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..