Four
weeks before the move – I have
a calendar on my PC at work where I have been
marking off the passing weeks and months. Over
the last year it has slowly changed to an ocean
of blue lines each indicating that time is getting
short. It is now almost completely one shade and
the little Italian flag on the final page is close.
Helen and I have started to ramp up our activities
in preparation for the big move. We have made
arrangements with a freight company to come and
pick up our boxes two days before we leave on
a flight for Pisa. The carefully packed books
are to travel by road and will take a week to
arrive. The only problem is that the books had
not been packed in standard issue freight boxes;
so we spend an evening in the claustrophobic confines
of the lock up taking all the books out of one
set of boxes and repacking them in another set
of boxes. After four hours of back breaking work
we have the same number of books in the same number
of slightly different coloured boxes.
We book a one way flight to Pisa. No return ticket
required. I take great relish in ticking the box
that says ‘One way only’. It feels
good – the weight of moving is briefly lifted
from our shoulders as we look at the online ticket.
One way; no return; a single flight – our
lives will change forever with this small hop
across Europe. The tickets become a symbol for
all our effort, the culmination of our deepest
wishes.
Three weeks before the move
– There is a lot of administration in moving
from one country to another. Fortunately we already
live in Europe so there is little official documentation.
However, you do have to take into account mundane
items such as bank accounts (that need to be set
up in the new currency), health precautions and
ensuring passports are correct. You also need
a raft of documents such as birth certificates,
medical cards, driving licenses and degree certificates
– all in the original and all with correct
names and dates of birth in case they are required
at any time by any of the demanding department
within Italian bureaucracy.
We rounded off the three week count down with
weekends away. Stag and hen parties had been arranged
in advance for our wedding this summer (I felt
that giving up our house, our jobs and moving
to a new country was simply not enough pressure
and that we should also arrange a wedding in Barga
with fifty UK guests). Much fun was had by all
but I was glad I had taken the precaution of securing
a day off work to recover.
Two weeks before we move - The
realisation that we are moving to a different
country has finally hit home with friends and
family, as we are inundated with requests for
a last drink, dinner or visit. Nearly every weeknight
is filled with engagements leaving us even less
time to make final preparations.
We start to respond to probable leads for teaching
work, with a view to jobs later in the year. A
number of schools have expressed interest in us
which is encouraging though I probably won’t
feel completely at peace until I know I have a
job and some money coming in – damn this
Anglo Saxon work ethic. The aim is to set up as
many interviews as possible for our first few
weeks in Italy and secure some kind of job offer.
One week before we move –
We hold a party with friends, work colleagues
and family to say farewell. Everyone said goodbye
in their respective manner. Some merely gave a
curt nod of the head before disappearing as quickly
as they arrived; while others ran the full gamut
of emotion from a sober “I bet you can’t
believe your leaving?” to an end of evening
alcohol saddened, “You’re my best
friend…and you’re leaving me here!”
normally accompanied by desperate grasping at
your shoulder and much hugging and back slapping.
It is quite surreal in seeing nearly everyone
you know in one room, as these events happen so
infrequently in life and when they do symbolise
some great milestone. The next time it happens,
Helen and I will be getting married. I imagine
the only time it may occur after that, I will
be present in body only.
Time is now desperately short. We are packed,
the boxes that contain all we own are waiting
to be picked up by the freight company. We have
seen everyone we possibly can and dined out on
anyone willing. As far as we know we have done
everything we can in preparation for the move.
All documents have been checked and every eventuality
we can think up has been tested. If we have forgotten
anything then it is either unimportant or else
‘it will rear its ugly head and bite us
on the ass’ when we arrive.
The next month will no doubt test, invigorate
and frustrate us but I’m looking forward
to whatever Barga throws our way. I start to mull
over the implications of what we are about to
do. For better or for worse, our life will be
forever coloured by this move. It may propel us
into a new life perched high in the hills, with
the bells of Barga forever in our ears; we may
stumble and have to return to the UK defeated;
we may travel the world teaching wherever we’re
needed or falter and end up in yet another job
for which we are wholly unsuited. Whatever happens,
the future is a blank canvas, a painting waiting
to happen.
Would I change my mind? Return back to the well
travelled road of a year ago? No – I wouldn’t
have it any other way.
Next month: The first month in Barga.
… Adam J. Shardlow is a writer now
living in Barga..
|