Parnell address to Thames private car — Brenda's trip

The air on Monday, January 13th, 2025, was already thick with Auckland summer by 7:30 AM. You could feel the humidity clinging to the inside of the car before I even turned the key. My pickup was in Parnell, one of those elegant old suburbs where the houses are substantial and the gardens are usually immaculate. Brenda M. was waiting on the porch, dressed in light linen, a practical straw hat shading her face. She had that easygoing Australian vibe about her, a relaxed posture and a smile that seemed to come quickly. She said she was heading down to Thames for a few days of quiet, to sort through some things at a bach her family had owned for years.

We pulled away from her picturesque street and joined the early morning crawl heading south. The traffic out of the city is always the first test of the day, especially in summer. Everyone’s starting their holidays, or coming back, or just trying to get somewhere essential. Brenda didn't seem bothered. She watched the suburbs blur past, talking a little about her life in Sydney, her work in a gallery, and how she hadn't been to the Coromandel in ages. She mentioned something about her mother being unwell, which seemed to be the primary reason for the trip – sorting through personal effects, she’d said, without going into a lot of detail. I could sense it wasn't an easy task, but she framed it with a sort of determined practicality.

As we cleared the main urban sprawl and the landscape opened up, the drive started to get more pleasant. The Bombay Hills offered a brief, familiar climb, and then we were rolling towards the turn-off for the Coromandel. I pointed out a few familiar landmarks – the old Pokeno pub, the turn-off for the motor-racing circuit. Brenda seemed to enjoy the change of scenery, the wide-open fields, the distant haze of summer heat. She’d brought a thermos of strong coffee, which she offered me, and we shared a quiet moment of appreciation for the simple ritual of it. It wasn’t the kind of trip where people chat non-stop; there was an understanding that sometimes, the silence of the road, the passing scenery, and the private thoughts it allows are just as important.

We turned off SH1 and headed east on SH2, the road beginning to change character as we got closer to the coast. The hills grew steeper, more rounded, and occasionally, glimpses of blue water would appear between the trees. We passed through Maramarua, then the turn-off for the Karangahake Gorge soon appeared. This is one of my favourite stretches. The road hugs the river, and the old gold-mining remnants are still visible, a stark reminder of a different era. I always slow down a bit here, not just for safety, but to savour the atmosphere. Brenda too seemed to quieten, pointing out the dramatic rock faces and the dark water.

As we emerged from the gorge and the final stretch to Thames began, the air grew even more humid, carrying the scent of damp earth and sea salt. Brenda mentioned her mother had loved this part of the country, the wildness of the coast, the sense of peace it offered. She explained that while she lived in Sydney, the memories here were tied to her childhood holidays, to a time before life became so complicated. Sorting through things could be overwhelming, she admitted, but also strangely cathartic. It was like she was honouring her mother's life by engaging with the tangible pieces she’d left behind.

We pulled up to her little bach on the outskirts of Thames as the afternoon sun was beginning to dip. It was a modest place, weathered by sea air and time, with a slightly overgrown garden. Brenda thanked me, a genuine warmth in her eyes. She said she felt ready now, more settled in her mind about the task ahead. As I turned the car around and headed back towards the motorway, the sun was painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple. The road lay ahead, quiet now, mostly empty. It’s satisfying, these trips. You pick someone up, you drive them towards whatever it is they need to do, and you offer them a little bit of peace on the way. Brenda M. seemed to have found hers, or at least, the path to it, nestled among the familiar hills she’d come to revisit.