Auckland Harbour Suites to Kawhia private car — Kelepi's business trip

The cruise ship passengers were starting to spill out onto Quay Street as I pulled up to the Auckland Harbour Suites, ready for my pickup. It was late December, the air thick with that pre-holiday buzz that always seems to settle over the city. My next fare was booked from the cruise terminal, a bit of a distance away, then out towards the west coast. I waited for Mr. Sione L. to emerge. He was a sizable fellow, dressed in smart casual attire, a stark contrast to the usual tourist wear I sometimes saw disembarking from those big ships. He had the easygoing manner that often comes with people who are comfortable in their own skin, and a warmth in his smile that belied the formality of his dress. He’d flown in, he mentioned, for a few days of business before heading back to his home in Tonga.

We set off, heading south. The harbour traffic was already building, a typical Tuesday in the lead-up to New Year’s. I navigated through the city centre, aiming for the Southern Motorway. Sione seemed content to watch the city recede, the distinctive Auckland skyline shrinking in the rearview mirror. He spoke a little about his work, something to do with fishing quotas and sustainable practices in the Pacific. It sounded important, and he explained the challenges of managing such vast marine resources, especially for island nations where the ocean is so intrinsically tied to their livelihood and culture. He had a deep respect for the sea, a reverence that came through in his voice. He told me how his family had always been connected to the water, fishing and sailing being a way of life for generations.

As we cleared the urban sprawl and hit the open road, the landscape began to change. The rolling hills of the Bombay Hills rose to meet us, a familiar climb. We passed through Pokeno, already anticipating the ice cream queues that would form there in peak summer. The air outside, even with the windows slightly down, felt cleaner, carrying the scent of farmland and damp earth. Sione pointed out a particular type of tree, asking if I knew its name. I confessed I didn't, and he shared its Tongan name, explaining its uses in traditional building and weaving. It’s moments like these, these little exchanges of knowledge, that make my job so much more than just driving from A to B. You get glimpses into other worlds, other cultures, right there in the passenger seat.

We continued through Huntly, the Waikato River a constant companion for a stretch, and then on towards Ngaruawahia. The sky was a brilliant blue, with only a few lazy clouds drifting by. Sione mentioned that while he lived in Tonga, he had spent some time earlier in his life working in the agricultural sector in the North Island, so the scenery wasn't entirely unfamiliar, though it had been many years. He recalled specific farms and districts, sharing anecdotes about the hard work and camaraderie he’d experienced. It was clear he had fond memories of that time. He spoke about the close-knit communities he’d been a part of, the shared effort in bringing in harvests and the sense of satisfaction that came with it. He contrasted that with the more individualistic approach he sometimes saw elsewhere, underscoring the value he placed on collective effort and mutual support.

Our route took us west, leaving the main highway for smaller, winding roads. The land opened up into vast pastures, dotted with sheep and cattle. The coast was getting closer, and I could sense the change in the air, a faint salty tang. Kawhia itself is a quiet, unassuming town, a place that feels a world away from the bustle of Auckland. It’s known for its black sand beach and its historical significance as a landing place for the Tainui waka. As we approached the small cluster of buildings that constitute the town centre, Sione began to relax visibly, his posture softening. He told me how Kawhia held a special place in the hearts of many Tongan families who had settled in New Zealand, a link to their ancestral home, and a place of quiet reflection.

He shared that the town had a particular significance for him personally, beyond just his business dealings. It was a place where he felt a connection to the ancestral voyaging canoes that had brought his people to Aotearoa centuries ago. He spoke about the legends and the voyages, the incredible feats of navigation and courage. He talked about the importance of understanding and respecting these historical ties, acknowledging the deep roots that Tongan people had in these lands, long before European settlement. He said that visiting Kawhia always felt like coming home in a different way, a resonance with the past that was both humbling and inspiring.

I dropped him off at a sturdy, functional building on the edge of town, a place that looked like it meant business, set against the backdrop of the ocean. He thanked me warmly, his initial reserve entirely gone, replaced by a genuine friendliness. He offered me a small, intricately carved wooden ornament as a gesture of appreciation. It depicted a marlin, a powerful symbol of the sea. I accepted it gratefully, admiring the craftsmanship. As he walked away, I watched him go, this man who had travelled from the islands and was now engaged in important work on the mainland, carrying his heritage with him. It was more than just a business trip; it was a journey that connected him to his roots, even as he forged new paths. The drive back to Auckland felt different, tinged with the stories and insights shared. The setting sun cast long shadows across the paddies and the rolling hills, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. It was a reminder of the vastness of the land and the multitude of stories it held, each passenger a chapter waiting to be discovered.