Naumi Hotel Auckland Airport to New Plymouth private car — Hendrik's holiday

The air at the Naumi Hotel was thick with the scent of tropical plants and polished wood, a far cry from the salty tang that always clings to the cruise terminals. I always find that first moment after a cruise, stepping off a ship that’s been a floating city for weeks, a curious one. The passengers, blinking in the daylight, look a bit like they’ve emerged from another dimension. This time, though, the handover was all very civilised, right there at the hotel.

Hendrik van der V crossed the lobby towards me, a tall man with a neat grey beard and eyes that crinkled at the corners, suggesting a good deal of laughter in his life. He’d booked through the website from the Netherlands, an intriguingly long way to plan a holiday that mostly involved staying within New Zealand. He’d opted for a private car from Auckland down to New Plymouth, wanting to see the Taranaki region at his own pace after the organised intensity of the cruise. He’d spent the last few days relaxing, he said, letting the organised rush of the ship fade away.

The drive south from Auckland Airport began predictably, weaving through the familiar arteries of Manukau and toward the Bombay Hills. The route to New Plymouth isn't overly scenic at the start – it’s mostly productive farmland and small towns rushing past the windows. We followed State Highway 1 south, then turned onto State Highway 3 towards Hamilton, the conversation easy and unforced. Hendrik pointed out various types of fencing, commenting on the effectiveness he’d observed around the country; he had a background, he mentioned, in agricultural engineering. He’d arrived in Auckland a week before the cruise, visiting family who'd emigrated years ago, but their lives had taken them to Wellington, so this part of his trip was a solo exploration.

As we moved inland past Hamilton, the landscape began to change. The flat plains gave way to rolling hills, and the air grew cleaner, sharper. We stopped for a coffee and a brief stretch in Otorohanga, a town that always feels like a gateway to a more rural New Zealand. Hendrik bought a jar of local honey, carefully placing it in the boot. He spoke of his home in Friesland, the flat, watery province of the Netherlands, and how he appreciated the dramatic elevation changes – even the gentle swells of the Waikato – after his usual horizons.

By the time we were well into the King Country, heading towards the Taranaki region, the clouds were starting to gather. The main attraction of Taranaki, Mount Taranaki itself, was playing a game of peek-a-boo, shyly hiding behind layers of grey. Hendrik didn't seem bothered; he was more interested in the changing landscape, especially as we got closer to the coast. He commented on the hardy nature of the coastal vegetation, the way it clung to the dunes. He spoke about his wife, who had passed away a few years back, and how travelling alone now was a way of experiencing things she would have loved – the wilder coastlines, the quiet moments. He wasn’t seeking grand adventures, but rather a sense of place, a connection to the raw beauty he’d read about.

We rolled into New Plymouth as the light began to fade. The town had a cheerful, settled feel, belying the dramatic volcanic peak that dominated its backdrop, even in its current misty state. I dropped Hendrik at his accommodation near the waterfront. He thanked me, his handshake firm. He mentioned he had a couple of days to explore the gardens and the coastal walkway before his flight back to Auckland. There was a quiet contentment about him, a sense of having arrived somewhere he’d wanted to be, a place that felt both vast and intimately peaceful. Heading back towards Auckland, the road felt long under the dimming sky, but the low hum of the engine was a familiar comfort, carrying the quiet satisfaction of a journey well made for someone else.