Hilton Auckland to Whangārei private car — Liam's holiday

The doorman at the Hilton Auckland was polishing the brasswork on the revolving door with a cloth as a crisp, white Mercedes pulled up. My usual morning routine involves a strong flat white from the café near my place, but this one was from a new spot on Customs Street that gave me a bit of heartburn. Still, the sun was out, and a job was a job. A young bloke, probably late twenties, stepped out of the hotel, looking like he'd just stepped off a plane. He had that slightly bewildered look of someone trying to get their bearings in a new city, but with a hint of excitement too. He’d booked through my website a few weeks back, an intercity trip up to Whangārei. Holiday, he’d put down. Not a lot more detail than that. He climbed into the back of the Merc, and I felt that familiar old question bubble up in my mind: what was his story?

We set off heading north, leaving the city behind. He was quiet at first, just watching the buildings give way to the harbour views, then the motorway sprawl. I took the Western Ring Route, trying to avoid the worst of the traffic snarls that can build up on the Northern Motorway, especially on a Saturday. He didn't seem to mind the quiet, though. He’d brought a book, something about the history of New Zealand rugby, but he wasn't reading it. Just held it on his lap, occasionally glancing out the window. I offered him a water bottle from the cooler in the front, and he took one, nodding his thanks. He mentioned he was from Perth. That was about all I got out of him for the first hour.

As we crossed the Harbour Bridge and headed towards the Hibiscus Coast, the landscape started to open up. The city was a distant smudge in the rearview mirror, replaced by undulating green hills and glimpses of the blue sea. He started to point things out then, asking about the different bays. I told him about Army Bay, Tindalls Beach, the general area. He seemed genuinely interested, not just making polite conversation. He put his book down and leaned forward a bit, his eyes scanning the horizon. He’d apparently been planning this trip for a while, ever since a mate told him about the beaches up north. He knew a bit about the country, the rugby history, a few of the ski fields he hoped to visit down the track, but it was the coastal side of things that had drawn him to the Northland. He’d seen photos of the water, the native bush, and decided to make a go of it.

We stopped for a break at a little café just north of Warkworth. It was one of those places that feels like it’s been there forever, with mismatched chairs and the scent of baking wafting from the kitchen. He ordered a steak and cheese pie and a coffee. While I was getting my own usual black Americano, he struck up a conversation with the owner, asking about local fishing spots. He seemed to be soaking up every bit of information he could get. When we got back in the car, he seemed more relaxed, more settled. He told me he was a carpenter back home, and that he’d always loved the look of the old wooden boats he’d seen in magazines, the ones that still sailed around the Hauraki Gulf.

As we continued north, the roads got narrower, more winding. The native bush pressed in closer on either side. Some early flowering native plants were showing their colours, a hint of summer on its way. He commented on how different it was to the bush country he’d seen in the South Island on a trip a couple of years back, but said this felt more… wilder somehow. He spoke about wanting to find a quiet spot to sketch for a few days, just get away from the usual hustle. He wasn’t looking for the big, crowded tourist spots, he said, just the quiet corners, the places where you could hear the birds and smell the salt in the air. He’d even packed a small sketchbook and some pencils, just in case.

We passed through Whangārei. He’d booked a small bach, a holiday cabin, about twenty minutes out of town, right on the coast. As we turned off the main highway, the road became gravel, winding down towards a small bay. The sea was a brilliant turquoise, edged with white sand. He thanked me as I pulled up outside the little cabin, a simple wooden structure with a deck overlooking the water. He picked up his small bag and his sketchbook, a quiet smile on his face. It looked like he’d found exactly what he was looking for. I waved goodbye, and as I turned the car around, I felt a sense of quiet satisfaction. Just another short drive, really, but for Liam, it was the start of something else entirely.