Jet Park Hotel Auckland Airport to Whakapapa private car — Wei's conference trip

The mid-winter chill had settled over South Auckland by the time I arrived at the Jet Park Hotel. Thick cloud hugged the airport, and the jet engines seemed muffled by the damp air. It was just past noon on a Thursday in early July, the kind of day that makes you appreciate a warm car and a long haul ahead, even if the destination is a bit exposed.

My passenger was Wei L., a man who looked like he’d stepped straight out of a magazine. Crisp shirt, neat hair, and an air of quiet competence. He was headed for Whakapapa, up on the slopes of Mt Ruapehu. He mentioned a conference at the Chateau that he’d been meaning to attend for a couple of years – something about sustainable tourism in volcanic regions. It sounded niche, and expensive. He’d flown in from Kuala Lumpur the day before, needing a night to shake off the jet lag before heading south. He was travelling alone for this one, which I always found interesting; business trips of this nature often involved partners or colleagues.

As we pulled away from the airport, the familiar gridlock of State Highway 1 south beckoned. The sky was a uniform grey, the kind that promises drizzle without commitment. We navigated through the usual bottlenecks of Manukau and Drury, the drone of traffic a constant companion. Wei sat quietly for the first hour, gazing out at the passing landscape – mostly farmland shrouded in mist, dotted here and there with clumps of pines. He wasn’t fidgety, or on his phone constantly, which was a pleasant change. He seemed content to just watch the world drift by.

We stopped for fuel and a quick coffee at the BP Connect in Pokeno. The automated hand dryer in the men’s room was surprisingly powerful, a small detail that amused me. Back on the road, heading towards the Waikato’s rolling hills, Wei started to open up a little. He spoke about his work, back in Malaysia – something to do with environmental planning for developing resorts. He found New Zealand’s approach to conservation fascinating, a stark contrast to the rapid development he dealt with daily. He’d been here before, on holiday years ago, but this was his first time venturing beyond the main tourist hubs like Queenstown and Rotorua.

As we cleared Hamilton and turned onto the road towards Tokoroa, the landscape began to change subtly. The hills became a little steeper, the vegetation denser, with pockets of native bush starting to appear. We skirted the edge of the Kinleith Forest, the tall pines creating a cathedral-like effect as we drove between them. The air grew noticeably cooler. Wei pointed out a herd of deer grazing in a paddock, an image he said reminded him of the wilder parts of his own country, albeit with a distinctly different climate.

We paused for lunch in Tirau, the corrugated iron town. It’s always a bit of a novelty, and I suggested we grab something from the bakery. Wei picked out a savoury pie, something he’d never tried before, and declared it surprisingly satisfying. He watched the small stream that ran through the town, muttering something about water quality monitoring, a habit from his profession. It was clear his mind was always at work, even on a scenic drive.

The stretch from Tirau towards Taupō can be a bit monotonous, a long straight road with few significant features. But as we climbed towards the Volcanic Plateau, the landscape opened up again. The distinct shape of Mt Tauhara appeared on the horizon, then the distant, snow-capped peak of Ruapehu itself. It was still a long way off, but its presence was palpable. The grey sky overhead seemed to lend a dramatic weight to the vast, open terrain.

We took the turn-off towards National Park village, and the road began to wind significantly. The trees changed – more beech and lichen-draped natives. The temperature dropped further. Wei was quiet again, but it was a comfortable silence, filled with the slight hum of the engine and the crunch of gravel under the tyres as we navigated a section of roadworks near Erua. He mentioned that he’d never seen this much snow on a mountain in New Zealand before. His image of the country, he said, had always been green and lush; the stark, volcanic beauty of the central plateau in winter was a revelation.

As we crested the final rise and the Chateau Tongariro came into view, a grand old building set against the imposing backdrop of Ruapehu, Wei let out a small sigh. He wasn't stressed about the conference, but more awestruck by the sheer scale of the mountain looming above us. He thanked me for the smooth journey. I pulled up outside the main entrance, the air crisp and cold, smelling faintly of pine needles and frost. He gathered his small overnight bag, a polite nod, and stepped out into the mountain air. I watched him walk towards the hotel lobby, a lone figure against the vastness of the winter landscape, before turning the car around for the long, quiet drive back north, already thinking about the next trip.