Ponsonby Airbnb to Katikati private car — Katarzyna's special occasion

The rain had stopped by the time I pulled up to the Ponsonby road, leaving the pavements slick and the air smelling fresh. It was a crisp November morning, the kind that felt like the real start of summer in Auckland. The Airbnb was one of those characterful villas with a steep-pitched roof and a tiny, almost precarious-looking balcony. I parked, noticing a well-loved suitcase sitting by the front door, not one of those flimsy modern ones, but a proper, old-school leather type. It spoke of journeys, of things packed with care. That was the first hint that this passenger wasn't just a quick hop down the motorway.

Katarzyna emerged a moment later, looking elegant even in her travel clothes – a smart, dark blazer over a cream blouse. She had a quiet confidence about her, not the loud, in-your-face kind, but a steady self-possession. She’d flown in from Warsaw a few days prior, she mentioned, and was heading down to the Bay of Plenty for a wedding. Not her own, she clarified with a small, knowing smile, but for a very dear friend. She’d be staying with them in Katikati for a few days after the ceremony, soaking up some early summer sunshine before heading back to Europe.

We set off south, the traffic easing as we cleared the city. The Southern Motorway was its usual self, a ribbon of grey weaving through green hills. We took the turn-off for State Highway 2, heading towards the Coromandel, the landscape beginning to soften as we left the urban sprawl behind. Katarzyna seemed fascinated by the changing scenery, her gaze drifting from the rolling farmland to the distant signs of rural life. She told me a little about Poland, about the vast forests north of Warsaw and the coastline to the Baltic Sea, a world away from the volcanic plains and deep blue waters of New Zealand.

Our route took us towards the Karangahake Gorge. It’s a drive I always enjoy; the road hugs the side of the old mining region, with the Ohinemuri River carving its way through ancient rock. It’s dramatic country, a bit wild, and I found myself slowing down to let Katarzyna take it in. She pointed out the remnants of old stamper batteries clinging to the hillsides, relics of a time when gold fever gripped this land. She said she’d read about New Zealand’s gold rushes before coming, comparing it to older European histories. It was clear she had a keen interest in how places develop, not just what they look like now.

We stopped at a small café just before Paeroa for a coffee and a stretch. The air was cooler here, carrying the scent of damp earth and something vaguely metallic, a reminder of the mining past. While she waited for her flat white, Katarzyna bought a small bag of local fudge, a little treat for the journey. She mentioned how different the pace of life felt here compared to Europe, more relaxed, more connected to the land. It was a sentiment I’d heard before, but coming from her, with her thoughtful reflection on the gorge, it felt particularly resonant.

The final stretch towards Katikati was smooth sailing. The landscape opened up, rows of orchards beginning to appear, the first hints of the kiwifruit vines that dominate the region. The light was starting to soften as the afternoon wore on, casting long shadows across the orchards. Katikati itself is a quiet place, known for its arts and mural scene, a welcome contrast to the bustle of Auckland. As we pulled up to the address she’d given me, a modern house with a welcoming porch, she thanked me. She said the drive had been wonderful, and that she felt far more settled for the wedding now that she’d had the chance to see some of the country.

Watching her retrieve her sturdy leather suitcase, I thought about the conversations we’d had, the stories shared across the miles and cultures. It wasn’t just about getting from A to B; it was about the journey itself, the small moments of connection and understanding that make up a life, and a long drive through the heart of an island. I pulled away, heading back towards the motorway, the evening light catching the dewdrops on the roadside grass.