Cordis Auckland to Gisborne private car — Kasia's business trip

The Cordis hotel lobby in Auckland is always buzzing, a mix of well-dressed business types and tourists looking a bit overwhelmed. This Tuesday afternoon in late March was no different. I found Kasia outside, looking a little hesitant, like she wasn't quite sure if I was her ride or just another chap waiting for a taxi. She was smartly dressed, a sharp navy blazer over a lighter blouse, and she carried a sleek laptop bag. She confirmed my name and the destination: Gisborne. A long haul, especially this time of year when the days are already shortening, but a common enough route for people wanting to reach the East Coast without the hassle of flights and connections.

Kasia was originally from Poland, a small town near Krakow, but she’d been living in Auckland for a few years now, working for an international consultancy firm. This trip to Gisborne was for a client meeting, part of a larger project she wouldn't elaborate on, which was fine by me. I find most people don't want to regale their driver with the intricate details of their corporate strategies. She settled into the back, and I noticed the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she kept checking her phone. Business travel nerves, perhaps, or just the weight of a long drive ahead.

The initial stretch out of Auckland, heading south on State Highway 1, was the usual crawl. March means the summer holiday crowds have thinned, but the city traffic still has its own rhythm. We passed through the familiar checkpoints: Manukau, the Bombay Hills, Pokeno. Kasia mostly stared out the window, taking in the rolling green farmland that starts to dominate the landscape. She mentioned she’d only lived in the city for a couple of years and hadn’t seen much of the country outside of the immediate Auckland region. This drive, I figured, would give her a good primer.

We continued south, then east, heading towards Rotorua. The landscape shifted from dairy farms to more rugged, geothermal country. Kasia suddenly seemed more engaged, pointing out the steam rising from the ground in places, a stark contrast to the green hills. She told me, in her soft accent, about growing up in a region in Poland famed for its coal mining, and how the landscapes here, though different, sparked a similar historical resonance. We made a quick coffee stop in Tirau, a quirky little town known for its corrugated iron art, before pushing on.

We made our lunch stop in Rotorua, a straightforward affair at a local café near the lake. Kasia ordered a simple salad, and I grabbed a pie and a coffee. While she waited, she showed me a picture on her phone – a snapshot of a very old stone church nestled among rolling hills, with a few people milling about outside. "My village," she’d explained. It looked peaceful, a world away from the corporate bustle she was heading towards in Gisborne. She spoke about the strong sense of community there, something she mentioned missing in the city. It’s not a sentiment I hear often from people relocating here, but it felt genuine.

The drive from Rotorua to Gisborne is a good few hours, cutting across the heart of the North Island’s easternmost region, following State Highway 2. Much of it is farmland, dotted with sheep and cattle, and the road climbs and dips through forested hills, especially as we got closer to the coast. The light started to change as we got further east, a softer, more diffused quality as the sun began its descent towards the horizon. Kasia became quieter again, her initial tension seeming to have eased. She leaned her head back against the seat, eyes half-closed, perhaps contemplating the meeting ahead or just enjoying the rhythm of the road. She’d confided earlier that these trips were often solitary experiences before she found my service, and she appreciated the quiet companionship without the pressure of forced conversation.

We pulled into Gisborne just as dusk was settling. The air felt different here, cleaner, somehow more spacious. I dropped her off at her accommodation, a modern complex near the waterfront. She thanked me, her earlier hesitation replaced with a calm certainty. "It was a good journey," she said. I often think about those conversations, the fleeting glimpses into lives that cross mine for a few hours on the road. Kasia, with her quiet strength and her connection to a different kind of landscape, was one of those people whose story lingered, a subtle reminder of the vastness of experiences contained within this small country.