The Third Place

Able Tasman National Park

It’s been nearly six weeks since my family and I departed Chicago on sabbatical, our destination: Windy Welly. What I knew about Wellington, New Zealand before we left was this (i.e. not much): 1) Bret and Jemaine were from here (they actually met at Victoria University, which is just down the hill from our house) and 2) a good friend from colleges sister lives here, and loves it. Other than that, we were flying blind (I like to travel the way Marc Maron approaches watching movies, without doing too much research first).

Our flight leaving Chicago was delayed by 48 hours, which was just enough to feel like purgatory, but when we finally took off, reverse psychology worked its magic - we were so happy to be ON the flight that it made the trip a breeze. Landing in Auckland, we had our first long black coffees, which (you may remember) I am very familiar with from having spent a year living in Australia, in a van down by the river with Maureen and Jonit, way back in 2000. The two most popular coffees in Australia and New Zealand are the long black and the flat white, and as soon Chris and I had our coffees in hand, I knew we had made the right decision coming here. And (even better) I could tell from the fashion the New Zealanders wore that I had packed correctly: bright, multicolored floral fabrics abounded.

Wellington has a population of 420,000 (it’s about the size of Minneapolis) and the city sits on the southwestern edge of New Zealand’s north island. It is a shipping port built around a bay just east of the Cook Straight.

It is also hilly, very hilly, like hillier than San Francisco. In Wellington it seems that views are prized above all else, in terms of location, and the higher up on the various hillsides you reside, the more real estate cache you possess. The house we were lucky enough to find on sabbaticalhomes.com (username: Midwestern Nice, isn’t that clever?) is on the crest of a Kelburn hill with an excellent view of Lambton Harbor and Matis/Somes Island just beyond.

Sunrise view from our balcony

Sunset view from our balcony, without any color correction!

From what Chris has explained about good fengshui, the house has it: huge windows placed strategically so you can see all the way through the house when standing outside the front door. The house is built of wood and all one level, six rooms stretching out horizontally in the shape of a half moon, with a deck in back facing Oriental Bay, for morning sun, and an enclosed courtyard in front for afternoon sun (and outdoor dining!) I feel like I’m living in a Frank Lloyd Wright house in France, except the climate is subtropical; we’re surrounded by palm trees, evergreens and beech trees, with ferns and flowers everywhere. It’s as lush as the jungle, except without many insects or any natural predators.

We don’t have a car, which is lucky for us since roads are extraordinarily narrow, traffic circles are used in place of stop signs (merge like a zip), and (of course) New Zealanders drive on the left-hand side of the road. There is a bus stop at the end of our driveway (literally) and we’re a 20 minute walk to Wellington’s Cable Car, a funicular that takes you directly downtown in minutes.

This is actually the Christchurch tram, but you get the picture. Plus, check out my pants [Italian linen]!

At the cable car sits the entrance to the Botans (Wellington Botanic Garden) through which I tramp for my daily speed walk. The Botans has a rose garden cafe, called Picnic, attached to the Begonia House, where we sat on one of our first mornings eating moist orange and almond cake served with a side of fresh clotted cream and feeling almost too lucky to be alive. The only downside being that cruise ships docked in Wellington bus passengers to what we’ve started to consider “our” cafe, how annoying! Nearby is a Victorian Perfumery called Fragrifert - independent perfumers actually exist here, which I find so lovely. Every small town you visit has its own perfumer; what better way to remember a place than to take home its smell, right?

The neighborhood we live in, called Kelburn, has a small commercial district oversized in sophistication. Let me walk you through the Village: there’s a St. Vinny’s Op Shop, a Four Square (which is very well stocked, independently owned franchise corner store), a crazy good German Bakery where I can actually find fresh baked loaves of Schwarzbrot, a florist, two Indian takeaways, a fish and chips shop, an independent women’s clothing boutique, a posh wine bar, a pub, an antique store, a salon, a liquor store, and not one but two independently owned cafes. And down the road is the vet, so…yes, this place has almost everything. The only thing missing is a fresh fruit vendor and a dispensary (ha ha:) Even the school that Louisa attends is just a two minute walk north of the Village (and a ten minute walk from home).

Which brings me to the Third Place, a concept Chris introduced to me from his days living in New York City. A third place is not home (the first place) and not work (the second place). It’s more like a hangout, a gathering space, except lacking political or socioeconomic boundaries. I’ve mainly noticed it’s a *cool place people of all ages frequent. Everyone is polite, and it’s usually a small business.

Kelburn Village, our third place

People living in the community invest in and support the third place by patronizing it everyday (they spend money there everyday, or they visit it everyday, or both). The third place is nurtured and protected in the same way couples are told to care for their marriage, as a third party. In a good marriage, I’ve been taught - there’s you, your partner, and the marriage relationship itself which, in order to thrive, should be cared for as a separate entity.

A couple of hallmarks of a good third place are things like: neutral setting, social leveler, playful conversations, regulars, low profile, and accessibility. Wellingtonians individually seem to value the third place because culturally it is encouraged as a source of enjoyment, and there is great social value in living in a place like that, we have found.

Before I sign off, here are the books I’ve read since arriving, all of which I’d recommend:

• Entangled Life: how fungi make our worlds, change our minds and shape our futures (thanks for the recommendation Laura!), by Merlin Sheldrake

• The Hired Man, by Aminata Forna

• Creativity, a short and cheerful guide, by John Cleese

• The Flame Throwers, by Rachel Kushner

Sabbaticalled

Photo by Caroline Selfors on Unsplash

Going on sabbatical is simple (not really). All you need to do is:

1. Work (or be married to someone who works) 10+ years for an organization that grants sabbaticals as part of its employee benefits program

2. Plan, plan, plan, plan, plan…

3. Sell your condominium and put all your belongings in storage

4. Stay for an unspecified amount of time with your parents (or in-laws)

5. Rent a ramshackle furnished apartment over a coffee shop, complete with fridge full of moldy cauliflower and cabinets full of used medicine and reusable takeaway containers, the likes of which you haven’t inhabited since college

6. Prep a summertime wardrobe in below-zero degree temperatures and brave a Chicago winter with nothing but Fall attire

7. Find a friend to babysit your car

8. Abide a flight cancellation AFTER your ride to O’Hare has already arrived (thanks Auntie Kim!)

9. Abide a second flight cancellation the next day, again AFTER your ride to O’Hare has already arrived (double thanks Auntie Kim!)

10. Fly for seventeen hours straight across the International Date Line, foregoing New Year’s Eve celebrations as you journey forward in time but getting to snuggle in an Economy Skycouch instead.

11. Disembark and order a long black coffee, served in a tulip cup, and relish it!