Hotel DeBrett to Hamilton private car — Astrid's holiday

The morning light was just starting to spill over the concrete canyon of the Auckland CBD as I pulled up to Hotel DeBrett. It was a Monday, late March – the cusp of autumn, you could feel it in the air, a slight crispness that promised cooler days ahead. My passenger today was a woman named Astrid, travelling from Norway for a bit of sightseeing around the North Island. She was in her early twenties, I’d guess, with bright eyes and a backpack that looked like it had seen a few adventures already. Her plan was a few days exploring Auckland before heading down to Hamilton to meet up with friends.

She settled into the back seat with a quiet sigh, a mix of excitement and perhaps a touch of nerves about starting a solo leg of her journey. We eased out of the city’s embrace, the familiar crawl through Symonds Street that always seemed to hold its breath before releasing us onto the Southern Motorway. The traffic was decent for a Monday morning, but the sky was a bruised grey, threatening rain. Astrid was looking out the window, absorbing the transition from urban sprawl to the greener pastures of South Auckland.

We passed through the rolling hills of the Bombay region, the landscape a blur of green even at this time of year. I pointed out the turnoff to Tuakau, a small town that always brings to mind old rugby stories. Astrid offered a polite smile. She asked if I travelled this route often. “Every day, for the most part,” I’d replied. “You see a lot of the country this way. Different people, different stories.” She nodded, her gaze returning to the passing landscape. The rain held off, a gentle drizzle beginning to mist the windscreen as we cleared the Bombay Hills.

I’d learned early on that the best way to get to know someone is just to be a quiet presence, a bit like the landscape itself. You offer a comfortable silence, a clean car, and the occasional observation. Astrid seemed to appreciate it. She’d been in New Zealand for about a week already, visiting some of the more popular spots further north. She spoke briefly of the overwhelming beauty of the Bay of Islands, the startling turquoise of the water. She mentioned a ferry trip to one of the smaller islands there, a place with hardly any cars. It sounded idyllic. Her Norwegian accent was soft, melodic, and I found myself listening intently when she spoke about her home.

She described the fjords, the long, dark winters interspersed with bright, almost endless summer days. She talked about hiking and skiing, the stark, dramatic beauty of her homeland. It struck me how different yet strangely similar the yearning for vast, open spaces must be, whether in the dramatic fjords of Norway or the rolling hills of the Waikato. She seemed to carry a quiet resilience, a capacity for solitude that many city dwellers, myself included at times, struggled with.

We stopped at a small service station just past Hampton Downs for a quick coffee break. The air was cooler here, the drizzle more persistent. I got myself a flat white, and Astrid opted for a hot chocolate, her hands wrapped around the warm mug. She’d pulled out a small notebook and was sketching the sign for a local farm-supply store, capturing some detail with swift, confident lines. I remembered her mentioning she’d studied art back home. It wasn't just a holiday hobby, then.

As we approached Hamilton, the rain eased, and patches of blue sky began to break through the grey. The Waikato, after all, has its own way of surprising you. Astrid pointed out the distinctive cluster of buildings that marked the university campus as we drove past. She told me she’d chosen Hamilton because her friends had raved about the city’s burgeoning arts scene. She was looking forward to exploring the galleries and perhaps finding some local artists to connect with. It was a different kind of exploration than the dramatic scenery she’d seen up north, a delving into culture and community.

Pulling up outside the address she’d given me, a pleasant villa in a tree-lined street in Hamilton East, I knew this was just one stop on her larger tour. She thanked me, her eyes bright and appreciative, already looking past me, towards the awaiting friends and the next chapter of her New Zealand adventure. As I drove away, the setting sun finally broke through, casting a warm, golden light over the city. It felt like a good omen for her stay, a signal that even the greyest days can give way to something beautiful.