Hotel DeBrett to Whitianga private car — Kura's holiday

The air conditioning in the lobby of Hotel DeBrett was a welcome relief from the February heat swirling around downtown Auckland. Mid-morning sun bounced off the pavement, promising a scorcher for the drive east and the beach town waiting at the end of it. My phone buzzed with the confirmation, and I stepped out to meet my passenger. Kura M was standing just inside the glass doors, a compact woman with a bright floral dress and a readiness that seemed to hum beneath her skin. She had a single, stylish carry-on bag. Her flight from Rarotonga had brought her to Auckland for a few days before heading to the Coromandel, a part of New Zealand she’d only ever seen in photos.

We loaded her bag and set off. The city traffic was its usual busy self, a river of brake lights flowing towards the Southern Motorway. Kura seemed unfazed, already gazing out the window as we navigated the Bombay Hills. She pointed out the distinctive shape of the cones on the roadside, small differences from back home. She’d been planning this trip for over a year, a solo holiday to recharge and explore. She mentioned she’d read about the Coromandel’s hot pools and the famous Cathedral Cove, and her eyes lit up a little at the thought. The heat outside was intense, the kind that makes you wish for a sea breeze, and I could feel the road ahead starting to bake.

We stopped for a break just after Thames, at a little patch of green by the water. The air here was thick with the smell of salt and damp earth. Kura bought a cold fizzy drink and a pastry, and we sat for a few minutes, the silence punctuated only by the distant cry of seagulls and the low hum of traffic on the road that hugged the coast. She told me a bit about growing up in Rarotonga, about the easy pace of life and the constant presence of the ocean. It sounded idyllic, a stark contrast to the steady advance of tourism and the pressures that come with it, even on paradise islands.

As we continued east towards Whitianga, the landscape shifted. The coastal road gave way to rolling hills dotted with sheep, then to the dense green of native bush. The road narrowed, winding through the Karangahake Gorge, a place I always enjoy driving. The old mining relics are a testament to a different era, and the river runs strong and clear alongside the asphalt. Kura seemed mesmerised by the cliffs and the water, occasionally taking photos with her phone. She’d never experienced anything quite like the dramatic scenery of the Coromandel. She mentioned that back home, the tallest things you usually saw were coconut trees or the occasional church spire.

We passed through the small towns, each with its own main street and a handful of shops. The heat seemed to be lifting slightly as the afternoon wore on, replaced by a pleasant warmth. By the time we reached the turn-off for Whitianga, the sun was starting its slow descent, casting long shadows across the fields. Kura was relaxed now, her initial eagerness settling into a quiet anticipation. She spoke about wanting to just walk the beaches, swim in the sea, and maybe even try some fishing. It was a simple plan, but one that suited the laid-back charm of the area, a charm that reminded her, in fleeting moments, of home.

As we pulled up to her accommodation, a small bach looking out towards the water, the sky was beginning to paint itself with soft oranges and pinks. She thanked me, her smile wide and genuine. I unloaded her bag, the sounds of the evening air starting to drift in – the faint buzz of cicadas, the distant murmur of waves. I wished her a wonderful stay, and watched her walk towards the door, already looking like she belonged there. I’d find a motel for the night myself, ready for whatever tomorrow brought. The quiet satisfaction of a smooth journey and a happy passenger made the long day worthwhile.