Auckland Rose Park Hotel to Auckland Airport private car — Annelies's business trip

The April morning was sharp, the sky a pale canvas that promised a fine day. I had a pickup from the Rose Park Hotel in Parnell – one of those quiet, leafy streets where the houses look like they’ve been there forever, solid and unmoving. My passenger, Annelies V, was heading straight to the airport. She had mentioned, when booking, that her flight was late afternoon, giving her a bit of breathing room, but she preferred to be organised. That’s usually a good sign. People who like to be organised rarely cause problems on the road.

She was waiting just inside the lobby, a small suitcase beside her, looking like she belonged in a corporate brochure. She had that calm, composed air about her, which I often associate with people who’ve spent a good chunk of their lives navigating business trips. She introduced herself with a slight nod and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes – the kind of polite smile that says, ‘let’s get this done.’ She had dark hair pulled back neatly and wore a smart, charcoal-grey blazer. She mentioned she was from the Netherlands, had been in Auckland for a week of meetings, and was now heading home.

We set off, making our way down to the motorways. The city traffic on a Wednesday morning is always a bit of a unpredictable beast. It wasn’t too bad that day, though. We slipped past the familiar crawl through Newmarket and joined the southern motorway. Annelies was quiet, looking out the window at the passing suburbs, the early autumn colours just starting to whisper on the trees. The leaves were still mostly green, but there was a hint of gold and russet on some of the more established trees, particularly around One Tree Hill. I always think that stretch of the Southern Motorway, with the green hills rising on the left, is one of Auckland’s more pleasant urban landscapes.

She asked me, after a while, if I’d ever been to the Netherlands. I told her I hadn’t, though I’d seen plenty of Dutch tourists who always seemed to appreciate New Zealand’s wide-open spaces. She talked a little about Amsterdam, not in a way that sounded like she was trying to impress me, but more like she was painting a picture for herself, as much as for me, as the miles unfolded. She described the canals, the bicycles, the narrow houses leaning into each other. It sounded organised, in its own way, a different kind of organisation to the business meetings she’d clearly just come from. She said the air there was often damp, even in summer, and hinted that she sometimes missed the sea, the vastness of it.

I remembered thinking how much contrast there must be between the flat landscapes of her homeland and the volcanic hills and rolling farmland of South Auckland, which we were now passing through. The landscape opened up, the sky felt bigger. We drove past fields dotted with cows, their black and white hides stark against the green grass. The air seemed cleaner out here. We stopped briefly at a service centre just past the Bombay Hills for a quick coffee and a stretch. Annelies bought a small bottle of water and stood by the car, watching the few other travellers milling around. She seemed perfectly content with the quiet routine of the journey.

Back on the road, the conversation, if you could call it that, continued in the same measured way. She shared a little about her work, something to do with logistics and supply chains, an area that always sounds incredibly complex to me, managing the movement of goods across continents. She mentioned that the Auckland market was particularly challenging, but also had potential. It was all said without any real emotion, just factual observations. I got the sense that she was someone who dealt in facts and figures, but that there was a rich inner life tucked away. Sometimes, you just get a feeling about people. You spend enough hours driving them, sharing the same enclosed space, watching the world go by together, and you start to pick up on the subtle currents.

As we approached the airport, the signs for the terminals started to appear, breaking the spell of the open road. The usual signs of approaching a major international hub – more cars, more trucks, more signs. She gathered her belongings, her movements precise. She thanked me for the drive and the smooth journey. There was a genuine warmth in her smile this time, a faint trace of the composure lifting. I wished her a safe flight. Watching her walk towards the check-in counters, a solitary figure against the bustle, I felt a quiet satisfaction. Another journey completed, another connection made, however brief, across the miles and across the worlds. It’s a simple job, driving, but you always see a little bit of the wider world passing through your windscreen.