Cordis Auckland to Hamilton private car — Marco's holiday

The Boxing Day holiday meant things were still quiet around the city, but the Cordis lobby was a different kind of calm. It was that polished, almost reverent silence you get in fancy hotels, where even the hushed footsteps of guests seem to echo. I waited by the concierge desk, the usual gentle nod exchanged. A moment later, a young man approached, pulling a small, wheeled suitcase that looked determined to make a break for it. He had that look about him – a blend of slight disorientation and eager anticipation, common to anyone navigating a foreign country, especially when the natural rhythm of their own days has been so thoroughly disrupted by jet lag and foreign time zones. He scanned the lobby, his eyes eventually landing on my sign.

Marco R. He confirmed with a smile, a few syllables of Italian slipping out before he caught himself and switched to passable English. He was here for a holiday, he explained, wanting to see some of the North Island, and his first stop would be Hamilton. It was a bit of an unusual start to a sightseeing tour, most people head straight for Rotorua or Waitomo from Auckland, but I believe in letting passengers set their own pace, their own path. He’d flown in just two days prior, spent Christmas in Auckland, and now he was ready for a change of scenery.

We loaded his rather compact luggage into the boot. The city was breathing easy on this public holiday; the usual Boxing Day shopping crush hadn't quite kicked in, or perhaps it was confined to the retail centres. The drive south on State Highway 1 was smooth, past the sleeping suburbs and out towards the rolling hills of South Auckland. The Bombay Hills were a gentle ascent today, no snarls of traffic, just the steady hum of the engine and the occasional bird call from the roadside bush. We passed through Pokeno, the famous ice cream shop already starting to draw a few vehicles, a testament to its popularity even on a day most people were still digesting Christmas turkey.

Marco sat back, gazing out the window. He’d mentioned he was a photographer, serious about capturing landscapes, and I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he observed the changing scenery. The rich Waikato farmland unfurled, a patchwork quilt of green and brown, interspersed with the occasional stand of trees. Every so often, he’d lean forward, pointing out a particularly striking vista. I found myself slowing down slightly at times, knowing he was trying to get a feel for the place through his lens, even if he wasn't actively taking pictures from the car. He spoke a little about his home city, Florence, the Renaissance art, the Arno river, and how he imagined New Zealand’s natural beauty would offer a completely different kind of aesthetic.

We stopped for a quick coffee at a service station just outside Huntly, a necessary break for both of us. While I stretched my legs and grabbed a flat white, Marco bought a small, brightly coloured packet of local sweets. He examined them with the curiosity of someone tasting something entirely new, then offered me one. They were sugary, fruity, and very Kiwi. He told me he’d always dreamt of visiting New Zealand, drawn by images of its dramatic landscapes, and this trip was the culmination of years of planning. He’d been travelling solo for a couple of weeks before meeting me, exploring Auckland, but he felt he hadn't really seen the 'real' New Zealand yet, the one that existed beyond the city limits.

As we approached Hamilton, the landscape shifted subtly. The flat plains became a little more undulating, the Waikato River occasionally visible, a silver ribbon weaving through the green. He seemed content, a quiet satisfaction settling over him. He spoke of it being his first time visiting this part of the world, and how the sheer scale of the empty spaces between towns was impressive to him, coming from a densely populated country. He asked about the sheep, remarking on how they seemed to be everywhere, dotting the hillsides like little white clouds. I explained the importance of the agricultural sector to the region, something he found fascinating.

Pulling up to his accommodation in Hamilton, Marco thanked me warmly. He had a few days there before heading north again, eager to explore further. As he gathered his one piece of luggage, he expressed his appreciation for the conversation and the smooth journey. It was a simple trip, Auckland to Hamilton, but for Marco, it was clearly another step on an important journey of discovery. I watched him go, that small suitcase bumping along beside him, a solitary figure ready to absorb more of this land he had travelled so far to find. Another day, another stretch of road, another story unfolding.