Grand Mercure Auckland to Tauranga private car — Antti's trip

The Grand Mercure sits right on the waterfront, and the morning air in Auckland in late August can still carry a bit of a chill, even if the sun is making a decent effort. I pulled up at the valet and waited. The usual Friday morning bustle was starting around the Viaduct, a few early ferries chugging across the harbour. I checked my phone log; Antti L. was expecting me at 9 AM.

He emerged right on time, a man who looked perhaps a little younger than his passport photo suggested, with a kind, steady gaze framed by wire-rimmed glasses. He had a single, well-packed suitcase. We did the standard brief chat about the destination – Tauranga – and he confirmed it was just a single drop-off. He handed over his case, and we headed out, merging into the traffic heading south.

Antti was originally from Finland, he told me as we cleared the city centre, heading towards the Bombay Hills. He’d been living in New Zealand for a couple of years now, working on a project with a tech firm based in Tauranga. This specific trip was to finalise some details with the local office there before he headed back to Auckland for a few weeks' holiday. He had a quiet way about him, observant but not intrusive.

We passed through Pokeno, the smell of the famous doughnuts wafting faintly on the breeze, and then continued along State Highway 2. The landscape was beginning to show the muted greens and browns of late winter. The sky was a soft, overcast grey, the kind that promised possibility without committing to rain. Antti seemed content just looking out the window, processing the passing scenery. He had a small notebook he occasionally scribbled in, more sketches than words, I presumed.

Around Ngatea, I decided a brief stop would be good. We pulled into a service station just off the main road. While I fuelled up, Antti bought a coffee and a pastry. He mentioned, with a faint smile, that he’d been trying to learn more about NZ’s own particular baking traditions, moving beyond the ubiquitous European styles. He liked the ANZAC biscuit, he said, but found some of the fruitcake offerings a touch too dense for his liking. We shared a brief chuckle about it; it’s funny what you end up discussing on these long drives.

Back on the road, the landscape shifted as we headed towards Paeroa, the corrugated iron capital. The route to Tauranga from here can be busy, especially on a Friday. We encountered a few more trucks and caravans heading out for the weekend, but nothing too disruptive. Antti pointed out some of the large-scale dairy farms, asking questions about land use and farming practices in the region. He had a genuine curiosity about how things worked here, a stark contrast to the more concentrated urban environments of Europe he’d left behind.

As we drew closer to the Kaimai Range it started to feel like a different country. The vegetation thickened, the hills grew steeper. We drove through the southern end of the Karangahake Gorge, a beautiful stretch of road that always makes me slow down just a little, to take in the history and the dramatic cuttings. Antti seemed to appreciate it too, his gaze following the path of the Ohinemuri River. He told me he'd read a little about New Zealand's gold mining past, and how this region was once a hive of activity.

After the gorge, the road climbed and then descended towards Katikati, and then the familiar coastal plain opened up. The air started to carry that slightly salty tang of the sea, even from a few kilometres inland. Tauranga wasn't far now.

I dropped Antti at his apartment building near Mount Maunganui. The clouds had thinned slightly, and a weak sun was trying to break through. He thanked me for the smooth and comfortable drive. He mentioned he was looking forward to seeing his colleagues and getting stuck into the final stages of his work before his holiday. As he collected his suitcase, he paused for a moment. "It's good to have a quiet journey," he said, his voice soft, almost thoughtful. "Sometimes the time alone on the road is as important as the destination."

I watched him walk towards the entrance, a solitary figure with his single case. It was a simple transaction, a familiar fare: Auckland to Tauranga. But like most trips, there was always a small story woven in, a glimpse into someone else’s life unfolding on the long stretch of State Highway 2. I turned the car around, heading back towards the city, the late afternoon sun now brighter, glinting off the water as I drove north.