Auckland Airbnb to Ohope Beach private car — Chloe's conference trip

August in Auckland often means the tail-end of winter is really digging its heels in, clinging to those damp, grey mornings. My first pickup of the day was from a neat little Airbnb tucked away in Parnell, a suburb that always feels a bit more elegant than most. It was an early start, just before the city properly woke up, and the air had that distinct chill that promises – or threatens – rain.

The lady who came out to greet me was Chloe. She had that unmistakable Australian fair-skinned look, freckles scattered across her nose, and a bright, open smile that seemed a little too cheerful for the pre-dawn gloom. She was heading out East, to Ohope Beach, near Whakatāne. A conference, she’d said on the booking, something about marine biology. I’d learned long ago that people going to conferences, especially in places like Ohope rather than a city centre, usually have a passion for their subject.

We navigated the early Auckland traffic. Even on a Friday morning, there’s a rhythm to it, a predictable crawl through Newmarket and down towards the Southern Motorway. I saw her take out a notebook and pen, not to write notes, but to sketch. Little quick, light strokes. I glanced over once; she was drawing the jagged outline of Rangitoto, visible through a break in the buildings as we pulled onto the motorway.

The usual Friday morning jam persisted through the Bombay Hills, punctuated by a minor hold-up around Pokeno. Chloe didn’t seem flustered. She just kept drawing, occasionally looking up at the passing scenery, the sheep-dotted paddocks giving way to more rolling hills as we entered the Waikato. I remember thinking she looked like she was absorbing it all – the greys and greens, the occasional splash of autumn gold from the trees. We stopped at a petrol station near Tirau, a place that’s become a familiar landmark on this route. While I fuelled up and grabbed a quick flat white, she bought a small packet of crisps and stood outside for a moment, just watching the clouds – big, fast-moving things that seemed to be chasing each other across the sky.

She told me then, quietly, about the conference. It was about microplastics in the marine environment, and she was presenting some research she’d done back home in Perth. She spoke about the sheer volume of plastic that ends up in the oceans, the microscopic particles that infiltrate everything. She'd spent months collecting samples, analysing them in a lab that smelled perpetually of chemicals and seawater. As she spoke, I saw a shift from the art of observation to the weight of responsibility. Her sketches, I realised, weren’t just studies of form; they were acts of appreciation for the very things she was worried about losing.

The conversation flowed easily after that, not in a chattery way, but with a comfortable understanding. She asked about my routes, my favourite drives. I told her about the quiet stretches of SH30, the way the light falls on the hills around Rotorua in the late afternoon. She mused about the differences between the Australian coast and ours, the way the Tasman Sea can look so tumultuous compared to the calmer Pacific side. We talked about the birds – the gannets diving out in the distance, the terns on the sand, the sheer resilience of marine life.

The landscape started to change as we neared the coast, the hills becoming steeper, lusher, and then, finally, the first glimpses of the Pacific. We’d passed through Rotorua, the air briefly thick with the scent of sulphur, before heading east towards the Bay of Plenty. The air grew saltier. It was nearing lunchtime when we came into Ōhope. The sky had cleared somewhat, letting through shafts of pale, watery sunlight that made the wet sand gleam. It felt like a place that breathed the ocean.

I pulled up to the accommodation she’d booked, a simple motel overlooking the bay. Chloe thanked me, her smile now tinged with the slight melancholy of parting, and of facing a room full of peers. She said, as she got out, that the drive had been exactly what she needed – a moment to breathe and observe before diving back into the urgent work. I watched her walk towards the entrance, a small figure against the vast expanse of the beach, carrying her case and her research. As I turned the car back towards Hamilton, the ocean air still clinging to the upholstery, I couldn't shake the image of those tiny plastic fragments, a stark contrast to the wide, beautiful, and surprisingly resilient coastline I’d just driven along.