Today the packers came. I think there were 6 of them, plus 1 boss, and 1 girl to speak English....and write everything down. The truck to take our things away wasn't supposed to come until tomorrow, but it showed up around 5 o'clock and they got almost everything loaded up and out of here.
There are a few odds and ends remaining, but I was told someone would call to let me know when they'd be back for the rest.
Getting out of Azerbaijan seems like it's going to be more complicated than getting in. This is our 12th move with professional movers, and this time John chose the company that had the lowest bid of three. It wasn't the one that gave me the warmest fuzzies when the estimator showed up, that one priced in the middle (always the best choice in my opinion), but the difference was a few thousand dollars. Not all that much when you're moving a 4 bedroom house from Alaska to New Orleans....but a good percentage difference for a few boxes and no furniture....well....about 40 boxes and one tall bookcase. Anyway, it looked like it was going okay at first. I had spent the better part of the week separating our stuff from the landlord's stuff; the stuff we were going to take with us in luggage from the stuff we wanted shipped; the takeaway food from the toss away food; and the trash from everything else. I thought I was ready for this. Really.
The boss and the English speaking girl arrived first, only half an hour late which isn't bad by mover's standards. The first thing they wanted to see were the boxes of clothes that I had packed myself. Without the benefit of laundry help in Denmark, to iron every item that came out of those boxes, there was no way I was letting a bunch of guys pack our clothes....no matter "how special the clothes packing boxes" were. Our clothes arrived in Baku in the best "special clothes packing boxes" Allied could offer, and we got a gnarly wrinkled unwearable mess....abeit still on the hanger as advertised. Every single thing had to be rewashed or ironed! So none of that this time. I packed all of our clothes.
BUT...just to make sure I wasn't trying to smuggle some relic or antiquity out of the country within the folds of my Lane Bryant undies....the boss and the girl had to check my boxes, which they did, and they itemized. I began to worry. I could tell this was going to be one long painful day.
The rest of the crew showed up a half hour later...armed with boxes, paper (shredded and whole), bubble wrap, tape, string, and lunch bags. They wore natty blue coveralls, and appeared very professional and efficient. I took my tea, and false sense of security, upstairs to the family room so I could check my email, look for a cheaper North American cell phone plan, and check out the idol blogs from last night's show. I spent the next hour trying to get the internet to work.
When my tea was cold and all was well with the dial-up, I decided to venture downstairs. John had been sitting over there in his chair mumbling about going downstairs to babysit, and I figured it was probably time to put in an appearance. I think the new guy was packing the kitchen. He'd been at it for a couple of hours by this time, and he wasn't half done. He had packed up two cupboards full of the landlord's stuff in addition to the food I had set aside for us to eat this week end. When I walked into the kitchen he was putting squeeze bottles of Miracle Whip, unwrapped into a great big box with Tupperware, and pots and pans. That was my first item of extrication. Luckily he understood the universal symbol for "wrap it up".
I had to get English speaking girl to tell him he had packed some things he wasn't supposed to. It took some digging but the landlord got his pots back, and I got a large jar of Ragu Sauce, an open bag of potato chips, and a baggie with 2 days worth of Corn Flakes back. I know there is more stuff in there that should have come back out but I let it go. I can't remember what else was in there....except the tea bags and the coffee. Getting the Ragu back made me feel better.
I decided to babysit the kitchen packer until he was done. I made a fresh cup of tea (with some bags of Earl Grey which I was going to throw out, since I hate Earl Grey tea). John sat with me in the kitchen and we watched. We answered questions when asked. We found some rescued cookies and had a nibble. We watched some more, and then we watched in horror. In our 11 previous moves, the packers always spread the paper sheets on a table...like the nice handy empty table in our kitchen. If there wasn't a table nearby, they used the back of a sofa, or made a table out of boxes. For some reason, these guys thought the best place for the paper was the floor. The entire kitchen floor was thickly carpeted with sheets of paper. My first thought was that the paper was there to protect the floor from their dirty boots. Well, yes....and....no....Packing Guy was walking over the paper with his dirty boots but he was picking it up as needed to wrap my dishes, pots, cutlery, food, and probably whatever else he packed from my kitchen! At this time English speaking girl was upstairs probably rooting through my jewelry box for more Clay Aiken pins. I rolled my eyes. John chuckled. I said, "You realize we're going to have to wash all this stuff at the other end." He chuckled. I debated....ask for a complete do over? What was the point? It was already wrapped in the dirty paper. I wondered if it would be okay to double up the blood pressure pills today.
Unlike all of the other places we've lived Azerbaijan is more concerned about what you take out of the country than what you bring in. The dog came in with a smile and a wave. I bring my meat in Igloo coolers. I can't get $20 worth of American change out....or a package of Strepsils....or a first aid kit.....or AA batteries in an unopened pack.....or any of the pictures I brought into the country to hang on my walls (in hopes that I would be here long enough to actually hang them up).
My pictures were wrapped in bubble wrap but not boxed. They loaded them into the open back of a pick up along with my carpets and hauled them off to customs.
I have export certificates for the big carpets. I was told I didn't need them for the small ones.....but, they gotta check. The rule says "paintings". Not that the rule means anything....BUT....these aren't paintings. There isn't one among the lot that was worth more than a hundred bucks when I bought it. There are a couple of cross stitch pix of Eskimo girls I did in Alaska and the Mr. Incredible movie poster that Carolyn had mounted for her Dad. Those are the only two things I really care about....but honestly, why should the government care about the colored pencil drawing a kid from the orphanage drew for the craft sale? It really doesn't hurt that foreigners are interested in your products does it? I sense a hold over Soviet mentality. I also sense a money making opportunity.....for someone. The shipping estimate includes a clause that says if "permission is required for removal by the government, then the charge for getting such clearances is $200 - $300 per item. Interesting amount since I can take my own things to the Ministry of Culture and get certificates (should I need them) for $30 to $50 manat.
But the point is I don't need permissions.....in theory. We had a few conversations with the mover's office today in order to clear up some pretty simple misunderstandings like the value of a half baggie of nickles and dimes. The last one or two might have been a little animated and, by the end of the day, no one in the office wanted to talk to us. They would have answered their phones if the did. Can't leave them a voice mail because this is Azerbaijan we just don't have that yet. My small collection of worthless art is gone. I told John to get them on the phone in the morning and make sure they understand that we want those pictures back if we have to pay ridiculous sums to get them out of the country.
If only the importing shipper had recorded the imported pictures with photos in their inventory, then this wouldn't be happening. But they didn't. And so I have to hope that it will occur to someone in authority that my poster of the Iditarod sled dog race wasn't purchased in Baku, neither was my little sketch of New Orleans. It would be a totally sad and depressing situation but they also took my Canada hooked rug wallhanging. I picked it up at an auction in Nova Scotia a while back. It was made to celebrate the Canada's centennial in 1967. It has the coats of arms and names of all the provinces on it and a bunch of maple leafs. I can totally see its cultural significance to the people of Azerbaijan. They will miss it terribly when its gone. And that just makes me want to laugh.
It was a curious day. I was handed simple innocuous things and told to "take in your suitcase." I'm glad I passed these up at Ramstore the other day, even though I thought they were the funniest things ever. And I still don't get the connection to juggling fruit....
By afternoon, I took English speaking girl into our room and showed her my suitcase.....just to let her know that I didn't have bottomless carpetbag like Mary Poppins. It didn't stop her from handing me things for which she had "no permission" but it made me feel better. All of my over-the-counter medicines, some soap, and hand sanitizer have gone off to the office for clarification. I rescued the Tamiflu from that baggie. The interesting thing is that I asked English speaking girl what would happen to the things that we weren't allowed to take with us? Would someone bring them back to me? She shrugged. Shrugging is very Russian, like permission from the government.
They forgot to take my Sumaq's off to customs. So I have a chance to get the certificates for those myself tomorrow. I have to get one for the carpet we picked up tonight, the one we found at the airport bazaar on the weekend.
It's to go in our new livingroom. We met the guy in the McDonald's parking lot and traded cash for carpet. He said we would need no certificate for it since it's factory made and brand new. Well, technically, he's right, but we have to get one or I'll be asked to put it into my suitcase.
I'm not sure who will be here tomorrow to complete the job. I hope we get good news on our questionable items.
Speaking of which, I had an opportunity to be kind today. English speaking girl approached, early the day, with a paper bundle in her hands. She opened it and asked me what "this is?" "Those are sheets," I said, "You know...for the bed." Ah.....
I almost said "ghost costume" but I didn't. That would have been just plain mean.
There are a few odds and ends remaining, but I was told someone would call to let me know when they'd be back for the rest.
Getting out of Azerbaijan seems like it's going to be more complicated than getting in. This is our 12th move with professional movers, and this time John chose the company that had the lowest bid of three. It wasn't the one that gave me the warmest fuzzies when the estimator showed up, that one priced in the middle (always the best choice in my opinion), but the difference was a few thousand dollars. Not all that much when you're moving a 4 bedroom house from Alaska to New Orleans....but a good percentage difference for a few boxes and no furniture....well....about 40 boxes and one tall bookcase. Anyway, it looked like it was going okay at first. I had spent the better part of the week separating our stuff from the landlord's stuff; the stuff we were going to take with us in luggage from the stuff we wanted shipped; the takeaway food from the toss away food; and the trash from everything else. I thought I was ready for this. Really.
The boss and the English speaking girl arrived first, only half an hour late which isn't bad by mover's standards. The first thing they wanted to see were the boxes of clothes that I had packed myself. Without the benefit of laundry help in Denmark, to iron every item that came out of those boxes, there was no way I was letting a bunch of guys pack our clothes....no matter "how special the clothes packing boxes" were. Our clothes arrived in Baku in the best "special clothes packing boxes" Allied could offer, and we got a gnarly wrinkled unwearable mess....abeit still on the hanger as advertised. Every single thing had to be rewashed or ironed! So none of that this time. I packed all of our clothes.
BUT...just to make sure I wasn't trying to smuggle some relic or antiquity out of the country within the folds of my Lane Bryant undies....the boss and the girl had to check my boxes, which they did, and they itemized. I began to worry. I could tell this was going to be one long painful day.
The rest of the crew showed up a half hour later...armed with boxes, paper (shredded and whole), bubble wrap, tape, string, and lunch bags. They wore natty blue coveralls, and appeared very professional and efficient. I took my tea, and false sense of security, upstairs to the family room so I could check my email, look for a cheaper North American cell phone plan, and check out the idol blogs from last night's show. I spent the next hour trying to get the internet to work.
When my tea was cold and all was well with the dial-up, I decided to venture downstairs. John had been sitting over there in his chair mumbling about going downstairs to babysit, and I figured it was probably time to put in an appearance. I think the new guy was packing the kitchen. He'd been at it for a couple of hours by this time, and he wasn't half done. He had packed up two cupboards full of the landlord's stuff in addition to the food I had set aside for us to eat this week end. When I walked into the kitchen he was putting squeeze bottles of Miracle Whip, unwrapped into a great big box with Tupperware, and pots and pans. That was my first item of extrication. Luckily he understood the universal symbol for "wrap it up".
I had to get English speaking girl to tell him he had packed some things he wasn't supposed to. It took some digging but the landlord got his pots back, and I got a large jar of Ragu Sauce, an open bag of potato chips, and a baggie with 2 days worth of Corn Flakes back. I know there is more stuff in there that should have come back out but I let it go. I can't remember what else was in there....except the tea bags and the coffee. Getting the Ragu back made me feel better.
I decided to babysit the kitchen packer until he was done. I made a fresh cup of tea (with some bags of Earl Grey which I was going to throw out, since I hate Earl Grey tea). John sat with me in the kitchen and we watched. We answered questions when asked. We found some rescued cookies and had a nibble. We watched some more, and then we watched in horror. In our 11 previous moves, the packers always spread the paper sheets on a table...like the nice handy empty table in our kitchen. If there wasn't a table nearby, they used the back of a sofa, or made a table out of boxes. For some reason, these guys thought the best place for the paper was the floor. The entire kitchen floor was thickly carpeted with sheets of paper. My first thought was that the paper was there to protect the floor from their dirty boots. Well, yes....and....no....Packing Guy was walking over the paper with his dirty boots but he was picking it up as needed to wrap my dishes, pots, cutlery, food, and probably whatever else he packed from my kitchen! At this time English speaking girl was upstairs probably rooting through my jewelry box for more Clay Aiken pins. I rolled my eyes. John chuckled. I said, "You realize we're going to have to wash all this stuff at the other end." He chuckled. I debated....ask for a complete do over? What was the point? It was already wrapped in the dirty paper. I wondered if it would be okay to double up the blood pressure pills today.
Unlike all of the other places we've lived Azerbaijan is more concerned about what you take out of the country than what you bring in. The dog came in with a smile and a wave. I bring my meat in Igloo coolers. I can't get $20 worth of American change out....or a package of Strepsils....or a first aid kit.....or AA batteries in an unopened pack.....or any of the pictures I brought into the country to hang on my walls (in hopes that I would be here long enough to actually hang them up).
My pictures were wrapped in bubble wrap but not boxed. They loaded them into the open back of a pick up along with my carpets and hauled them off to customs.
I have export certificates for the big carpets. I was told I didn't need them for the small ones.....but, they gotta check. The rule says "paintings". Not that the rule means anything....BUT....these aren't paintings. There isn't one among the lot that was worth more than a hundred bucks when I bought it. There are a couple of cross stitch pix of Eskimo girls I did in Alaska and the Mr. Incredible movie poster that Carolyn had mounted for her Dad. Those are the only two things I really care about....but honestly, why should the government care about the colored pencil drawing a kid from the orphanage drew for the craft sale? It really doesn't hurt that foreigners are interested in your products does it? I sense a hold over Soviet mentality. I also sense a money making opportunity.....for someone. The shipping estimate includes a clause that says if "permission is required for removal by the government, then the charge for getting such clearances is $200 - $300 per item. Interesting amount since I can take my own things to the Ministry of Culture and get certificates (should I need them) for $30 to $50 manat.
But the point is I don't need permissions.....in theory. We had a few conversations with the mover's office today in order to clear up some pretty simple misunderstandings like the value of a half baggie of nickles and dimes. The last one or two might have been a little animated and, by the end of the day, no one in the office wanted to talk to us. They would have answered their phones if the did. Can't leave them a voice mail because this is Azerbaijan we just don't have that yet. My small collection of worthless art is gone. I told John to get them on the phone in the morning and make sure they understand that we want those pictures back if we have to pay ridiculous sums to get them out of the country.
If only the importing shipper had recorded the imported pictures with photos in their inventory, then this wouldn't be happening. But they didn't. And so I have to hope that it will occur to someone in authority that my poster of the Iditarod sled dog race wasn't purchased in Baku, neither was my little sketch of New Orleans. It would be a totally sad and depressing situation but they also took my Canada hooked rug wallhanging. I picked it up at an auction in Nova Scotia a while back. It was made to celebrate the Canada's centennial in 1967. It has the coats of arms and names of all the provinces on it and a bunch of maple leafs. I can totally see its cultural significance to the people of Azerbaijan. They will miss it terribly when its gone. And that just makes me want to laugh.
It was a curious day. I was handed simple innocuous things and told to "take in your suitcase." I'm glad I passed these up at Ramstore the other day, even though I thought they were the funniest things ever. And I still don't get the connection to juggling fruit....
By afternoon, I took English speaking girl into our room and showed her my suitcase.....just to let her know that I didn't have bottomless carpetbag like Mary Poppins. It didn't stop her from handing me things for which she had "no permission" but it made me feel better. All of my over-the-counter medicines, some soap, and hand sanitizer have gone off to the office for clarification. I rescued the Tamiflu from that baggie. The interesting thing is that I asked English speaking girl what would happen to the things that we weren't allowed to take with us? Would someone bring them back to me? She shrugged. Shrugging is very Russian, like permission from the government.
They forgot to take my Sumaq's off to customs. So I have a chance to get the certificates for those myself tomorrow. I have to get one for the carpet we picked up tonight, the one we found at the airport bazaar on the weekend.
It's to go in our new livingroom. We met the guy in the McDonald's parking lot and traded cash for carpet. He said we would need no certificate for it since it's factory made and brand new. Well, technically, he's right, but we have to get one or I'll be asked to put it into my suitcase.
I'm not sure who will be here tomorrow to complete the job. I hope we get good news on our questionable items.
Speaking of which, I had an opportunity to be kind today. English speaking girl approached, early the day, with a paper bundle in her hands. She opened it and asked me what "this is?" "Those are sheets," I said, "You know...for the bed." Ah.....
I almost said "ghost costume" but I didn't. That would have been just plain mean.
3 comments:
What an exciting life you lead. Good luck with your move!
See you in October.
Love the packing adventures. I once had movers in Puerto Rico pack up a bag of kitchen garbage. We found it on the other end of the move six weeks later. It was still wrapped nice and neatly but it sure smelled to high heavens.
Adventures for sure! You'd think by now I'd have it perfected. But I suppose I am a long way from that very first move (Oklahoma to Alberta) when I left John's final pay check sitting on the kitchen counter. But so far, no rotting garbage at the other end! Honestly, I think the absolute worst mistake was leaving my 4 year old in charge of his "blankie" (Newfoundland to Alaska). That poor kid had to make do without it for 6 weeks.
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