Ramada Suites by Wyndham Auckland to Sandy Bay private car — Haruki's family visit

The valet handed me the keys to a surprisingly clean Toyota at the Ramada, a hotel I’d never actually driven from before. March was just starting to cool down, the sort of crisp air that has you reaching for a light jacket even at midday. Haruki S. was waiting by the entrance, a neatly dressed man who looked a little lost amidst the bustle of city dwellers checked in and out, but his smile was genuine when he saw the car.

He was heading up to Paihia, a good few hours north. His reason was simple: family. His sister had moved to New Zealand a few years back, and this was his first visit. He spoke of her with a quiet fondness, and I gathered she’d settled well into the Bay of Islands lifestyle. He’d booked me for the day, planning to spend a good chunk of it there before I took him back to Auckland that evening. It’s always a bit of a gamble with a round trip same-day, especially a longer run like this, but he assured me he wasn’t one for lingering. A few hours, a nice lunch, and he’d be ready to roll.

The usual suspects were out and about on the Northern Motorway – the early morning rush had thinned, but the freight trucks were in full swing, hauling everything from produce to building supplies. We cleared Orewa without too much fuss and hit the open road. Haruki admired the changing landscape as we drove further north. The rolling green hills, dotted with sheep and the occasional stand of native bush, gave way to more windswept coastal views as we neared Whangārei. He pointed out the sheer density of the farms, a stark contrast to the more urbanised agriculture he was used to back in Tokyo. He mentioned that his sister lived near Waitangi, and I pictured her amidst the history and natural beauty.

We stopped at a café just past Whangārei for a quick coffee and a stretch. Haruki ordered a flat white, delivered with a smile by the young woman behind the counter, who seemed quite taken by his polite Japanese manner. He bought a small postcard of the harbour, carefully tucking it into his travel wallet. The light was starting to soften, casting long shadows across the road ahead. Even though it was only mid-afternoon, the days were noticeably shorter now you were out of the peak of summer.

As we drove the final stretch towards Paihia, Haruki told me a bit more about his sister’s life. She’d been an architect, he explained, but had always felt a pull towards the sea. She’d taken a leap, moved over, and found work in a local gallery. It sounded like a romantic notion, the kind of escape some people dream of but rarely achieve. He seemed proud of her, of the courage it must have taken to make such a big change.

We arrived in Paihia with plenty of time. Haruki decided he’d walk down to the ferry terminal to meet his sister, who lived just across the water in Russell. He didn't want me to wait indefinitely at the car, and I understood. He asked if I could pick him up directly from the Paihia waterfront around 5:30 PM, after he’d had a chance to catch up and have some lunch. It was a good plan. I watched him head off, a small, solitary figure confidently making his way towards the water.

The drive back south was quiet. The sun dipped below the horizon much earlier now, and the headlights cut through the deepening dusk. I found myself thinking about his sister, the architect who became a gallery worker by the sea. It’s the stories like that, the ones where people actively chase a different kind of life, that always stick with me. They’re a reminder that there’s more than one way to live, and that sometimes the biggest rewards come from the biggest leaps of faith. By the time I reached Auckland, the city lights were twinkling, a familiar welcome home after a day spent watching the world unfold in the north.