Travelling with a backpacker company, I finally ticked off a dream of mine: exploring the east coast of New Zealand’s North Island. Out there you’ll find wild nature, rugged coastlines, the East Cape – the easternmost point of the country – and communities of the Māori, the tangata whenua.
The trip was in a small bus, packed right to the last seat. Our driver wasn’t just steering the bus – he was running the whole show, organising every detail of the journey. A tough job!
Our first big stop was Napier, a city famous for its stunning Art Deco buildings. They were built back in the 1930s after a massive earthquake flattened the place. Sad beginnings, but what came out of it was simply beautiful. I couldn’t wait to wander around and check them out.
Before we all scattered, the driver called out when we needed to be back. He said something. I understood “A quarter past twelve.”
Off I went, happily strolling through Napier’s colourful streets, admiring the buildings and soaking up the vibe. Around half twelve I started heading back, proud of myself for being early.
But when I reached the car park – no bus. Nothing. Just empty space. My stomach dropped. The bus – with all my gear inside – was gone. Panic slammed into me. Without my pack, I was stuck. My mind went blank, racing with worry.
Luckily, right next to the car park was the i-SITE visitor centre. I dashed inside and blurted out my story to the woman at the desk. She quickly rang the company. No luck reaching the driver, but they told us the bus was heading to Gisborne and the driver would check in once he got there.
So now the big question: how on earth was I going to get to Gisborne?
I remembered catching a public bus there years earlier, but they only ran once a day. Just my luck though – that day, there was an extra service. And even more lucky: one single seat was still free. I grabbed the ticket like it was gold.
The plan was simple: I’d take that bus to Gisborne, stay overnight at a campground, and re-join the tour in the morning.
Relief washed over me, but the nerves stuck around. On the five-hour bus ride I stared out the window, unable to enjoy the scenery, my head buzzing with what ifs.
When I arrived in Gisborne, I headed straight to the campground and hired a cabin. With no backpack, I had nothing – not even the basics. The weather was all over the place too: wind, rain, then bursts of sunshine. It gave the coast a dramatic, almost movie-like feel.
Everywhere I went, I told people what had happened. They were shocked – and unbelievably kind. Strangers offered me food, drinks, and little things I needed, without asking for anything back. I knew Kiwis were friendly, but this generosity blew me away.
That night in my cabin was surprisingly calm. I actually slept well. And the next morning, right on cue, the tour bus rolled into the campground. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to climb back aboard.
Of course, I had to ask: how did this whole mess happen? That’s when it clicked. The driver had said “a quarter to twelve” (11:45). I’d heard “a quarter past twelve” (12:15). Such a tiny misunderstanding – but it nearly ruined my trip. Why the driver hadn’t noticed I was missing, I never found out. Maybe it was because it was the very start of the trip and he didn’t know us yet.
But I didn’t blame him. My mistake was the bigger one.
In the end, I re-joined the group, and the journey turned into one of the best adventures of my life. The days that followed were full of joy and excitement. And yet, I’ll never forget the day when one little mix-up in English almost brought it all crashing down.