Moving Time

Two days before we left for our trip to the United States, we packed everything we owned and moved a block away to “the big balcony.” On top of that, school ended. There were many, many, many goodbyes. Around 300 students between the two of us as well as many teacher friends and co-teachers. Ugh. Some of them were actually surprises, too. Which is the worst kind of goodbye.

As for the move, we didn’t know how anything would work and had no one who spoke English to help. We all managed. Even if he did throw around the box we had drawn a beautiful little wine glass in the international symbol of “fragile” (everything turned out okay).

We were told there were “movers” coming at 6 pm on Friday night. The “movers” turned out to be a single man with a rental flat-bed truck. He came in to survey what we needed and tisked tisked at the amount of stuff we had. It actually didn’t take longer than an hour. I found the realtor and she showed me how to change the code on the door (we have no key, only this code). Not a few minutes later did Chris and the mover show up in a huge industrial elevator. Hooray for living in a building filled with factories!

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The mover taking a texting break next to the massive elevator.

 

It was just a matter of moving our stuff from outside the elevator into the apartment. He quoted us at $90 and told us $90. Then tipped himself $10 by acting confused why we had handed him $90. So we gave him $10. $100 to move everything is pretty reasonable.

We had all day Saturday to clean the apartment and move things into the right spot. When people move out of apartments they usually leave a huge mess. It’s tradition and possibly superstition. Either way we had a bunch to clean up.

Friday Night:

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Saturday Night:

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Things were doing pretty well. We had scrubbed the mouldy shower as well as the stinky fridge as much as we could and moved everything around. Then without any warning Chris came down with food poisoning. The night before he’s supposed to take a 14 hour journey across the ocean he’s feverish and it’s coming out of both ends (if you will). Interestingly enough, as he was pouring himself into the toilet, I broke my pinky toe. I limped around trying to clean up the old apartment as well as coordinate what needed to go to America or to the new apartment.

As he lay shivering and miserable under the covers I held up clothes “Is this coming?” then proceded to shove, not fold, it into our bag. Somehow we managed to pack, then around midnight I had to limp to the new apartment to retrieve things left behind as well as drop more things off. It was a crazy whirlwind at the end but we made it.

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