Ibis Budget Auckland to Otorohanga private car — Ilmari's business trip

October. I always think of that faint, crisp smell in the air as summer finally concedes defeat, but this year, right on Halloween, the sun was pouring down like it was still January. The Ibis Budget up by the airport isn't exactly a scenic pickup spot at the best of times – a lot of concrete and hurried footsteps. When I pulled up, Ilmari was already standing by the kerb, suit jacket slung over one shoulder, looking every bit the arriving professional. He had that calm, almost still way about him that I’ve come to associate with people who spend their lives dissecting complex problems. He introduced himself, his English carrying a gentle Finnish lilt that was easy on the ear.

He was heading down to Otorohanga, a town I know well for its Kiwi house and its quiet, unassuming charm. Ilmari, as I gathered, was here for a bit of specialist business consulting, something to do with timber processing, he’d mentioned briefly. He had a conference nearby, and then some site visits. It wasn't the sort of thing you chat about at length over your morning coffee on the bedside table; it was more the type of deep-dive operational stuff that people only share the barest outline of on a car journey.

We left the airport sprawl behind, heading south on the motorway. The usual Friday afternoon traffic was building, but nothing too serious. Ilmari seemed content to watch the landscape unfold, the manicured lawns of the airport giving way to the more rugged greenery of South Auckland. He asked about the different types of trees we passed, pointing out the pine forests that carpeted some of the hills. I told him about the forestry industry in New Zealand, how it's a big earner, and he nodded, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He mentioned that Finland, too, has vast stretches of forest, a similar, vital part of their economy.

We passed through the outskirts of Hamilton, the afternoon sun glinting off the Waikato River. Ilmari’s attention was mostly on the scenery, but he occasionally made observations, quiet remarks about how different the light was here, or the texture of the farmland. It wasn't small talk, more like observations from a very attentive observer. He’d been in Auckland for a few days already, attending the initial part of his conference, and had found the city quite bustling. He seemed to prefer the slower pace that Otorohanga promised.

Around Te Kauwhata, we stopped for a coffee. It was one of those bright, modern cafés that have sprung up everywhere. Ilmari ordered a plain black coffee, no fuss. While I was paying, he was looking at a display of local produce – jams and honey. He picked up a pot of mānuka honey, examining the label. “This,” he said, with that quiet certainty, “this is something special.” He bought a jar, tucking it carefully into his briefcase. It was a small gesture, but it felt like he was collecting small pieces of the place, trying to understand it beyond the business meetings and the concrete structures.

As we continued south, the conversation drifted, as it often does, to home. He spoke of the long, dark winters in Finland, the reliance on forestry and paper mills, and the unique, almost stark beauty of the Arctic Circle summers. He’d been based in Helsinki for his work, a city he described with a mixture of affection and academic detachment. He’d travelled extensively for work, but he admitted this was his first time in New Zealand. He found the sheer variety of green astonishing, the saturation of colour. He’d seen the pictures, of course, but it was different experiencing it, seeing the different shades of foliage, the deep blues of the sky contrasting with the lush vegetation.

We were nearing Otorohanga. The landscape was starting to flatten out, the rolling hills giving way to more open pasture. He’d mentioned that his work involved looking at efficiencies in the supply chain, identifying bottlenecks. It struck me, listening to him, that he applied that same analytical mindset to his travels, to his observations of the world around him. He wasn't just seeing; he was processing, cataloguing, understanding.

I dropped him off at his accommodation, a small motel on the edge of town. It was a quiet arrival, no fanfare. He thanked me, his handshake firm and brief. As I drove away, the sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple over the Waikato plains. Ilmari R. was a man of quiet purpose, leaving Auckland with his briefcase and a jar of mānuka honey, heading into the heart of the King Country for work. Another journey complete, another story to add to the quiet tapestry of the road.