Words by Pat Eggleton
Simi the dog and I were living in our temporary accommodation in Modica towards the end of June 2005 when at last I received a call from the Welsh removal company informing me that the 20 ft container carrying all my worldly goods would arrive at the Port of Naples on Friday, July 1st.
They also asked me to “take a copy of your passport in” to the Neapolitan removal company which would handle things from there, for all the world as if Naples were just around the corner. I faxed a copy.
Italy, a bureaucratic country
Italy is such a bureaucratic country that everybody needs copies of their documents or has to send them somewhere from time to time so nearly all tobacconist and stationery shops will photocopy and fax for you at minimal cost.
Then on the morning of July 4th the Italian company called to tell me that the container and its contents had cleared customs and would be with me early the next day. Hooray! It had been just over five weeks but seemed much longer.
On the blazing hot Tuesday morning my friend Gina came along to provide moral support and in case there were any unforeseen problems. The removal men – one Beppe from Napoli and his pals – arrived at around 10 am. Beppe, had he been a Spaniard, could have stepped straight out of Robert Louis Stevenson: he had long, ringleted, black hair tied back in a ponytail, a drooping, black moustache and a long, black beard. He wore one enormous gold earring, culottes and a gilet. A Stanley knife glinted in his belt.
The first problem was that all the men had heavy Neapolitan accents and I found it difficult to understand a word they said – even Gina found it hard – and the second was that they announced that they couldn’t get the container up the street.
Neither Gina nor I could work out why, as the street where I live is not particularly narrow but Beppe and his merry men insisted it could not be done. Luckily Gina knew of a nearby small removals agency that might be able to help.
We all trooped along to the small company’s premises and they said they would be able to transfer the contents of the container up to the condominio but that we would have to wait 2 hours or so for them to finish another job.
There was nothing we could do but wait and I got another lesson in Sicilian “pazienza”.
"Pazienza"
The container was parked in a nearby street and, whilst the men went to a café for refreshments, Gina and I walked along to have a look at it and could not see what the difficulty was. Gina pulled me away from the container quickly when I suggested we take a hammer to it, such was my anxiety to get at my stuff!
Finally and to my relief the transfer began and all you could hear for the rest of the day were shouts of “Ehi, Beppe!” as all 175 enormous packages were loaded into and sent up via the lift. Then you would hear Beppe muttering, “Meglio cinque pianoforti che tutti questi libri” [= “I’d rather shift five grand pianos than all these books”].
Gina is a dear friend but she is one of those Italian women who can spot a speck of dust from three miles away so, although I had paid to have everything unpacked by the removal men at the Sicilian end, she decided that less dust would be created if my books and ornaments remained in their boxes until I could sort them out. I, on the other hand, wanted them all unpacked and stacked as I knew I wouldn’t be able to lift the boxes.
“But I don’t care about the dust, Gina!” I cried but she was convinced that no woman could mean this and her word prevailed.
Gina had to leave at 2pm for a meeting and a lot of larger items that should have been unpacked by the men were not.
What could I do? They said they had a load to pick up from Messina that night and they could have cited the delay in the morning as the reason for not unpacking fully. I thought of complaining but, glancing again at Beppe’s Stanley knife as he literally breathed down my neck, I decided that, on the whole, I’d rather not have a visit from the Camorra [Neapolitan Mafia] and signed the form saying the service had been good.
Looking back, I think that, on the whole, it was: nothing was broken or missing and the men had toiled without a break all afternoon in a temperature of 40 C. I never did figure out why they said they couldn’t get the container up the street and I guess it will remain one of life’s mysteries.
I learned more “pazienza” as I reorganised my possessions little by little that summer .
