Pack it up, pack it in. Let me begin...
The movers arrived yesterday and I didn't do anything to prepare for them. I did for all our previous moves. Painstakingly organizing and separating things. But, you know what? It never mattered. Things always got screwed up anyway. And then I'd spent all that time for nothing. This time was going to be different. Of course it was, because in all my moving experience, I have never moved from Morocco before. You might think it's the same everywhere, but I assure you, it's not.
Sure, they had the standard moving accessories. Boxes, wrapping papers for delicate items and the world's crappiest Moroccan tape.
(And if you live here you know this is true.)
We heaped our worldly possessions acquired on our travels into a pile and watched as they slowly swaddled them. (Because nothing in Morocco is rushed.)
My buddahs I bought in Gibraltar were lined in a row like little soldiers. (Right next to the wooden bowls I bartered for dirty towels in Zimbabwe.)
This little Moroccan table was a whimsical impulse buy when I was shopping in the medina with Sara. (Which is going to make a great night stand in the States.)
These shelves (whose stalls are smaller than they appear in this picture) would be great for a thimble collection. (Except, I don't have a thimble collection.)
And my new picture of the king, though the photo is old, taken of a thinner, gayer king. (As rumor has it.)
As they are packing, I'm panicking about what I'm going to do for them for lunch because I hardly have any food in the house and in America, we always feed the movers. But relief, from eyeballing things it looks like they'll be done in about 20 minutes. Which is when one of them announces they need a break and they'll be back in 2 hours after they eat lunch. Really? Two hours? Ok cool, at least I don't have to pay for it.
When they return, one of them is walking up my driveway toward me while putting his pants back on. And now you, like me, are wondering what the hell he was doing outside my gate with his pants off. I'll give you a minute to ponder that one. And if you figure it out, let me know. You know what? Never mind.
And I was right, they work for exactly 20 more minutes. Then they inform me they've run out of boxes. In the states there would be a simple solution to this problem. But in Morocco this unsolvable mystery means they're done for the day. So they load my boxes being shipped by air onto this open flat bed truck. YES. I said OPEN. See.
Leaving me to wonder if I will ever see any of my worldly possessions again...
The movers arrived yesterday and I didn't do anything to prepare for them. I did for all our previous moves. Painstakingly organizing and separating things. But, you know what? It never mattered. Things always got screwed up anyway. And then I'd spent all that time for nothing. This time was going to be different. Of course it was, because in all my moving experience, I have never moved from Morocco before. You might think it's the same everywhere, but I assure you, it's not.
Sure, they had the standard moving accessories. Boxes, wrapping papers for delicate items and the world's crappiest Moroccan tape.
(And if you live here you know this is true.)
We heaped our worldly possessions acquired on our travels into a pile and watched as they slowly swaddled them. (Because nothing in Morocco is rushed.)
My buddahs I bought in Gibraltar were lined in a row like little soldiers. (Right next to the wooden bowls I bartered for dirty towels in Zimbabwe.)
This little Moroccan table was a whimsical impulse buy when I was shopping in the medina with Sara. (Which is going to make a great night stand in the States.)
These shelves (whose stalls are smaller than they appear in this picture) would be great for a thimble collection. (Except, I don't have a thimble collection.)
The iron tree that's actually a coat rack. (That I think might actually be too pretty to hang coats from.)
And my new picture of the king, though the photo is old, taken of a thinner, gayer king. (As rumor has it.)
As they are packing, I'm panicking about what I'm going to do for them for lunch because I hardly have any food in the house and in America, we always feed the movers. But relief, from eyeballing things it looks like they'll be done in about 20 minutes. Which is when one of them announces they need a break and they'll be back in 2 hours after they eat lunch. Really? Two hours? Ok cool, at least I don't have to pay for it.
When they return, one of them is walking up my driveway toward me while putting his pants back on. And now you, like me, are wondering what the hell he was doing outside my gate with his pants off. I'll give you a minute to ponder that one. And if you figure it out, let me know. You know what? Never mind.
And I was right, they work for exactly 20 more minutes. Then they inform me they've run out of boxes. In the states there would be a simple solution to this problem. But in Morocco this unsolvable mystery means they're done for the day. So they load my boxes being shipped by air onto this open flat bed truck. YES. I said OPEN. See.
Leaving me to wonder if I will ever see any of my worldly possessions again...
5 comments:
Oh, ye of great faith--you make my heart quake! (the pants thing...not even going to touch that) ADORE the coat rack, and my mother DOES have a thimble collection! (perchance you feel the need to donate the poor, abandoned, unused shelf....which is longing for thimbles, I can tell) I am awed by your guts to throw prep to the winds--may you deal with only the normal chaos moving entails...
Buy alcohol in the airport.
I love that coat rack, too! Consider it the tree of life- and when your friends come over- or your kids coats cover it- that's the life you have together.
As to the moving- while their working hours (ok, minutes) may be less than they are here, the States have their share of crazy packing. Of course, we don't have that modern convenience of open air trucking...Just hope that's not the kind of conveyance they choose to transport your stuff back home :-) .
Gee, you have some pretty cool stuff.
I know it's bitter-sweet packing up to leave and a little scary, what with the crappy tape and that Fisher Price truck driving all your worldly possessions to who knows were. Be of good cheer, chances are your stuff will find you again. One must practice faith in the universe's ability to coordinate the trillions of events taking place every minute;) LOL! Sorry.
Remember Marie, beyond every ending lies a new beginning. I see a very bright path ahead of you.
I'm packing up today for a months stay in NC. Even though it's exciting, I'm traveling alone, and I already miss my family...and two little dogs;)
We made many moves. A flat bed truck would not have pleased me, but who can you complain to? All of our overseas moves have ended surprisingly well. The only thing that seemed to break in the end was our hearts. Our children (29&27) still see those overseas stations as the most opening parts of their lives- beggars and all.
Have a good move!
You're so right about all the extra work you end up doing in vain. I've also told myself I will not bother again on the packing up end, because when you get there the rooms are all different and the movers just dump all your stuff in a pile somewhere. At least here in South Africa they did. We had the extra twist here that the estate we live in doesn't allow any trucks larger than pickup-size, so all our furniture had to be unloaded from the container and reloaded onto a pickup, and since our movers also just left at times because they needed a break it meant our half-finished truck was just sitting there outside the neighborhood for the world to see. You do get more relaxed about those things after each international move.
Oh, and our air shipment? It got there weeks AFTER the container. We got periodical updates from places like Addis Abeba and wherever else it was passing through at the moment. I think we'll forego the air shipment on our way back.
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