M Social Auckland to Raglan private car — Budi's trip

The late morning sun glinted off the glass walls of M Social as I pulled up. It’s a sophisticated spot by the Viaduct Harbour, often a pickup point for folks disembarking from cruise ships. This time, it was Budi S, heading out of the city towards Raglan. He was dressed smartly, a light jacket over a collared shirt, and carried a small, neat backpack. He looked like someone who knew where he was going, but there was a touch of weariness about him, the kind you get after long travel.

He settled into the back, the scent of sea air and perhaps some expensive cologne clinging faintly to him. He mentioned he’d arrived on the cruise a couple of days earlier and had spent the time exploring Auckland. Now, a new chapter. He was moving to Raglan, he explained, looking for a change of pace from his life in Jakarta. “It’s very busy,” he’d said, his English proficient but carrying a gentle cadence. “I need a place where I can hear myself think.”

The drive south out of Auckland was its usual slow dance. Even on a Friday morning in September, the traffic seemed determined to linger. We passed through the familiar bottle-necks of the Southern Motorway, Budi gazing out the window, taking in the grey sky and the fringe of urban sprawl giving way to green paddocks. I tried to fill the quiet with observations about the passing towns, pointing out Pukekohe, a place that always seems to be buzzing with something, whether it's the motorsport park or the market days.

As we cleared the city's grip, the landscape began to open up. The Waikato basin unfurled, a patchwork of farms and scattered trees. Budi seemed to relax more as the city receded. He told me a little about his work back in Indonesia – something in finance, complex and demanding, which explained the stress I’d sensed initially. He spoke of the constant pressure, the endless meetings, the relentless pace. Raglan, he hoped, would offer an antidote. He’d seen photos of the surf, the distinctive peak of Mount Karioi, the relaxed vibe. It sounded like a world away from the organised chaos of his previous life.

We stopped for a coffee and a stretch at a service centre just off State Highway 1, near Hampton Downs, before we turned onto State Highway 23. The air was cool and damp, the kind of autumn chill that bites just enough to make you appreciate a hot drink. Budi ordered a flat white, appreciating the strong New Zealand coffee. He watched the few other patrons, people in work boots and casual wear, and seemed to absorb the quiet ordinariness of it all. There was a peacefulness, he commented, that was hard to find back home.

The final leg of the journey into Raglan was scenic, the road winding through rolling hills, with glimpses of the Tasman Sea appearing through gaps in the foliage. The light was starting to soften as we approached the town. Budi pointed out the famous surf breaks as we drove past the harbour. It was a Friday, and the waves were moderate, a few hardy souls dotted across the water, their boards like small dark shapes against the grey sea.

I dropped him off at a small, modern-looking house on the outskirts of town. He thanked me, a genuine smile finally smoothing out the last vestiges of travel fatigue. “Thank you, Harry. It was a good journey. A peaceful one.” He picked up his backpack, a slight figure against the backdrop of his new, unfamiliar surroundings. As I drove away, heading back towards the main road, I thought about his quest for quiet. Raglan felt like the kind of place that could offer that, a place where the rhythm of the tides and the sweep of the wind might indeed help someone hear themselves think. It’s a long way from Jakarta, but he seemed ready for the journey.