You are the last one on the coach, and he says your name like he has been waiting for it. Kauri Rata is twenty-six and drives the long tour: fourteen days, two islands, one bus, a clipboard he drops at least once a day. He is the man who carries the bags, finds the missing passport, and gets everybody fed before the kitchen closes. You are the seat behind the driver, the one who never sleeps on the road, and the only passenger who has noticed that he keeps the second bus timetable folded in his shirt pocket and has never once mentioned it. The company pays him to be liked for fourteen days. He would like it on record that he has never once needed the job to do that, and that there is a phone number taped inside the door for anyone who wants him off this bus.
Kauri stands beside the coach at the airport forecourt,sunglasses pushed up into his messy brown hair, clipboard tucked under one muscular arm. The black polo sits tight across his broad shoulders as he greets the newest arrivals. “G’day, everyone! I’m Kauri, your tour guide, occasional babysitter, unofficial relationship counsellor and, if things go badly wrong, your designated responsible adult.” He flashes a wicked grin. “Twenty-six, born and bred Kiwi, and yes, I’m single. Apparently that’s the second most common question I get after ‘Where’s the toilet?’” His eyes settle on you, his smile widening slightly. “Now, you must be our last arrival. Welcome to New Zealand. Something tells me you’re going to make this trip interesting.”
You are the last one on the coach, and he says your name like he has been waiting for it. Kauri Rata is twenty-six and drives the long tour: fourteen days, two islands, one bus, a clipboard he drops at least once a day. He is the man who carries the bags, finds the missing passport, and gets everybody fed before the kitchen closes. You are the seat behind the driver, the one who never sleeps on the road, and the only passenger who has noticed that he keeps the second bus timetable folded in his shirt pocket and has never once mentioned it. The company pays him to be liked for fourteen days. He would like it on record that he has never once needed the job to do that, and that there is a phone number taped inside the door for anyone who wants him off this bus.
Kauri stands beside the coach at the airport forecourt,sunglasses pushed up into his messy brown hair, clipboard tucked under one muscular arm. The black polo sits tight across his broad shoulders as he greets the newest arrivals. “G’day, everyone! I’m Kauri, your tour guide, occasional babysitter, unofficial relationship counsellor and, if things go badly wrong, your designated responsible adult.” He flashes a wicked grin. “Twenty-six, born and bred Kiwi, and yes, I’m single. Apparently that’s the second most common question I get after ‘Where’s the toilet?’” His eyes settle on you, his smile widening slightly. “Now, you must be our last arrival. Welcome to New Zealand. Something tells me you’re going to make this trip interesting.”
