QT Auckland to Whitianga private car — Jing's trip

The jet bridge was still winding its way towards the gate when I spotted her. A small woman, expertly navigating the throng of arrivals at the QT Auckland terminal, a single, almost impossibly neat suitcase trailing behind her. She looked a touch overwhelmed by the sheer volume of it all, the echoing announcements, the relentless scroll of tired faces, but there was a quiet determination about her. She’d clearly done her research; she knew where to look and was heading straight for me. As I stepped forward, a faint smile touched her lips, a tiny beacon in the sterile airport environment. Her name was Jing L. She’d flown in from Shanghai, and her destination today was Whitianga, on the Coromandel Peninsula.

We loaded her small suitcase into the boot, and she settled into the back seat. The air inside the car, recently cleaned and aired, felt like a small refuge. I pulled out of the airport precinct, merging into the steady flow of traffic heading towards the city. Auckland was putting on a typical late-spring morning – a bit of cloud, but a gentle warmth trying to break through. Jing seemed content to simply watch the unfolding landscape. At first, she gazed out with wide, observant eyes, taking in the familiar sights of towers and traffic, but as we cleared the urban sprawl and headed south, her focus shifted. The city noises faded, replaced by the hum of the engine and the occasional tyre noise on asphalt.

Our route took us onto State Highway 1, heading towards the Waikato. We passed through the Bombay Hills, the shops and cafes a blur. I pointed out a particularly historic-looking church as we drove by, and she offered a small nod of acknowledgment. The conversation, or rather my one-sided narration, was slow to start, as it often is with airport pickups. People are usually tired from travel, readjusting to time zones and a new country. But Jing wasn’t completely withdrawn; she just needed time to settle. We stopped at a small service centre just past Pokeno, a place I know for its decent coffee and clean restrooms. She bought a small bottle of water and a sweet pastry, eating it slowly in the car, her gaze fixed on the distant green hills.

The landscape began to change as we turned onto State Highway 2 and then navigated towards SH25, the road that hugs the coastline towards the peninsula. The air, even through the closed windows, seemed to carry a hint of salt. The road narrowed, winding through smaller settlements, past orchards and coastal farms. Every so often, a glimpse of the Hauraki Gulf would appear, a vast expanse of blue dotted with islands. Jing pointed to one of these glimpses, a flash of white sail on the water, and this time, she spoke a few words, her English accented but clear. She said it reminded her of the coast near her grandmother's home, a place she hadn't visited in years. It was a small comment, but it opened a door.

As we continued, the conversation opened up a little more, naturally. She told me she wasn't on a holiday, exactly. She was here to meet some old university friends, people she hadn’t seen since she’d moved to Shanghai to pursue her career. They’d promised to show her the ‘real’ Coromandel, away from the tourist crowds. She’d worked in finance for over a decade, a demanding job that left little room for spontaneous trips. This visit was a deliberate act of reconnecting with her past, with friendships that had weathered distance and time. She spoke of the pressure in her city, the constant rush, and the quiet joy she found in the slower pace she expected to find here.

We passed through Thames, a larger town that often sees its share of holidaymakers, and pressed on. The road became more dramatic, climbing over ridges with stunning ocean views on either side, then dipping down into valleys. The scent of pine trees became noticeable, a refreshing counterpoint to the sea air. The light was beginning to soften, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the rolling hills. Whitianga came into view gradually – a cluster of houses huddling around a wide, calm bay. The ferry terminal was clearly visible, a prominent landmark.

Her friends were waiting for her near the ferry terminal, a small group waving as we pulled up outside a neat little cafe. Jing M stood, gathering her bag, and turned to me with that same quiet smile. “Thank you, Harry,” she said, her voice a little stronger now. “It was a very peaceful drive.” I helped her with her suitcase, and she walked towards her waiting companions. They embraced warmly, a clear sign of affection and shared history. Watching them, I felt that familiar sense of quiet satisfaction. Another journey completed, another connection made, or in this case, re-established. As I turned the car around for the long, quiet drive back towards Auckland, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, I thought about Jing’s story – a reminder that sometimes, the most important journeys are the ones that lead us back to ourselves, and to the people who knew us before.