Mount Eden address to Hot Water Beach private car — Priya's family visit

The air was already thick with that late-summer humidity on Sunday morning, the kind that promises a scorcher. I pulled up to the tidy villa in Mount Eden, the sort of place where the roses are always perfectly pruned. A young woman, Priya, stood on the porch, a small duffel bag at her feet. She’d messaged that she was originally from Fiji, visiting family here in Auckland for a bit, and now heading down to the Coromandel for a couple of days before flying out from Auckland again. The plan was a visit to Hot Water Beach to see the famous sand formations, and I’d be picking her up in a couple of days for the return trip.

We got on the motorway heading south, the city traffic mercifully light for a Sunday. Priya had a quiet energy about her, comfortable in her own space. She was polite, appreciative of the chilled water I offered, and seemed content to watch the urban landscape blur into the green fields of the Hauraki Plains. We passed through the usual Sunday morning slow zones around the Bombay Hills – even on a weekend, the Auckland sprawl has its gravitational pull. I pointed out the winding road ahead as we descended, the one that hugs the coastline for a bit before turning inland towards Thames. She nodded, her gaze fixed on the distant shimmering of the Firth of Thames.

Our first proper stop was a little service station just outside of Paeroa, the one with the slightly faded giant L&P bottle. I grabbed a quick flat white and a muesli bar, while Priya bought a couple of postcards and a bottle of water. She mentioned how different the journey felt compared to driving back home, where the roads are often narrower and the distances between towns feel vast. She spoke of the vibrant colours of Fiji, the constant sound of the ocean, and the ease of getting around family properties. Here, she said, it was all about the infrastructure, the smooth tarmac, the clear signage.

As we drove on, the landscape began to change, becoming more rugged, more coastal. The smell of salt started to creep into the air, even with the windows up. We passed through the Karangahake Gorge, a spectacular stretch of road, the old mining relics a silent testament to a different kind of past. I remember telling her about the gold rush days, and she listened intently, her eyes scanning the towering cliffs and the river below. It’s one of my favourite drives, really, this stretch. You feel a million miles from anywhere.

We arrived at Hot Water Beach mid-afternoon. The tide was just starting to recede, revealing the dark, wet sand where the geothermal springs bubble up. Priya walked down towards the water’s edge, her phone already out. There were a few other people scattered about, beginning to dig their own little pools. She found a good spot, not too far from the main area, and set to work with the small spade she’d brought. I watched for a few minutes as she carefully shaped the sand, the steam rising gently from the wet patches. It struck me then, how simple, how perfect, this moment was for her. A little piece of her homeland’s water, but here, on a New Zealand beach.

After about an hour, she’d dug a respectable pool and was sitting contentedly with her feet in the warm water as the sun began its slow descent. I dropped her off at her accommodation nearby, confirming the pickup time for her return trip to Auckland in two days. She thanked me, a genuine smile on her face, the kind that reaches the eyes. As I drove away, I thought about her journey, that quiet pilgrimage to see a unique corner of our country, a few days before heading back home halfway across the world. Sometimes, it’s the simplest things that bring the most peace.