Howick address to Whangapoua private car — Anjali's family visit

The early January sun was just starting to burn off the morning haze over Howick when I pulled up to the small bungalow. It was one of those suburban streets where the houses all look pretty similar, each with its own patch of lawn and a recycling bin waiting patiently for collection day. My passenger, Anjali, was already waiting on the porch, a compact suitcase beside her, dressed in a smart kurta that hinted at the long journey ahead.

Anjali was heading to Whangapoua, a destination that always signaled a proper Coromandel escape. It felt like a good way to kick off the year, trading the familiar Auckland sprawl for the wilder coastline. She’d explained on the booking that she was visiting her sister, who’d moved to the peninsula a few years back. “It’s been too long,” she’d said, her voice carrying a quiet anticipation.

We set off heading south, joining the usual Saturday traffic out of the city. The Bombay Hills were already humming with cars heading for the beaches. I always liked this stretch, the way the landscape opens up, the air starting to smell a little cleaner. Anjali was quiet at first, gazing out the window, perhaps taking in the familiar sights of the Hauraki Plains before crossing over towards the coast. I steered the conversation gently, asking about her family, where in India she was from. She mentioned Mumbai, a city I’d only ever seen on television, a place of vibrant chaos and endless energy. She talked about the heat there, a different kind of heat from the summer we were experiencing now in New Zealand, more intense, more constant.

Our first stop was a quick one, a coffee and a stretch break in Thames itself. The usual crowd was there – families laden with beach gear, a few surfers looking for the next break. Anjali bought a small bottle of water and a packet of biscuits, clearly focused on reaching her destination. She commented on how quiet New Zealand felt compared to her home city, a sentiment I’ve heard before. It's a trade-off, I suppose: the peace for the proximity, the space for the sheer density of life.

The drive up the peninsula became more scenic, the road winding tighter, the pohutukawa trees starting to show their crimson blooms even at this early stage of summer. We passed through small settlements, each one a cluster of bachs and a general store, the air thick with the scent of salt and pine. Anjali pointed out a particularly beautiful stretch of coastline, her eyes lighting up. She said it reminded her, in a way, of places she’d visited down south in India, but with a gentler, more reserved beauty. She’d been in Auckland for some time, she explained, working in IT, but the call of family and the slower pace of the Coromandel were proving strong.

As we neared Whangapoua, the landscape shifted again. The road dipped down towards the estuary, the water shimmering under the afternoon sun. She’d told me her sister lived in a small house overlooking the bay. It felt like a place where time slowed down, where the loudest noise was the cry of the seabirds or the gentle lapping of waves. I navigated the final few kilometres, the sealed road giving way to a well-maintained gravel track, the air filled with the sweet smell of flax and damp earth.

Pulling up to the driveway, we could see her sister standing outside, a welcoming smile already on her face. Suits were exchanged, final pleasantries said. Anjali thanked me for the drive, her initial reserve replaced by a genuine warmth. “It was a pleasant journey,” she said, her eyes reflecting the bright Coromandel light. As she stepped out, the sound of the sea carried on the breeze, I watched her hug her sister, a clear picture of homecoming, of shared moments and family ties being renewed. Driving back towards Thames, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows, I reflected on the quiet strength Anjali possessed, her journey from the bustling heart of Mumbai to this peaceful coastal haven a testament to the different paths life can take.