Naumi Hotel Auckland Airport to Miranda private car — Marco's family visit

The Naumi Hotel at Auckland Airport always has a certain hush about it. Even with the constant hum of traffic on State Highway 20 just beyond the grounds, inside there’s a sort of tranquil bubble. That’s where I found Marco on a Thursday morning in mid-November. The air outside was starting to show that late spring warmth, a promise of summer already in the breeze. He had that look of someone who’d been in transit for a while, an easy tiredness that travel seems to impart. He was dressed smartly but comfortably, a light jacket over a plain t-shirt, a well-worn backpack sitting neatly by his feet. He was heading south, towards Miranda, a place I know well for its holiday park and, of course, the Miranda Shorebird Centre. Not a typical tourist destination, which always makes me curious about the finer details.

He told me he was from Bologna, a city famous for its food and its history, and he was coming to New Zealand to visit his sister, who had been living here for a few years. This was his first time visiting her in New Zealand, and the reason for his trip was her upcoming wedding. He spoke English well, with that distinct Italian melodic quality, and seemed genuinely excited about the journey ahead, even if it was just a few hours in my car. He was looking forward to seeing the Hauraki Plains and, in his words, "experiencing the real New Zealand, away from the big cities." He’d booked an Airbnb near Miranda, and his sister was meeting him there.

The initial stretch of the Southern Motorway was its usual busy self, a ballet of cars and trucks heading in all directions. We cleared the airport junction and joined the flow. As we passed through Manukau and then headed onto State Highway 1 towards Bombay, the urban sprawl began to give way to rolling green hills. I pointed out the Bombay Hills, explaining how the landscape changes dramatically once you crest them, the Waikato region opening up below. Marco seemed to absorb it all, his gaze sweeping across the fields and the distant cloud formations. He mentioned how different it looked from the Italian countryside, where the agriculture had a different rhythm, a different hue. He was particularly fascinated by the sheep, commenting on their abundance. I chuckled, telling him they were practically a national symbol.

We stopped for coffee just past Pokeno, at one of the service stations. It was a quick break, a chance to stretch our legs. The sky was a bright, almost aggressive blue, typical of a good November day. Back in the car, the conversation flowed more easily. He shared more about his sister, how she’d fallen in love with a Kiwi bloke and decided to make a life for herself here. He spoke with a quiet pride about her independence and her adventurous spirit. He’d tried to persuade her to come back to Italy, but she was happier here, he admitted. He’d even learned a few Maori phrases, which he practiced slowly, stumbling over the pronunciation a little, but with a good spirit. He told me he was an engineer, working on bridges back in Italy. It struck me that he appreciated structures, but here he was, appreciating the natural landscape, the bridges of the Hauraki Plains visible in the distance as we turned off State Highway 1 onto State Highway 2.

The drive along the western side of the Firth of Thames is always pleasant. The road winds, offering glimpses of the water and then ducking into pockets of bush and farmland. The air grew warmer, more humid, as we approached Miranda. We passed through small settlements, each with its own character, before the flatlands of the Hauraki Plains opened up more fully. Marco pointed out the intricate network of drains and waterways, a testament to the farming that dominated the area. He said his sister had described the place as very peaceful, almost sleepy, and he seemed to be finding that to be true.

As we pulled up to the address he’d given me, a charming little bach nestled amongst some trees, a woman with a radiant smile came bounding out. It was clearly his sister. The reunion was warm and immediate, a flurry of embraces and smiles. Marco gave me a grateful nod, a word of thanks. I watched for a moment as they walked hand-in-hand towards the house, two siblings bridging the vast distance between continents and worlds. It’s moments like these, the quiet arrivals, the reunions, that make the long drives worthwhile. I waved goodbye and turned the car back towards Auckland, the bright afternoon sun now casting long shadows across the plains. It had been a good trip, a simple drive south, but one filled with the quiet joy of connection.