Hilton Auckland to Mount Maunganui private car — Khalid's business trip

It was early October, one of those Auckland days where the spring air still carries a hint of dampness from the morning's fine mist. The Hilton lobby is always a bit of a goldfish bowl, all polished marble and hushed tones. My phone buzzed; Khalid A. was ready. He was a man of quiet presence, dressed in a smart, dark suit that looked meticulously pressed, a stark contrast to the casual wear I often saw. He carried a slim leather briefcase, the kind that signals serious business.

His destination was Mount Maunganui, a trip I made several times a month but always with a different story unfolding en route. Khalid explained, with a polite nod, that he had a series of meetings in the Bay of Plenty, culminating in a crucial discussion with a local developer. He’d flown in from Riyadh the previous day and was eager to get on the road, a subtle anticipation in his demeanour.

We set off from the city, navigating the usual early-morning congestion exiting Auckland. The sky gradually brightened as we headed south on State Highway 1. I passed him a bottle of water and offered to stop whenever he wished. He smiled, a warm, genuine expression that softened the formality of his attire, and said it was fine for now. He spent the first hour gazing out the window, watching the landscape transition from urban sprawl to rolling green farmland, punctuated by stands of native bush. The light was still soft, casting long shadows across the paddies near Pukekohe.

Around Pokeno, we continued south, past Huntly and then turned off towards the Kaimai Range. It's a route that offers some stunning views, especially as you climb and then descend into the Bay of Plenty. Khalid seemed to appreciate the change of scenery. He pointed out a hawk circling high above the hills, its wings outstretched, catching the thermals. He spoke briefly about his work in city planning back home, elaborating on the challenges of developing vast urban centres and the intricate balance between modern infrastructure and preserving cultural heritage. He mentioned some of the ambitious projects he’d been involved with, vast new districts rising from the desert, a world away from the verdant hills we were driving through.

We stopped for a coffee and a stretch at a small café just outside Matamata. The air was cool and crisp. He ordered a black coffee, strong and without sugar, and watched the local patrons with a quiet curiosity. He asked about the sheep farming industry, about the kiwifruit orchards that dotted the landscape, the practicalities of life here. It wasn't idle chitchat; it felt like he was trying to understand the fabric of the place, not just passing through.

By the time we neared the turn-off for Mount Maunganui, the afternoon sun was beginning to dip, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Khalid’s meetings, he’d mentioned loosely, were about sustainable urban development. He was here to share Saudi Arabia's experiences, both successes and lessons learned, with developers looking to expand rapidly. He was carrying a weight of expectation, a representative from a country making enormous strides in building its future.

As we pulled up to his hotel, the iconic Mount Maunganui loomed large against the darkening sky, its summit silhouetted. He thanked me, his handshake firm. There was a shared understanding, I felt, of the journeys we undertake – his across continents and cultures, mine across the highways of the North Island. He was an envoy of sorts, bridging disparate worlds not with grand pronouncements, but with quiet diligence and a willingness to engage. I watched him walk towards the entrance, a solitary figure carrying the ambitions of his homeland, ready for whatever the evening’s discussions would bring. I turned the car and headed back towards my own brief stopover, the hum of the highway a familiar companion, already thinking about the next Auckland departure.