Cordis Auckland to Otorohanga private car — Jing's conference trip

The Mercedes was gleaming, freshly washed and detailed that morning, a good omen for a Sunday drive west. Cordis hotel pickups are always a bit of a ritual, slick lobbies and efficient concierges. This time, however, the usual brisk efficiency was punctuated by a flutter of brightly coloured paper. Jing L, who I’d confirmed was my passenger via text the night before, was carefully arranging a scattering of origami cranes, tiny, perfect things folded from glossy magazines, across the back seat.

She was a slight woman, dressed in smart business casual, her dark hair pulled back neatly. Singapore was her home, she explained, as she settled in, and she was here for a tech conference in Auckland. This first leg of the journey was just part of her plan to see a little more of the North Island before heading back. Otorohanga was the target for today, a good few hours south-west, then I’d be heading back towards Hamilton that evening.

We bypassed the city centre’s Sunday quiet, merging onto the Southern Motorway. The initial stretch towards Papakura is always a bit monotonous – industrial estates giving way to semi-rural areas. I kept an eye on Jing in the rearview mirror. She wasn't glued to her phone, as many are. Instead, she watched the scenery unfold. The early spring colours were subtle, a hesitant green pushing through the dormant tones of the paddocks. Sheep dotted the hillsides, looking like small, fluffy clouds that had settled too low.

As we crossed the Bombay Hills, the landscape began to open up. Rolling fields stretched out, bordered by lines of mature trees. The air, even through the closed windows, felt cleaner, fresher. Jing pointed out a particularly striking gum tree with peeling bark, its white trunk stark against the surrounding bush. She mentioned she’d always been fascinated by New Zealand’s unique flora, a stark contrast to the tropical abundance of Singapore. She’d spent her week in the city attending sessions and networking, but this was her chance to breathe.

Our first planned stop was a quick one, just outside Hamilton at the Te Rapa services. I suggested it as a good place for a coffee and a stretch. While I topped up the tank, Jing bought a small meat pie and a flat white. She seemed a little reserved still, polite but not overly chatty. The origami cranes, I noticed, had been carefully gathered into a small pile on the passenger seat beside her, waiting for their onward journey. She explained that folding them had been a way she’d found to pass the time on long flights and sometimes a way to centre herself when feeling overwhelmed. Each one represented a wish or a thought, a miniature meditation.

Back on the road, the route took us through Ohinewai and then towards Ngaruawahia. The Waikato River began to make its presence felt, a wide, slow-moving ribbon of brown water glinting in the afternoon sun. Jing was looking through a small guidebook I kept in the seat pocket, pointing out places of interest. She asked about the historical significance of certain areas, the Māori heritage that’s so deeply woven into the landscape here. I shared what I could, little anecdotes picked up over years of driving these same roads, the stories local people have told me on countless trips.

As we approached Otorohanga, the terrain became a little flatter, the farmland more intensely managed. The air grew a little cooler, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant livestock. Jing L mentioned her flight home was scheduled for late Monday afternoon, giving her the rest of Sunday and a good chunk of Monday to explore. "I want to see the real New Zealand," she’d said earlier, gesturing vaguely at the passing countryside. Otorohanga, with its famous Kiwi house and proximity to the Waitomo Caves, seemed to fit that bill perfectly.

We arrived at her accommodation, a pleasant motel on the edge of town. As I helped with her single, sensible suitcase, she held out one of the origami cranes. It was a vibrant blue. "For good luck on your travels," she said, her smile a little warmer now. I accepted it, placing it carefully on the dashboard. It felt like a small token of a shared journey, a reminder of the quiet companionship found on the open road. Driving away, back towards Hamilton for the night, the little blue crane seemed to catch the late afternoon light.