Grand Mercure Auckland to Tairua private car — Anja's business trip

The Grand Mercure in Auckland is usually a pretty quiet place first thing on a Thursday morning. Most guests are already gone, off to meetings or continuing their travels. I was waiting in the lobby, just gathering my thoughts, when Anja L. came through the revolving doors. She had that focused look of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing, her suitcase moving smoothly beside her. She was heading for Tairua, on the Coromandel Peninsula – a drive I know like the back of my hand.

Anja was originally from Finland, and it was easy to see why she was so organised. She had a small notebook out, already making a few quick notes even before I’d officially introduced myself. She mentioned she was coming out to the coast for a series of site visits, looking at some of the new eco-tourism developments popping up. Business travel, she called it, but with a distinct appreciation for its scenic aspects.

We got on the road, heading south out of the city. The early March air was still holding a bit of that late-summer warmth, but there was that subtle crispness that tells you autumn is just around the corner. Traffic was light initially, and we made good time through Bombay and Pokeno. I could tell Anja wasn't just a tourist; she had a keen eye for detail, observing the way the light hit the farm paddocks, the particular shade of green that only seems to exist in Waikato landscapes. She told me a little about her work, about sustainable design and its challenges, especially in sensitive environments. It sounded fascinating, the blend of practicality and environmental stewardship.

We stopped at Paeroa for a quick coffee. The giant L&P bottle is always a bit of a hoot, even for me, and Anja actually smiled, a genuine, soft sort of smile that lit up her face. She mentioned that she’d seen pictures of the giant kiwi at the Waiouru military museum years ago, and had always wanted to visit something equally quirky. I pointed out the town itself was pretty quirky, and she agreed with a nod.

Back in the car, the conversation flowed easily, not in a constant stream, but in comfortable pauses punctuated by her observations. She spoke of the forests back home, the dense pine and birch, and how she saw similarities in the native bush we were now passing as we climbed towards the Karangahake Gorge. She admired the resilience of the trees clinging to the hillsides, the way nature simply reclaims what is hers. She was looking at the old gold mining relics visible from the road with a curious, almost anthropological gaze, trying to picture the lives of the people who had worked there.

As we descended into the gorge, the air grew cooler, carrying the scent of damp earth and ferns. The Ohinemuri River rushed alongside us, a powerful, clear ribbon of water. Anja was quiet for a while, her gaze out the window, taking it all in. She mentioned that in Finland, there's a deep respect for the natural elements, for the quiet power of the earth. She saw that same reverence here, she said, even in the remnants of human endeavour.

The final stretch towards Tairua involved winding roads, with glimpses of the Hauraki Gulf appearing between the trees. The landscape shifted, becoming more open, the paddocks replaced by rolling farmland closer to the coast. By the time we pulled up to her accommodation, the late afternoon sun was casting long shadows. She thanked me, her gaze lingering on the sea sparkling in the distance. She wasn't just dropping off a client; she was starting a project, immersed in a new environment, and I felt I'd been a small, quiet part of her transition onto the Coromandel.