Levin and the holy grail

Like some sort of secret Da Vinci code trigger word, ‘‘Levin’’ has popped up in entirely too many conversations lately to be provincial coincidence. What can this mean?

Nestled between

‘‘somewhere north of the Kapiti Coast’’, and ‘‘south of Whanganui’’ lies the town of Levin.

Famous for being the place to go to the toilet on many trips back and forth to visit in-laws in Whanganui. I don’t think I’ve ever been there as a destination, as such. Just through, or to the loo.

Recently Levin has become the topic of discussion with every Uber driver and hairdresser in the capital. What used to be chat about coffee or the gruelling impossible mission to find a park, has now given way to ‘‘Levin’’.

Lately I’ve entertained the thought of selling my house and getting the hell out of dodge. Houses that were bought for $250,000 20 years ago are now worth a billion. Sounds great, except buying another house in Auckland, Wellington or somewhere exotic like Nelson will also cost a billion dollars.

Time to look on Trade Me for affordable houses anywhere in the country. Limited choice if one wants to be mortgage free. There’s a caravan on 62 square metres, for sale in

Paraparaumu for half a billion. Several homes way down south. Sounds cold, and only a few to chose from. I see a pattern. The same places keep leaping out. Christchurch, Whanganui and LEVIN.

‘‘I bought a house in Levin 11 years ago,’’ said my chatty Uber driver without any prompting from me. ‘‘I paid $150,000. Now what do you think it’s worth? ‘‘ ‘‘Ummmmm’’ I began..

‘‘Half a million!’’ He chimed

‘I’m thinking maybe it’s the name of the town – Levin. Sort of an unfortunate hybrid of Kevin and Lynne. Aptly, very 1960s.’

in.

‘‘Oh wow!’’ I heard my cue, and reacted as expected. ‘‘Nice!’’

Despite the synchronicity or serendipity I wasn’t sold. I have however, remembered the rather impressive adventure playground there, but perhaps that was because the loo, several times frequented, was housed in the adventure playground.

Next day new friends picked me up for a work trip. After the hugs hellos, and good ol’ weather chat it was no surprise the next topic was LEVIN. Of course it was. Someone talked about the ‘‘mystical, magical Transmission Gully’’ completion being a good reason to move there.

Transmission Gully completion. Excuse me but

LOL.

Another fellow passenger replied with, ‘‘given a helicopter I still wouldn’t live there.’’ Followed quickly by ‘‘pretty cool adventure playground though.’’

I’m thinking maybe it’s the name of the town – Levin. Sort of an unfortunate hybrid of Kevin and Lynne. Aptly, very circa 1960s.

Perhaps a name change to Kirk, Ardern, Upham, McCaw, or Wille Apiata might make the place seem more desirable, or even aspirational.

I sat pondering from the back seat of the car. When my friend up front said, ‘‘even if you wanted to buy there, it’s too late. House prices are through the roof. A broken down old hovel cost my brother a billion in Levin last week.’’

Probably the adventure playground, and the mythical mysterious Transmission

Gully. Might as well keep my broken down billion-dollar hovel in Wellington.

Go Levin! You dark horse you. I don’t get it, but go you!

(All numbers in this article have been changed for the purpose of protecting gross over-exaggeration in literature.)