Grand Mercure Auckland to Turangi private car — Javier's conference trip

The air in the Grand Mercure lobby had that particular recycled chill you find in big city hotels, even in August. It was early morning, the kind where Auckland is still deciding if it wants to be grey or a weak sort of blue. Javier R. was waiting by the entrance, a neat man in a smart jacket, looking a little out of place amidst the polished stone and low murmur of business travellers. He had the kind of quiet intensity you sometimes see in people who have travelled a long way to be where they are. He clutched a slim leather briefcase, its corners worn smooth, and gave me a polite nod as I pulled up.

He explained his trip when I opened the passenger door. He was in town for a geothermal energy conference in Rotorua, but his main event, a smaller specialist workshop, was actually down in Turangi. He’d decided to fly into Auckland and travel south, wanting to experience some of the North Island landscape rather than just the city. He’d chosen private transport and told me, with a small smile, that he found driving on the left a little daunting, especially in unfamiliar territory.

The first leg was familiar territory for me: heading south out of the city. We went through the usual bottlenecks – Queen Street, the Southern Motorway starting to fill up, the gentle climb over the Bombay Hills. The landscape gradually unfurled from urban sprawl to rolling farmland. Javier watched it all intently, a notebook in his lap. He’d point out things that caught his eye sometimes, a particularly large herd of cows, a distinctive church spire visible from the road. “It is so… green,” he’d murmured once, as if stating a profound truth, “More green than I had imagined.”

We stopped at a rather uninspiring service station near Huntly for coffee. It was the kind of place that’s functional rather than inviting, but it served its purpose. While the machine whirred and spluttered, Javier was looking at the map of New Zealand I keep in the passenger seat pocket, tracing lines with his finger. He’d lived in Mexico City for years, a place he described as vibrant and chaotic, full of history and noise. He’d worked in engineering for a tech company, and his interest in geothermal energy stemmed from a specific project he’d been involved with back home, on a smaller scale. He was keen to see how New Zealand harnesses its natural power.

As we continued towards Rotorua, the air began to change. You can feel it, even from inside the car – a faint, mineral tang, a hint of sulphur. The landscape shifted too, becoming more rugged, dotted with areas of steam rising eerily from the ground. We drove past the Wai-O-Tapu Thermal Wonderland entrance, and he asked if this was typical. I explained that Rotorua was the heart of the activity, but that the power was drawn from all over the region. He seemed fascinated by the idea of so much energy simmering just beneath the surface.

We bypassed Rotorua itself, heading towards Taupō and then the turn-off for Turangi. The section of road between Rotorua and Taupō, along the eastern side of the lake, is always a favourite. The water became visible, a vast, shimmering expanse under the late winter sun. Javier was quiet for a long time then, just looking out the window. He eventually told me he’d come to New Zealand for the natural beauty, and that this quiet, expansive vista was living up to his expectations.

Arriving in Turangi was like stepping back in time, in a way. It’s a town built for a specific purpose, with a quiet, almost dormant feel to it, especially on a Wednesday afternoon in late August. The air here was crisp, carrying the scent of pine from the surrounding forests. I dropped Javier at his motel, a simple, clean establishment near the river. He thanked me with that same quiet politeness, his briefcase still in hand. As I watched him walk towards the entrance, I thought about the sheer diversity of people who pass through my car, each with their own destination, their own reasons, their own quiet stories unfolding on the ribbon of road south.

My drive back north was a familiar one, the light fading early, the landscape turning to shades of grey. The silence in the car was filled with the hum of the tyres, and the lingering impression of a man from a bustling metropolis, drawn to the quiet power of the earth, finding it in the surprisingly green heart of the North Island.