Auckland Rose Park Hotel to Thames private car — Annelies's family visit

The year had barely clicked over into 2025 when I got the call for this trip. January 3rd, a Friday. The sun was already doing its best to burn through the Auckland haze at 8 AM. My pickup was the Rose Park Hotel, an elegant place perched up in Parnell, with views back towards the city and Rangitoto. A bit of a nicer start to the day than a standard motorway pickup.

My passenger was Jan V. He was a man of quiet presence, arriving promptly at the hotel entrance as I pulled up. He had that easygoing air about him, the kind that makes you feel like you've known them for a while. He introduced himself, and with a smile, confirmed he was headed to Thames. He mentioned he was originally from Belgium but had made Auckland his home for the past decade. He spoke fondly of his adopted country, of the vibrant mix of cultures and the slower pace of life he'd found here, even in a bustling city like Auckland.

The drive east from Auckland is always a bit of a pleasant change from the usual north-south grind. We headed out through Parnell, the historic streets giving way to the more modern arteries leading us towards the Southern Motorway. Jan seemed content to watch the city recede in the rearview mirror. He’d pointed out a few landmarks earlier, his accent a soft melody against the hum of the engine. He explained that his family had lived in Thames for generations, and this visit was a long time coming.

As we joined the motorway heading south, the urban sprawl gradually thinned. The landscape started to roll, green hills dotted with sheep and the occasional stand of native bush. We passed through the Bombay Hills, then peeled off onto State Highway 2 towards the Coromandel Peninsula. This route, SH2, would take us directly towards Thames.

I found myself thinking about the journey itself. Sometimes, the roads we drive on become more than just asphalt and white lines. They become threads connecting people and places, weaving stories across the landscape. This journey to Thames, for Jan, was clearly one of those threads, a connection back to roots and family.

We passed through Pokeno, its famous ice cream parlour a blur to our right, then onwards past Maramarua. The landscape opened up, with wide plains and distant hills. Ngatea came and went, a small service town on the way. The air started to change as we got closer to the coast. A hint of salt, a fresher breeze.

Jan offered observations now and then, not asking questions, just commenting on the scenery. He noted the striking volcanic cones that punctuate the landscape, reminding him, he said, of certain areas back in Europe. He had a keen eye for detail, pointing out the different types of trees, the way the light fell on the paddocks. He explained that his profession involved a lot of detail, which perhaps explained his observant nature.

The hills grew steeper, more rugged, covered in a thicker cloak of green. We passed the turn-off for Miranda, famous for its shorebird refuge, and continued on SH25, which hugs the Firth of Thames. The road began to wind its way upwards and downs, following the contours of the land. This was the quintessential Coromandel drive, a route I’d done countless times, but one that always felt a little special.

He mentioned how much he appreciated the natural beauty of New Zealand. He’d travelled extensively within the North Island since arriving, but the Coromandel held a particular allure for him, he explained. The rugged coastline, the accessible native bush, the sense of a place still wild and untamed in parts. He had visited some of the famous beaches further down the peninsula himself on previous trips, but this was his first time heading directly into Thames itself.

As we descended into Thames, the buildings clustered closer. The old gold mining heritage of the town was evident in the architecture, the wide main street that once bustled with miners and merchants. It’s a town that feels steeped in history, a place where you can almost hear the echoes of its past.

My role as a driver often involves being a silent observer. I see people at different points in their lives, heading to beginnings, endings, or simply moments of connection. Jan’s trip felt like a moment of deep connection, a return to family.

I pulled up to his designated drop-off point, a pleasant residential street lined with hibiscus. He thanked me, his smile genuine and warm. He said he was looking forward to the weekend ahead, to catching up with his relatives. As he stepped out, the familiar scent of damp earth and a hint of sea air followed him. I watched him walk towards his destination, a man heading home in a way, reaffirming a link to his past while embracing his present. Another journey completed, another story woven into the fabric of the road.