The saddest happy place on earth

I would name the west coast of New Zealand “the saddest happy place on earth”.
Punakaiki, between a raging Tasman Sea clashing against the several piled-pancake-like cliffs, blowholes, and the ancient, dark forests of Paparoa National Park, this unique, one-in-the-world place was nothing less but astonishing and heart-pounding.
Right outside a small café located next to the site, I got lucky to meet Nicole, from the picturesque Oamaru, famous for its historical quarry buildings. Her car unluckily broke down due to something I found quite difficult to understand and she only wanted to be driven down to Greymouth, my next stop. Anyone can easily come up with what my answer was.
Nicole began with the favorite story to tell a tourist while in her city, Oamaru.
”They used to live here way before us, it’s just not fair” she complained “That’s why every night, I go on my own, with just a pair of previously sharpened secateurs, and cut some holes on the iron web that keeps our little friends outside the city. I still hope I’ll see all those penguin moms with their little penguins someday living in peace with us humans as it used to be years ago”
My roaring Cavalier ‘98 crossed the bridge at Grey River.
“Welcome to Greymouth, mexican boy” she smiled
I walked a few blocks and found this funny stone statue coronating the so-called “Great Wall of Greymouth” by the locals. A big man with a rain hat and a rain coat, looking directly to the city, without even noticing the large ocean waves hitting the wall, symbol of what the city suffered during its historical floods.
I noticed quite a particular smell in the air, close to the harbor; my stomach rumbled.
“It’s a nice smell, isn’t it?” Nicole surprised me from behind “She’s a whitebait patty, over there” she said, pointing at the corner two blocks away “Try them, they’re good as”
I let my nose, guided by Nicole, guide me into that takeaways restaurant, and my Cavalier ’98 brightly shone with all that moist covering it, crookedly parked in a space half the size it required.
I never thought of New Zealand the way Nicole showed me, and it was not just the story of the penguins; neither was the way we met, nor the accent she had: It was everything in that nice, old lady that reflected every face I had already known in Aotearoa, every thought, every smell, every glimpse, and every taste I tried what made me love this country so much, and, at the same time, scream like nuts how I love my life on my way to Franz Josef Glacier…