Pullman Auckland to Hobbiton Movie Set private car — Chloe's holiday

The air on the wharf was still damp and salty from the early morning tide, even though the cruise ship had been gone for hours. Most of the passengers were long dispersed, finding their way to hotels or airports. Just a few stragglers remained, looking a bit lost, and my next client, Chloe, was one of them. She stood with a small, sensible suitcase beside her, looking out at the grey water with a slight frown. Early August in Auckland can still carry a winter chill, and I saw her pull her scarf a little tighter. She was here on holiday, a solo trip, and Hobbiton was her main destination.

“Chloe? Harry, from Intercity Cabs,” I said, stepping forward. She turned, a quick, bright smile replacing the frown. She had that pleasant, open face you sometimes see on Canadians, fair skin and alert blue eyes. “Oh, hi Harry! Lovely to meet you. I was starting to wonder,” she said. We loaded her bag and she settled into the back seat. She mentioned she was on an extended tour of New Zealand, travelling a lot by herself, and had deliberately saved Hobbiton for later in her trip. She’d heard it was popular, almost a pilgrimage for people like her, and she wanted to savour it.

The initial drive out of the city was slow. We caught the usual Saturday traffic heading out of the CBD and through Grafton Gully. Chloe didn't seem bothered, though. She had a book about New Zealand birds, which she’d been trying to identify from the window as we crawled along. Once we were clear of the city and heading south on the Southern Motorway, the pace picked up. We passed through the familiar suburban sprawl of Manukau and Papakura before hitting the open road towards the Bombay Hills.

I pointed out the Waikato plains as we descended: vast, green paddies stretching towards the horizon under a sky that was beginning to clear. The landscape here is so uniformly flat and fertile, it’s a bit like Ireland, or parts of the Canadian prairies I’ve seen pictures of. Chloe agreed, looking out the window. She said she was from a small town in Saskatchewan, where they also had huge, open skies and very long drives between places. It’s always interesting to hear how people compare New Zealand to their own homes.

We stopped for coffee and a stretch at a small café just off the main highway near Tirau, the corrugated iron town. It was a quick break, just enough time to grab a flat white and a muffin. Chloe was particularly interested in the local animal sculptures made from corrugated iron, snapping photos with her phone. She mentioned that her own trip had been a way to reconnect with herself after a stressful period at work. She spoke about her job in urban planning – a field that sounded complex and demanding. She said she’d always loved fantasy stories, the escapism they offered, and that visiting Hobbiton was a chance to step into one of those worlds, even just for an afternoon.

As we got closer to Matamata, the landscape began to subtly change. The rolling hills became more pronounced, dotted with clusters of trees. The air seemed cleaner, crisper. Chloe pointed out a small signpost for Hobbiton, and a quiet anticipation settled over her. She’d been very calm and self-contained for most of the drive, observing more than talking, but now a palpable excitement was building. She imagined what the hobbit holes would look like, how it would feel to walk through the Shire. She told me she’d seen the films multiple times and was fascinated by the detailed world-building.

I dropped her off at the entrance to the Hobbiton Movie Set. It was a bustling scene, with groups of people gathering, all clearly excited. Chloe thanked me, her eyes shining. “Thanks so much, Harry. This has been a wonderful drive,” she said. I watched her join the queue, a solitary figure ready to step into a famous fictional land. She seemed perfectly at ease, a traveller embracing a dream. I pulled away, the engine a soft rumble, and turned the car back towards the highway. The late afternoon sun was starting to cast long shadows across the fields, and I had a quiet drive back to the city, thinking about the different kinds of journeys people take, both the literal ones like mine and the internal ones that lead them to places like this.