Deborah Coddington: We don't know how lucky we are

It's wonderful to be back in Godzone. Four weeks, 10 hotels, four countries, gallons of great wine and mountains of wonderful food later and this country is still, to my mind and considerably fatter body, the greatest. Sometimes we need to go to the other side of the globe to rediscover this feeling - that Kiwis are different from other English-speaking ethnicities, and this little nation is indeed our turangawaewae, our place to stand.

The euphoria kicks in the minute you step out of the airport when the clean, crisp air greets you. It takes days to become re-accustomed to the light - forget an apartment with a view of the ocean, I just want to gaze at the sky all day, it's so huge. And I repeat, so clean. It's like an army of angels got out the Windolene and polished the heavens. Does God flick it with his fingers and relish the ping?

And guys, New Zealand women are so beautiful. I'm not talking old hags like me, but the melting pot of ethnicities in the next generation. At the supermarket the afternoon of my arrival home I risked being suspected of perving at these gorgeous young girls - Indian, Asian, Pacific Island, and Kiwi. Why have I not previously noticed their healthy skin, clear bright eyes and freckles? Are we the only people in the world to sport freckles?

And no offence to the German and Australian readers out there, but when, as happened on many occasions overseas, I was asked if I was German or Australian, I puffed out my chest and somewhat indignantly pointed out that no, I am a New Zealander. I live in a country totally different to Australia and miles away from Germany. And yes, New Zealanders are very different to Australians.

Hundreds of thousands of readers of Conde Nast Traveller can spot the difference. The latest issue carries a major readership survey of the world's top tourist destinations. We're not talking about low-budget, whistle-stop tours here. The travel addicts who drool over the articles in this glossy magazine have plenty of disposable money, they just want to spend it carefully. And what came out of the survey as the number one destination? Above New York, Paris, Venice, Rome, London? New Zealand, for its scenery, environmental friendliness, and safety. (Air New Zealand was voted the best long-haul airline.)

I read this good news while holidaying in a fabulous resort in the middle of the Arabian desert, toasted by the sun, drinking in the dry heat, and caressed by the soft, warm desert winds. Where horse-riding (on Arabian steeds), falconing, camel riding, dune trekking or picnicking under the desert night sky on Persian carpets were all there for the taking. But I must admit I felt so proud that in the midst of this luxury, my home country was ranked by the choosy and fussy as the best.

Which doesn't mean we should not be blind to New Zealand's nasty underbelly. We do have a problem with crime - both petty and serious. Youth gangs, no matter what the official statistics say, are definitely a worry. That we frequently hear about babies beaten and killed by their mothers' boyfriends is appalling.

New Zealand has a ghastly roll of dishonour - children abandoned to the mercy of violent relationships, whose little lives are ended with vicious punches to the stomach, head or chest. We recoil in horror at news of suicide bombers in Iraq, Bali or London, but turn the other way when the lives of our young people - too often Maori or Pacific Islanders - are deliberately snuffed out at the hands of adults.

Yet I can understand why tourists would rank New Zealand, by comparison with the rest of the world, as safe. Five days after my return I'm still instinctively guarding my handbag when I sit at a pavement table for coffee, watching my wallet like a hawk in public toilets. Having my passport, credit cards, driver licence, euros - everything - swiped from under my nose in Sicily, never to be seen again, is a salutary lesson in never letting your vigilance slip. (The ensuing hours spent trying to converse with the Polizia was hilarious, but that's another story.)

But this is a country of only four million people. We could solve our problems - starting with acknowledging they really do exist and that yet another review, as is proposed for the gang problem, will not do anything. How many reviews and conferences have we had on child abuse, and how many children continue to suffer?

Former prison manager Celia Lashlie kicked off with the good sense to state the bleeding obvious: if we keep feeding these kids a constant diet of violent videos and computer games, undiluted by books and reading, we can expect them to grow up and behave the same way. Monkey see, monkey do.

We don't need more reviews. New Zealanders have a reputation overseas of being "doers" - willing to get stuck in and give it a go, rather than sit around moaning, navel-gazing and clock-watching. John Clarke, alias Fred Dagg, you were so right. We don't know how lucky we are, boys, we don't know how lucky we are.