Howick address to Rotorua private car — Anjali's business trip

The day broke grey and a bit nippy when I headed out from my place in Manurewa to pick up Priya K from her Howick address. August in Auckland. You get used to the chill, but it still bites sometimes, especially in the early hours before the sun really gets going. Priya was ready and waiting on the doorstep, her suitcase looking a little too clean for a business trip, I thought. She had a smart, understated outfit on, the kind that says serious business without shouting about it. I helped her with her bag, and we were off, heading east first to link up with the Southern Motorway.

The drive out of the city can be a bit of a bottleneck, even on a Thursday morning, but we cleared Howick and were soon making good time. Priya was quiet at first, just looking out the window as we passed through the familiar suburbs. I let her have her space. You learn pretty quickly that some folk just want to sit back and enjoy the ride, maybe even catch a few minutes of peace before the day’s demands kick in. I focused on the road, the rhythm of the engine, the steady hum of the tyres on the asphalt.

Once we were on the SH1 south, the landscape started to open up a bit. Passing through the Bombay Hills is always a good sign, a sort of gateway out of the immediate Auckland sprawl. The hills themselves are beautiful, green and lush, even in late winter. We made our usual stop at Pokeno for a quick stretch and to let the engine cool off for a moment. It’s a good spot, that little town. Always feels a bit like stepping back in time, a welcome break from the highway rush. Priya bought a coffee, a small gesture, but you notice these things. She seemed a bit more relaxed after that short pause.

Back on the road, the miles rolled by. We passed through Huntly, the landscape becoming flatter as we approached the Waikato River. Ngaruawahia. This is the stretch where the terrain really starts to shift. I remember explaining to Priya, more to myself really, about the different soil types that contribute to the rich farmland here in the Waikato. It’s a pretty special part of the country, fertile and sprawling.

She eventually started to open up a little. She told me her trip to Rotorua was for a conference related to her work in software development. She’d been in Auckland for a few days prior, attending meetings, and now this conference was the main event. She explained that her company was expanding its operations in New Zealand, and this was a key opportunity for her to connect with potential partners and clients. She spoke with a quiet confidence about her field, detailing the complexities of data management and cloud infrastructure with an ease that suggested she was truly passionate about her work. It’s always fascinating to hear about the different worlds people inhabit, the specialised knowledge they possess that shapes their days and careers.

As we neared Hamilton, I pointed out the Cambridge turn-off, and soon after, we took the exit for State Highway 5 towards Rotorua. The road to Rotorua from here is a different beast altogether. It winds its way through the heart of the Waikato, past farms and smaller settlements. Then, the landscape starts to change again as you get closer to the geothermal heartland. You can almost feel a subtle shift in the air, a faint, earthy scent that hints at the volcanic activity beneath the surface. Tirau, the corrugated iron town, always brings a smile to my face. It’s a quirky landmark, a bit of roadside humour that breaks up the journey.

From Tirau, the road really starts to climb and dip, carving its way through rolling hills. The vegetation changes too, becoming denser, sometimes a bit wilder. Priya was keen to see the geothermal sights, even for a brief glimpse. I mentioned the geysers and mud pools, the unique energy of Rotorua. She said she’d heard so much about it and was looking forward to experiencing it, even with her busy schedule. She mentioned that her parents back in India were fascinated by New Zealand’s natural wonders, and she’d promised to send them pictures of the landscape and perhaps even a small souvenir.

The final stretch into Rotorua felt familiar. The pine forests, the signs for various tourist attractions, the unmistakable smell that gets stronger the closer you get. I navigated through the town, heading towards her hotel. The day had been long, but mostly smooth. Priya thanked me sincerely, her initial quietness replaced by a genuine warmth. She had a busy few days ahead, she said, but she was excited about the prospects. I wished her well, hoping her business dealings would be fruitful. As I pulled away, I reflected on the journey. Another day, another destination, another story shared in the quiet confines of the car. It’s these brief encounters, these glimpses into other lives, that make the long hours on the road worthwhile. Driving through the North Island, you see so much of life unfold, right there on the roadside and within the passenger seat. Rotorua, with its unique aroma and geothermal pulse, always feels like a place on the edge of something ancient and powerful. I headed off to my next pick-up, the grey August sky still overhead, but the echo of Priya’s quiet determination staying with me.