Hotel DeBrett to New Plymouth private car — Klaas's holiday

The valet keys jangled as I got the signal from the doorman at DeBretts. It was a crisp November morning in Auckland, the sort where you can already feel the promise of summer clinging to the air, but the shadows were still long and cool.

Klaas V was waiting by the lobby, a man in his late fifties, I’d guess, with a neatly trimmed grey beard and intelligent eyes that took everything in. He had a single, sensible suitcase and a backpack, suggesting he wasn’t planning a huge detour. He was from the Netherlands, and this was the start of a solo holiday exploring the Taranaki region.

“New Plymouth,” he confirmed, a quiet smile playing on his lips, “and anywhere interesting between here and there.”

We headed south, the familiar city traffic eventually giving way to the rolling hills and open farmland of the Waikato. Klaas seemed content to watch the landscape unfurl. He’d been to New Zealand before, he mentioned, many years ago, on a business trip that had barely allowed him to see anything beyond a conference room. This time, he’d booked several days to properly soak in the west coast of the North Island.

Our first real stop was Hamilton. Not for the city itself, but for a brief wander through the gardens. He wanted to see the Māori village and the formal gardens, things he’d read about. We arrived mid-morning, and the place was already buzzing with life. Klaas was particularly taken with the intricate carving on the meeting house, pointing out details I hadn't quite noticed myself before. He asked if I ever felt jaded, seeing these sights day in and day out. I told him that every passenger brought a new perspective, that it was like seeing them for the first time through their eyes. He nodded, a thoughtful look on his face.

Back on the road, the landscape began to shift as we continued south on State Highway 3. The hills grew steeper, more dramatic, and the farmland gave way to pockets of native bush. Klaas pointed out a large stand of gum trees, telling me about how they were often seen as an invasive species back home, but he found them majestic here, particularly against the backdrop of the green rolling hills. He spoke about how different the perception of nature could be, depending on where you lived.

As we approached the coast, the air started to carry that distinct salty tang. The light began to soften as the afternoon wore on, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. We stopped at a small café in Te Kuiti for a cup of coffee and a quick bite. The owner was telling stories about the old days of farming in the region, and Klaas listened intently, his brow furrowed in concentration.

We talked a little about the differences between his home country and New Zealand. He mentioned the sheer scale of everything here, the vastness of the land and the sky, compared to the densely populated and carefully cultivated landscapes of the Netherlands. He hadn't really known what to expect of Taranaki, beyond Mount Taranaki itself, and he was clearly intrigued by the reports of surf and rugged coastline that had been appearing in his guide books.

By the time we crested the final rise and the lights of New Plymouth twinkled in the distance, the sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a long, dramatic silhouette of the mountain towards us. It was a powerful sight. Klaas didn’t say much; he just looked, his gaze fixed on the mountain’s perfectly formed cone. It was clear that day, and the simple pleasure of the journey, had already begun to fulfill his expectations. He’d arrived ready to explore, and I’d delivered him to the edge of a whole new adventure.