Auckland Harbour Suites to Turangi private car — Linh's trip

August in Auckland can still hold a certain chill in the air, but as I pulled up to the Harbour Suites, the sky was a clear, pale blue. A few early wisps of cloud were starting to gather over Rangitoto, hinting at the changeable weather that always seems to characterise spring. My passenger, Linh D, was waiting by the entrance. She had an understated grace about her, carrying a single, smart-looking duffel bag. We’d spoken briefly on the phone when she booked, her English clear and precise, and I’d sensed a quiet determination straight away.

“Turangi,” I confirmed as she settled into the back. She nodded, arranging her bag neatly at her feet. As we joined the main flow of traffic heading south over the Harbour Bridge, I explained the usual route, pointing out the early signs of holiday traffic despite it being a Thursday. Turangi is a fair trek from Auckland, and even though it wasn't a super late finish, it would be a solid day on the road. Linh seemed content just to watch the city recede, her gaze steady. The initial stretch of SH1 through the northern suburbs and past the airport is always a bit of a crawl, but once we cleared Manukau and hit the open road towards the Bombay Hills, the pace picked up.

The landscape began to soften, the sharp edges of the city smoothing out into rolling farmland edged with the dark green of pine forests. We passed through Pokeno, a popular stop for those infamous doughnuts, but it was still a bit early for a detour. The sun was climbing higher now, warming the car through the large windows. Linh hadn't said much, perhaps still adjusting to the journey, or maybe just appreciating the quiet transit. I often find that some passengers prefer to simply absorb the journey, and I’m perfectly happy to provide that space. My job is to get them there safely and comfortably, and sometimes the best way to do that is to let the miles speak for themselves.

We stopped for a coffee and a stretch near Huntly, a town I know well for its industrial history but also its pleasant river plains. Linh took a small, energy-efficient bottle of water and a wrapped muesli bar from her bag, eating thoughtfully as we stood by the car. She mentioned, with a faint smile, that she was a regular visitor to Turangi, usually for a few weeks at a time. It wasn't for work, precisely, but something more personal, a commitment she seemed to take very seriously. She spoke of a small community there, people she’d met on previous visits, and how she was looking forward to reconnecting.

As we continued south, the Waikato River became a constant companion, its wide, placid surface reflecting the increasingly dramatic sky. The countryside here is so vibrantly green, especially after recent rains, a constant reminder of what a fertile patch of land the Waikato is. We passed through Ngaruawahia and then Cambridge, known for its equine studs, the impressive horses often visible in paddocks. Linh eventually pulled out a small, well-worn book of poetry. She didn't read aloud, but I could see her lips occasionally moving as she followed the lines, her focus absolute.

Approaching Tirau, with its corrugated iron corgis and sheep, we turned onto SH5, the route towards Rotorua and then the final leg to Turangi. The terrain began to change again, becoming more undulating, the farmland giving way to more substantial forestry plantations and then the distinctive grey-blue hues of the Kaimanawa Forest Park later on. The air grew cooler as we gained a little altitude. Linh closed her book and watched the scenery intently, pointing out a hawk circling high above the road near Atiamuri. She told me it reminded her of the kites her grandfather used to fly when she was a child, back in Vietnam. It was a rare glimpse into her past, a gentle connection offered in the quiet hum of the engine.

By the time the silhouette of the Tongariro National Park’s volcanoes appeared on the horizon – Ngāuruhoe, Ruapehu, and Tongariro itself, stark and majestic against the afternoon sky – Linh seemed to relax, a subtle shift in her posture. She knew she was close. Turangi appeared around a bend, a quiet town nestled by the Tongariro River, overshadowed by the looming mountains. I pulled up to the address she'd given me, a modest home with a well-tended garden even in late winter. She thanked me, her voice warm, a genuine smile finally gracing her lips. As she stepped out, I watched her take a deep breath of the crisp, mountain air, and felt a quiet satisfaction in having played a small part in her journey.