Our Canadian stuff finally arrived today – 4 months after we sent it from Vancouver. I missed my books and all the little bits and pieces I'd collected up, so I'm very pleased to see them again. However, I'm pretty pissed about the state they turned up in.
The moving company hadn't repacked anything – all my fragile treasures and the kitchen breakables were still in the boxes I'd put them in before we moved to Costa Rica. And while my packing – I'd wrapped everything in paper and stowed it in boxes – was fine for a move across town, it wasn't at all adequate for a two-month container-ride across the world. As a result, quite a bit of stuff was broken. Even worse, some things don't appear to have made it into the boxes at all. A couple of big vases with lots of sentimental value have vanished leaving not a shard in their wake.
I'll be phoning Quinn LaPorte tomorrow to tell her just how unprofessional I think they've been and to find out how to make an insurance claim.
I imagined coming to New Zealand and gathering all my things around me after years of having my life scattered all over the world. It hasn't worked out the way I'd hoped though. Most of the things I left behind in New Zealand have fallen victim to the damp and mould in my mother's garage, and now I've lost more valuables. Looks like I'll be starting over here instead of recapturing my past in the way I expected. Maybe that's not a bad thing, to move forward instead of looking backwards. But I'm not yet resigned to my losses.