Devonport address to Rotorua private car — Sofia's family visit

The morning sun glinted off the Waitematā Harbour as I drove across the Harbour Bridge, heading for my next pickup in Devonport. A quiet, elegant little area, the kind that people dream of settling into. My passenger, Sofia, was heading to Rotorua to see her aunt.

She met me at the gate, a small suitcase in hand. Sofia looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine, all understated style. She had that calm composure that sometimes comes from living far away and having a lot of travel under your belt. Her flight from Santiago had landed in Auckland the day before, giving her a night to adjust before this final leg. She mentioned her aunt lived in Rotorua for years, had fallen in love with the geothermal landscape and never left. It sounded like a good kind of spell to be under.

We set off, heading south. The Auckland traffic was a bit sticky leaving the North Shore, but once we were on the motorway, things smoothed out. Sofia was looking out the window, absorbed in the passing scenery. She pointed out the different shades of green in the fields, all the sheep grazing peacefully. It’s funny, you see it every day, but sometimes when you hear someone else point it out, you notice it again – how vibrant the countryside is here, especially in early November. The pohutukawa hadn't quite started their Christmas red, but the promise of summer was definitely in the air.

We stopped for a coffee in Cambridge, a familiar, reliable spot. Sofia ordered a flat white, and I grabbed my usual long black. She told me a bit about her life in Chile, working in Santiago as an architect. It always amazes me the different paths people take, what draws them to certain careers. She spoke fondly of her family, the annual visits to New Zealand becoming a treasured tradition. This time, however, there was a bittersweet undercurrent. Her aunt, the one she was going to visit, had been unwell. It wasn't anything dire, but enough to make Sofia want to be there, to reconnect and offer support.

As we drove through Matamata, the rolling green hills reminded her of parts of the Chilean countryside, though she admitted it was greener here, lusher. The signs for Hobbiton were everywhere, of course. I told her it was a popular stop, but she was focused on her destination. We passed through Tirau, with its corrugated iron sculptures, and then the landscape began to change again as we approached Rotorua. The air felt different, carrying that faint, characteristic scent of sulphur. Steam rose from the ground in places, hinting at the geothermal power beneath our feet.

She was quiet for most of the last stretch, lost in thought. I could sense the mix of anticipation and a touch of apprehension she felt about seeing her aunt. It’s a moment many of us face – heading towards someone we love, knowing that things might have shifted, preparing for whatever the reunion might bring. You hope for the best, of course, but life has a way of throwing curveballs.

We arrived at the address in Rotorua, a neat house with a welcoming porch and a garden that suggested a lot of care. Sofia thanked me, her smile warm but a little weary. I watched her walk up the path, a solitary figure with her suitcase, ready to step into her family’s embrace. I pulled away, heading back towards the motorway, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows. It had been a good trip, a quiet journey filled with the ordinary beauty of travel and the deeper currents of human connection and family.