Cordis Auckland to Whitianga private car — Mateo's holiday

The Cordis lobby, even in the early afternoon light of a Tuesday in September, always feels a bit hushed, like a library that’s secretly hosting a grand event. I spotted Mateo R. near the florist, a well-dressed man with kind eyes that looked a little lost amidst the polished marble. He was here on holiday, he told me, leaving the bright lights of Auckland behind for the coastal charm of Whitianga. My usual route, of course, takes us southeast through the Waikato and then north-east towards the Coromandel Peninsula.

He settled into the back seat with a quiet sigh, the kind that comes with releasing a breath you didn't realise you were holding. “It’s been a busy few days,” he explained, as we navigated the city’s exit routes. He’d spent them immersed in business meetings, the kind that require a sharp suit and sharper thinking. Now, the suit was packed away, replaced by comfortable travel clothes, and the sharp thinking was reserved for spotting the best views on the drive. Mateo was originally from Mexico City, a place I’ve only seen in documentaries, a vast and vibrant metropolis. He spoke fondly of its energy, but also, I sensed, was eager for the gentle pace New Zealand offers.

The drive down through Bombay and Pokeno is familiar territory. The traffic on Tuesdays isn’t usually too bad, and we made good time. I always enjoy this stretch, especially once we’re beyond Mercer and the landscape starts to open up. Mateo, meanwhile, had pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook and was sketching. I glimpsed a few lines – a tree, a distant hill – and I assumed he was an artist, or perhaps an architect. When I asked, he just smiled and said, “Just capturing moments. The way the light hits the grass, the shape of the clouds.” It was a simple, beautiful way to travel.

We stopped for coffee at a little spot just off SH2, near the turnoff for the Karangahake Gorge. The aroma of roasting beans filled the air as he ordered a flat white, a familiar request even in small-town Kiwi cafés. He told me a little more about Mexico City then, about the street art that transforms entire neighbourhoods, the scent of street food, the sheer scale of it all. He enjoyed the organised chaos there, he admitted, but found a different kind of beauty in the more ordered, almost gentle way of life he’d encountered here. He was trying to find that stillness, I gathered, something his busy life didn’t always allow.

As we headed into the Coromandel proper, the scenery shifted. Rolling hills gave way to more dramatic, tree-clad slopes, and the air, even with the windows up, seemed to carry a hint of salt. The road narrows, twisting and turning, demanding my full attention, but also offering breathtaking glimpses of the sea. Mateo put his sketchbook away and just watched, his earlier quietness replaced with a visible sense of wonder. He pointed out the lush greenery, the patches of vibrant blue sky peeking through the clouds, trying to articulate in words what he’d been trying to capture on paper.

We continued along SH2, then turned onto SH26 towards Kopu, and then SH25, winding along the coastline. The houses started to grow more sparse, replaced by bachs nestled into hillsides and hidden coves. It felt like we were entering a different world, one where the rhythm of life is dictated by the tides and the sun. Mateo seemed to relax even further, his shoulders dropping as we neared our destination. He mentioned he’d chosen Whitianga for its reputation as a place of quiet beauty, a contrast to his usual hectic work schedule back home.

Arriving in Whitianga, the late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the water and the small boats moored in the harbour. I pulled up to his accommodation, a neat little place with a view. He thanked me, his eyes crinkling at the corners, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Thank you, Harry. It was a perfect drive.” As he gathered his bags, he held up his notebook. “I think I got some good lines today,” he said. I nodded, knowing he’d found more than just lines; he’d found a bit of peace on the road north. I watched him walk towards the door, a solitary figure ready to embrace the quiet charm of the Coromandel, and I turned the car around, heading back towards the city lights, the image of the coastal road still fresh in my mind.