Crowne Plaza Auckland to Kerikeri private car — Eleanor's conference trip

The lobby of the Crowne Plaza Auckland had that particular hum of a Wednesday morning in November – people dashing for meetings, the clatter of coffee cups, the faint scent of expensive perfume mixed with the city air seeping in. I spotted Eleanor near the concierge desk, a small, well-worn suitcase at her feet and a book open on her lap, though her eyes were scanning the entrance. She looked a little out of place, carrying herself with a quiet reserve that didn’t quite match the rush around her. When she saw me give the nod, she gathered her things and walked over.

She’d booked the trip a few weeks prior, a relatively straightforward Auckland to Kerikeri run. The reason given was a conference. She didn't elaborate, and I didn't pry. My job is to get people point A to point B safely, and maybe make the journey a little more pleasant. She mentioned she was originally from the UK, had been living in Auckland for about five years now. That made sense; there’s a certain practicality and no-fuss approach that often comes with that upbringing, and Eleanor certainly projected that.

The drive north out of Auckland can be a bit of a beast on a weekday. We hit the usual slowdowns around the city fringes and then the crawl through Wairau Valley. Eleanor didn't seem bothered. She watched the cityscape fade into the northern suburbs, the houses becoming a little sparser, the green hills beginning to assert themselves. She asked if I ever got tired of the same drives. I told her that even on the familiar routes, there were always new details to notice – a different angle of light on the fields, a particular tree in bloom, or just observing the sheer variety of people I meet. She nodded, her gaze drifting back to the window, a thoughtful expression on her face.

We bypassed the main centres for a quick stop just shy of Warkworth. The service station there is usually quiet mid-morning. She ordered a flat white and a pastry, and I grabbed a coffee and a banana. While she waited, she told me a little more about what she did. Her conference was in the sciences, something about sustainable agriculture, which explained the quiet intensity she had about her. She spoke about the challenges of implementing new methods and the slow pace of change, even when the science is clear. It wasn’t a complaint, more an observation, a framing of the world as she saw it. She seemed to carry a weight, not heavy, but substantial, the sort that comes from grappling with significant problems.

As we headed further north on State Highway 1, the landscape opened up. Rolling farmland gave way to patches of bush, and the air started to feel a little cleaner, a little fresher. We passed through Wellsford and over the Brynderwyn Hills, the road winding through the hills before opening up again towards Whangārei. Eleanor seemed to relax a little as we got into the more scenic sections. She pointed out a hawk circling high above, sharp against the pale November sky. "They always seem so sure of themselves," she commented, the most she'd said in one go. I agreed that there was a certain stark beauty to the wilder parts of the Northland.

The final stretch towards Kerikeri is always a pleasure. After turning off the main highway, the roads become a little more intimate, and the native trees press closer in places. The sunlight dappled through the leaves, and the air was filled with the sound of insects. It felt like entering a different world from the bustling city we'd left behind. I could see Eleanor was absorbing it, her shoulders visibly less tense. She’d mentioned at the start she was glad to be heading to a quieter place for a few days, a chance to focus on her work and recharge away from the usual Auckland intensity. The conference was in a lodge just outside the main town, and as we pulled up the driveway, I could see its rustic charm. She thanked me, her smile a little warmer this time. "It was a very good journey, thank you," she said. As I watched her walk towards the entrance, a single figure against the backdrop of trees, I felt that familiar sense of quiet satisfaction that comes from a job well done – getting someone where they needed to be, and perhaps, just perhaps, making the journey itself a small part of their peace of mind.