It's a pleasant place but in a couple of hours I've run out of entertainment, and sneak back to the ship's comfortable embrace to join my trivia team.

At  6 o'clock the ship's bell sounds for the Block Party. I grab a glass from my room and step into the corridor, where passengers are served canapes and drinks, and get to know their neighbours. I'm sandwiched between dull Brits and hilarious, chatty Americans. Most of the passengers are American retirees, leavened with some Canadians and Europeans, including an ancient Italian couple mummified by the sun and encased in gold lamé  But there are more younger passengers than I expected, mostly still-working couples celebrating special anniversaries.

The early morning sail into Picton through Queen Charlotte Sound is first class. I sit up on La Veranda restaurant's open deck at the back of the ship and enjoy an omelette as the ship sails through blue-and-green tranquillity. Yachts dance in the sun and an inter-island ferry honks. Picton huddles in a tight squeeze at the end of a bay. There's time to hoof up the headland for views before my shore excursion inland to the excellent Omaka Aviation Heritage Centre. Then we sail away, like a film run in reverse, only this time the harbour and its islands are blue and pink. To my surprise, barely anyone ventures onto the deck to soak up the scenery.

Next morning, in one of those sleight-of-hand tricks I love about cruising, I'm suddenly somewhere else. Akaroa harbour is a milky-blue mirror against brown hills. Squint and I can see sheep meditating in fields, and washing flapping in backyards. Later, a coach hauls us over ludicrously scenic hills to Manderley Homestead, where owner Ross Millar demonstrates sheep shearing and his sheepdogs. "They're like opera singers, they get better with practice," he says, as his youngest dog bounds in the wrong direction.

Later I wander around Akaroa, founded by French settlers, now full of shop signs in pseudo-French and delis selling chocolate eclairs. The Giant's House is an unexpected find, a mad garden of mosaics and statues concocted by eccentric artist Josie Martin, who looks like a dishevelled wood sprite. The town, a cuteness of clapboard and rose gardens, has some 40 historic buildings.

Akaroa is my favourite destination. Next day, Timaru on a Sunday is desolate and empty. Its Christian bookstore and vacuum-cleaning centre would barely hold my interest even if open, and its rose gardens are windswept. "That's one harbour you can strike off your list," says a fellow passenger uncharitably as we return to the ship. I can't help agreeing, though perhaps Timaru's long, shop-filled high street might provide pleasures on a business day.

Dunedin also seems a little overrated. It has a whimsical colonial-era train station and a tree-laden botanic garden, but the rest of the city is grey and cold. I perk up considerably on a tour of Olveston historic house, a superb Edwardian mansion crammed with knick-knacks and an upstairs-downstairs contrast like a scaled-back Downton  Abbey. It has eye-watering wallpaper, claw-footed baths and a kitchen range large enough for ogres.

Sailing out of Dunedin is superb. At times we're so close to the shore in a narrow, winding channel that I hear sheep bleat. Albatrosses float above the Otago Peninsula at the end of the bay. I retire into the Observation Lounge on the 11th deck, a lookout from which to admire the scenery as cocktails are served. It's my favourite bar, though all the ship's bars, recently redecorated, are impressive. After dark, the Horizon Lounge provides live music, the dimly lit Mariner Lounge murmured conversation and relaxed post-dinner drinks.

New Zealand scenery is never dull but the highlight is Milford Sound where, with great good fortune, we sail under blue skies. Cliffs plunge, snow caps rear, cameras click. That night, in Prime 7 specialty restaurant, my entree – foie gras sliders with rhubarb chutney – might be another highlight. This is what I want from a cruise: spectacular scenery, fine food and that mollycoddled feeling that you don't have to think about a thing, not even those normal travel necessities of finding somewhere to eat and sleep.

It's two days at sea from the New Zealand coast to Hobart, from which we'll sail onwards to Melbourne and our final destination, Sydney. With New Zealand ports relatively close together, we've spent long days on shore, and I look forward to some true indolence. I borrow a book from the library, bicker with my trivia team over cream cakes, play ping-pong. Other passengers are primped and prodded in the spa, or lounge on deck chairs around the swimming pool. In the evenings, shows in the Constellation Theatre entertain as waiters circulate with drinks. Only the casino and its nightclub seem underused, though perhaps I'm just too early to bed. Beyond my cabin window the sea sighs and soon I'm fast asleep.

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CRUISING THERE

Regent Seven Seas Cruises operates three ships, all slightly different, with a fourth, Seven Seas Explorer, launching in the Mediterranean in mid-2016. Seven Seas Mariner sails most of the world. As a rough guide, fares range  from $400 to $700  a day, a person, depending on location. Regent has an all-inclusive pricing policy, with fares covering daily shore excursions, specialty restaurants, beverages (apart from the most premium wines and spirits), room service and gratuities.

The writer was a guest of Regent Seven Seas Cruises.