Howick address to Whitianga private car — Lars's holiday

The morning mist was still clinging to the gutters when I pulled up to the Howick address. November in Auckland, and the air had that slightly damp, earthy smell that signals spring is finally settling in. My passenger, Lars, was already waiting on the porch, a single, sturdy-looking backpack at his feet. He was one of those quiet types, tall and fair-haired, with a thoughtful expression as he surveyed the car. He’d come over from Denmark on a working holiday a few years back and had settled in Auckland, but this was his first real foray into exploring the Coromandel Peninsula.

His plan was simple: a few days of exploring the beaches and small towns around Whitianga, a bit of hiking, and generally just soaking up the coastal vibe. He’d lived in the city long enough to appreciate the contrast nature offered. I took his bag, showed him the door’s lock, and we pulled away just as the sun was starting to properly break through the clouds. The drive out of East Auckland usually has its moments, especially heading towards the motorways, but on this Monday morning, things were flowing surprisingly well. We chatted briefly about the route, and he mentioned he was keen to see the Karangahake Gorge on the way, a place he'd heard described as having a unique sort of raw beauty.

As we headed south on State Highway 2, bypassing the turn-off for Hamilton and making our way towards Paeroa, the landscape started to change. The rolling farmland gave way to more rugged hills, and the Waihou River appeared, a braided silver ribbon alongside the road. Lars pointed out a pair of black shags perched on a fence post, their wings spread wide to catch the warming sun. He told me he’d always been fascinated by New Zealand birds, their distinct calls and appearances. Back home, he said, the birdlife was much more subdued, more songbirds and fewer of the exotic-looking characters we have here.

We stopped at a small café in Waihi for a coffee and a stretch. The air was clean, carrying the scent of damp earth and maybe a hint of pine from the nearby forestry blocks. Lars bought a couple of meat pies, eyeing them with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation for a proper Kiwi lunch. He got talking to the young woman behind the counter, asking about local walking tracks. This was the kind of genuine interaction he seemed to enjoy, the small moments of connection that helped him understand a place beyond the postcard views.

The Karangahake Gorge was, as he’d hoped, spectacular. We pulled over at one of the viewpoints, the old mining relics rust-coloured against the green of the bush. The river tumbled over rocks below, a constant, powerful sound even from a distance. Lars stood there for a good ten minutes, just looking. He didn't say much, but his quiet appreciation spoke volumes. He told me his grandfather had been a stonemason back in Denmark, and he had a deep respect for places where human endeavour had carved its mark on the landscape, especially when nature eventually started to reclaim it. He wasn’t interested in rushing; the point of the trip was to absorb, not to tick boxes.

As we continued towards Whitianga, the road twisted and turned, offering glimpses of the turquoise water as we got closer to the coast. The Coromandel Peninsula really does have a way of making you feel like you’re entering a different world, a more relaxed one. The last stretch as we approached Whitianga involved navigating some of the narrow, winding roads that are typical of the area. I pointed out a few of the local beaches as we passed signposts, explaining which ones were known for surfing and which for calmer swimming.

He was staying in a small bach just out of town, quite close to Buffalo Beach. I helped him with his bag, and he thanked me with a firm handshake. He mentioned he was looking forward to an evening of unpacking, maybe a walk along the shore, and waking up to the sound of the waves. As I drove away, the afternoon sun was painting the sky in shades of orange and pink over the Hauraki Gulf. It was the kind of evening that made you understand why people like Lars sought out these coastal corners of the country. He wanted a slice of that peace, and I had a feeling the Coromandel would deliver. My drive back was quiet, just the hum of the engine and the fading light, a typical solo return journey after a good day’s work.