Auckland CBD office to Taupō private car — Léa's holiday

October in Auckland can be a funny old month. You get brilliant, crisp sunny days, then others that are just damp and grey, the kind that make you want to stay inside with a cuppa. This Monday morning, the latter seemed to be winning. The sky was a uniform, soft overcast as I pulled up to the gleaming office building in the CBD. Inside, a young woman with bright eyes and a serious, practical-looking backpack was waiting. She introduced herself as Léa M. and explained she was from France, looking to explore a bit of the North Island before her flight home.

She’d booked a direct run down to Taupō. Apparently, her initial plan had been to hire a car, but after looking at maps and considering the driving on the other side of the road, she’d decided to let someone else handle the navigation. Smart move, I thought. The Auckland traffic was, as usual for a Monday morning, slowly grinding its way out of the city. We crawled through the Khyber Pass onramp, then joined the steady stream heading south on the Southern Motorway. Léa seemed content to watch the passing urban sprawl, occasionally pointing out something that reminded her of home, or so I gathered from her gestures and the soft murmur of French.

Once we cleared the Bombay Hills and the road opened up, the pace picked up. The Waikato landscape, still a bit muted in the early spring light, began to unroll. We passed through Pokeno, then Huntly, the usual landmarks appearing on our left and right. Léa had a small guidebook and was tracing our route with her finger. She mentioned, in passing, that she'd spent a few days in Auckland visiting a friend, but that the real adventure for her was heading inland, away from the coast. I understood that. The heartland has its own kind of draw, especially at this time of year when the paddocks are starting to green up after the winter.

We stopped at Tirau, the corrugated iron capital, for a quick coffee and a stretch. The air was cool and clean. Léa bought a small, intricately carved wooden kiwi, which she carefully packed away. She seemed fascinated by the sheer ordinariness of the towns we passed through – the local bakeries, the rows of houses, the ubiquitous dairy shops. Back on the road, heading towards the rolling hills that signal the approach to Taupō, the conversation turned, in a more detailed way, to her trip. She was heading to Taupō for a few days, then planned to get a bus to Rotorua for some geothermal wonders, and finally make her way to the Coromandel Peninsula before her flight out of Auckland.

She’d brought a small sketchpad with her, and as we drove through the picturesque countryside, the light began to break through the clouds, casting long shadows and illuminating the fields in patches of gold. She started to sketch, quick, confident lines capturing the sweep of a hill, the shape of a distant farmhouse. It was a quiet, focused activity. I realised then that for Léa, this wasn't just a holiday; it was a deliberate immersion. She wasn't trying to tick off sights from a list, but rather to absorb the feeling of the place, to translate the landscape into her own artistic language.

As we descended towards Taupō, the vast expanse of the lake shimmering under the now-breaking sun, there was a sense of arrival. The air felt different here, lighter somehow, carrying the scent of pine from the surrounding forests. She thanked me, her eyes bright with anticipation. I watched her walk towards the lakefront, guidebook in hand, already scanning the horizon, ready to begin the next chapter of her exploration. It always strikes me, these journeys people take, seeking out new perspectives, new ways of seeing the world. I had a booking for a return fare the next morning, so I found a motel for the night, the quiet hum of the engine and the unfolding road a familiar comfort.