Albany office to Rotorua private car — Isabela's holiday

The morning sun was just beginning to properly warm up the sky over Albany as I pulled up to the office block. September is a funny month, still a bit crisp in the air but with that promise of spring already starting to show, little buds peeking out on branches I’d passed a dozen times that week. Isabela was standing near the entrance, a small suitcase at her feet and a wide smile that seemed to hold off the pre-dawn chill. She was heading for a holiday, a bit of a solo adventure exploring Rotorua. It’s always interesting seeing someone embark on a trip like this, especially when they’re from so far away. Her English was remarkably good, spoken with that lovely Brazilian cadence, and she was clearly excited to be setting off.

We got her settled into the back, the quiet hum of the city still a distant murmur. As we merged onto the Northern Motorway, the traffic was light, a welcome relief on a Wednesday. I often find that early morning pickups from the North Shore mean you can get a good run south before the really heavy commuter traffic builds up. Isabela tapped away on her phone, presumably letting people know she was on her way, but mostly she just watched the landscape unfold. Out past the city limits, the paddocks turn greener, the houses spread out, and you start to get a sense of the rolling Waikato countryside ahead.

Our first planned stop was just past Pokeno, a classic for a good coffee and a stretch of the legs. The café was busy with tradies grabbing their morning fix, the air thick with the smell of roasted beans and baking. Isabela opted for a flat white and a cheese scone, declaring it “perfecto.” We chatted a little more, me asking about her home – somewhere near São Paulo, she told me – and her itinerary. She was keen on the geothermal wonders, the Māori culture, and maybe a bit of kayaking on the lake if the weather played ball. She’d done her research, pinpointing specific sights she wanted to see – the geysers, the hot springs, the Whakarewarewa village. It’s always nice when people have a clear idea of what they want from their trip.

Back on the road, the landscape started to shift. The rolling hills became more pronounced, and signs for Hamilton appeared. We bypassed the city centre, staying on State Highway 1, then turned off towards Cambridge and onto State Highway 5. This stretch of road has a distinct feel to it, winding through farmland with glimpses of rivers and small towns like Tirau, known for its corrugated iron art. Isabela pointed out the sheep at one point, remarking how different it was from the city life she’d left behind in Brazil. She told me about the energy of São Paulo, the constant motion, and how she’d craved this kind of quiet, natural beauty.

As we drove further south, the signs for Rotorua started to appear more frequently. The air outside seemed to carry a faint, sulphurous tang – the first hint of the geothermal activity that defines the region. We passed through areas where steam rose from the ground, the landscape becoming more rugged, a clear sign we were getting close. Isabela was quiet for a while, just gazing out the window, absorbing the changing scenery. She mentioned how the sheer space of New Zealand, the open skies and long distances between places, felt liberating, a stark contrast to the densely populated areas she was used to.

We pulled into Rotorua just as the lunchtime rush was starting. The air was a little cooler here, the distinctive smell more noticeable. I dropped her at her accommodation, a small motel near the lake. She was grateful for the smooth journey, thanking me with that infectious smile. As I watched her disappear inside, with her small suitcase and bright anticipation, I felt that familiar quiet satisfaction of a job well done. She’d come all this way for a bit of an adventure, and I’d been a small part of getting her there. The drive back north would be quiet, just me and the road, with the memory of Isabela’s excited chatter and the vast New Zealand landscape she’d come to explore.