Albany office to Taupō private car — Léa's family visit

September can still throw a curveball here in Auckland, and this Tuesday morning was proof. The sky had a bruised, plum-coloured look to it, heavy with the promise of a proper downpour, though the rain itself hadn’t quite committed. My usual route out of Albany, heading south towards the motorway, was already feeling the squeeze of the early office traffic. I found Léa’s building easily enough – a sleek glass-and-steel affair that looked more Silicon Valley than business park, even on a damp, grey morning. She emerged with a small, smart suitcase and a well-worn book tucked under her arm. She looked younger than I’d expected, maybe late twenties, with a thoughtful air about her. She was heading to Taupō to see her aunt, who’d been unwell. It was her first time in New Zealand, and she was clearly eager to get underway.

We joined the queue heading south on State Highway 1, the city slowly giving way to suburbia, then to the rolling farmland of the Waikato. Léa had her nose pressed close to the window for a while, taking it all in. She’d spent the last few years working in software development in Paris, a far cry from the vast, green landscapes unfolding before us. She told me a little about her work, the demanding deadlines and the vibrant city life she’d left behind, even if just for a short visit. The book she was carrying, I noticed, was a collection of essays by Albert Camus. A heavy read for a road trip, but then again, she mentioned she found the contemplation of the landscape a good accompaniment to philosophical thought.

Past Hamilton, where the road straightened and the industrial edges softened into more pastoral scenes, the weather finally decided to join in. A steady, persistent rain began to fall, blurring the edges of the distant hills. We stopped at a small café in Tirau, the corrugated iron town, for a quick coffee and a stretch. The rain had eased to a drizzle by then, and the air smelled clean and damp. Léa seemed to appreciate the break, the chance to step out and breathe. She bought a small, brightly coloured ceramic sheep from the gift shop, a souvenir of the Waikato’s ubiquitous livestock.

As we continued south, the conversation flowed a little more easily. She spoke of her aunt residing in Taupō for the past decade, a life dedicated to botanical research and a quiet existence by the lake. It was a lifestyle Léa herself seemed to contemplate, a peaceful counterpoint to the intensity of her Parisian life. She wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from Taupō itself, beyond visiting her aunt and the lake. She’d seen pictures, of course, but pictures never quite capture the scale or the feel of a place, did they? She mentioned that her aunt had always spoken of the clear skies and the vibrant blue of the lake, a stark contrast to the often-overcast skies of France. I agreed, though I knew that grey, rainy days could happen here too, especially in spring.

Driving through the Reporoa valley, the landscape began to change again, becoming more rugged as we approached the central plateau. The road climbed, winding through stands of pine and native bush. The vastness of New Zealand really started to sink in. Léa was quiet for a long stretch, simply watching the world go by. I could sense she was absorbing it all, filing it away. She told me her aunt suffered from a chronic illness, and this visit was as much about support as it was about family connection. She planned to stay for about ten days, helping with household tasks and just being present.

As we descended towards Taupō, the clouds began to break. Patches of blue sky appeared, and a weak, watery sun managed to glint off the still, dark surface of the lake. The air felt different here, cooler, cleaner, carrying the scent of water and damp earth. We pulled up outside a pleasant-looking house on the edge of town, set back from the road with a well-tended garden. Léa thanked me, her French accent soft against the quiet of the late afternoon. She looked relieved, and perhaps a little anxious, to be here. I wished her well with her aunt and handed over her suitcase. As I drove away, I saw her take a deep breath, looking out towards the calm, wide expanse of the lake. It’s always a moment of transition, isn’t it? From the journey, to the destination, to whatever comes next.