What a Road Trip with a New Yorker Taught Me About Being a Local
- Stella Beckmann
- Feb 25
- 6 min read
Updated: Aug 9
1-Day Kiwi Road Trip, Commencing
At 8:04 a.m., I ran out of my house and across the street, and hopped into the CityHop car, excited to begin our kiwi road trip up north. Jordan, an exchange student from Dartmouth about to start a semester at the University of Auckland, had arrived in New Zealand just the morning before.
We’d met the previous fall while I was on exchange at Dartmouth, a professor introducing us so we could help each other out on our respective exchanges. I still so vividly remember the first time I went to his frat, where I got my first taste of American college life.
There’s something about knowing your time in a place is limited that makes you do more, see more, appreciate things others take for granted. That urgency creates a magnetism. Newness carries a kind of magic. Barely 24 hours in the country, and he’d already rented a car and planned a spontaneous 1-day autumn road trip. I admire—and miss—that kind of energy. The kind I had while on exchange at Dartmouth.
As we began our drive, I took an instant liking to Jordan’s soft rock playlist—evocative of the easy, indie sound many Dartmouth students seemed to favor—and we made light conversation en route to Whangārei Falls.
“She Will Be Loved” came on as we rolled along the highway. “I love this song!” I exclaimed, singing along at the chorus with more energy than I’d expected. Jordan smiled, and soon he was humming quietly alongside me.
As we drove, he asked me how to pronounce the Māori words and places on different signs or landmarks we passed. He’d also enrolled in a Māori introductory course for his exchange semester. Classic liberal arts global citizen energy: cultured, open-minded, curious.
The Cult of Coffee and a Castle Cafe
About an hour into the drive, we stopped at Eutopia Cafe, a whimsical, otherworldly structure rising out of a quiet, otherwise forgettable town. From the outside, curved stone walls spiral with birds, red koru, and kōwhai motifs, crowned by the word Eutopia in ornate script. Inside, the space felt hand-crafted to reflect New Zealand, and oddly alive. Sculpted walls, mosaic walls, and twisted chairs like props from a movie set.
Part miniature castle, part fever dream. Great coffee, too.
I slurped my iced brew while Jordan devoured seafood chowder and a frothy flat white. He was surprised to have the waitress introduce it as a “flat white”; American coffee culture isn’t exactly discerning. In Hanover, New Hampshire, I’d been handed a massive plastic cup and told to fill it with iced coffee from a dispenser like water from a tap.
Jordan insisted I try the chowder, and I compared it to the one I’d had at Snö in Remuera. It was delicious. We soon continued on.
A Waterfall Without Effort
At Whangārei Falls, we parked and within 100 metres found ourselves staring at a beautiful waterfall. That’s New Zealand; it didn’t even make us work for it. Just beauty, handed to us on a platter. I wondered if that’s why I didn’t feel blown away by the view; one layer of waterfall is nothing, I thought. Maybe I’ve become desensitized to New Zealand’s beauty. Jordan, on the other hand, was stunned that a place this wonderful was just a two-hour drive away.
We hiked down to the base. A sign said no swimming.
“Guess we don’t need our togs then,” I said. He squinted his eyes at me and craned his neck, confused. “That’s what we call bathing suits here,” I explained, smiling.
NZ slang popped up throughout the day. “Sweet as.” “She’ll be right.” At one point, I joked that he could earn some local cred if he went around saying “chur bro.” I wondered if these words would become souvenirs for Jordan—phrases he’d pull out back in the U.S., maybe on late nights in frats, playing beer pong, telling stories about how wild and cool New Zealand was.
We strolled along the river. Jordan was enchanted by the ferns, the trail, the trickling water. I noticed the familiar punga leaves and mānuka arching into the path. It all looked so ordinary to me, but to him it was full of wonder. It was only his second day, I reminded myself. Think about how you felt in the U.S., staring at a random river near campus like it was the Seine.
Tomato Sauce, Togs, and Glow Worms
Next stop: the Waipu Caves. On the way, we grabbed fish and chips from a small Chinese takeaway in Whangārei. We looked around at the quiet road, the modest town, the trees. “This is stunning! Where even are we?” Jordan asked. Whangārei, I thought, amused. To Aucklanders, it was usually just a bogan stopover town, but Jordan saw the trees and sunshine.
We ate in the Waipu Caves parking lot, arguing about whether it was “tomato sauce” or “ketchup.” I handed him a feijoa from my backyard and a homegrown banana with a small pot of Marmite. “You have to eat the Marmite on the banana,” I said straight-faced, passing him a plastic knife. "It's a rite of passage."
He took a bite with a polite grimace. “I like the feijoa… not so sure about that one,” he said.
I laughed. "That's punishment for calling it ketchup."
At the caves, I realised I hadn’t brought my jandals. “My flip-flops,” I clarified. “Don’t worry, my feet are Kiwi. We love barefeet,” I said, somewhat ironically, somewhat serious. Growing up camping, we waded through rivers, beaches, forests without shoes, so our soles toughened up. Or so I thought. These cave rocks still hurt.
Inside, the caves echoed with voices and occasional splashes from tourists and families. We spotted our first glow worms. As we waded through shallow water, the path opened up into a wider cavern. Glow worms scattered across the ceiling like stars. We stood in silence, necks craned upward.
Llamas and an Unexpected Symbol
Later, we detoured to an llama farm Jordan had randomly found on the map. It looked more like someone’s backyard than a tourist spot. A goat hung out on the pebbled road in front of our parked car, chained to a fencepost. I ran up to the opposite fence, excited, until Jordan called me back, face tense.
“Get in the car,” he said, voice serious. “What is it?” “There’s a swastika on one of the fenceposts.”
I blinked. “Oh,” I said, surprised, but not alarmed. It didn’t bother me much. I doubted the farmer had a shotgun tucked behind the fence. We promptly left.
Beaches, Hills, and Julie Andrews Moments
We headed to Tāwharanui Regional Park, which funnily enough, I’d meant to go all summer but never did. Then summer ended, and I convinced myself it wasn’t worth it anymore; the motivation, spark, spirit faded. Now it was Autumn, and here we were. It was worth it.
Surfers lounged nearby. We passed the beach and walked up a grassy mountain trail. Green hills rolled into ocean views. It felt like we were the only ones on Earth. Or like I was Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.
“In the U.S., people ask if you prefer mountains or beaches,” Jordan said. “But here you get both.”
Eventually, the trail narrowed into bush, leading to a cliffside overlook. Waves crashed beneath us as we took photos with awe.
Jin Jin, Dartmouth, and Dinner Irony
For dinner, we stopped at Jin Jin in Matakana, a place a Canadian friend had recommended. It lived up to the hype. Delicious Asian fusion. Over dinner, we chatted more about New Zealand.
“I like your shoes, by the way,” Jordan said.
I glanced down at my blue adidas gazelles. “Thanks. I bought them in New York,” I replied with a grin. He rolled his eyes—he’s from New York.
As we drove home, dazed from the long day, an indie rock track came on, nostalgic and cinematic. It felt like the perfect road trip song. “I love this,” I said.
“Funnily enough, it’s a Dartmouth band. The Stripers.”
“What!” I exclaimed. “Dartmouth has so much talent.”
Back to Reality (Sort Of)
I gazed out the window as the hum of the tires and the flicker of passing signs lulled me into a soft, quiet daze. I was amazed by how much we’d done in just one day. You can go so far with the right energy.
I wondered how, as a local, I could keep that same spirit: that sense of curiosity, adventure, and childlike wonder. Watching Jordan experience everything for the first time was like seeing someone watch a movie you love for the first time. I wished I wasn’t desensitized. I wished I didn’t already know the scenes.
But the next day, I had to do laundry. Vacuum. Go to the bank. Boring adult stuff.
Maybe that’s the point; life isn’t meant to be one continuous highlight reel. On exchange, the fun is the job. But at home? You have to seek it out and actively sprinkle it in, make mini adventures, and plan weekends the way you would if you were overseas. Explore new spots. Go with a friend. Keep the magic alive.
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