First, buy some cartons and some tape. Lots and lots of both. Some bubble wrap would be a good thing, too. Lots and lots of it.
I am now brilliant at making cartons. Could put it on my resumé.
Build the cartons and use the tape. Put your stuff in the cartons (use bubble wrap where necessary). Curse and swear in your native language when the tape gets all tangled up (unless you also had the foresight to buy one of those great packing-box tape dispensers - which this time, we DID because I so hated all the lost time we spent looking for the "edge" of the tape during our last move). When you run out of boxes and/or tape (and you WILL), buy more. Then kvetch about how much you're spending on boxes and tape this time, even though you saved many cartons in storage after your LAST move so you wouldn't have to buy (m)any in THIS move. Also complain about what a pain it is to lug 20 flat cartons home on the bus because the other passengers keep giving you the stink-eye for taking up all the standing room.
You can't see the mountain of cartons behind me, nor the OTHER mountain of cartons out on the loggia on my left. We just sold a lot of crap at a vide-grenier; why is there so much stuff HERE?
Create stacks of packed boxes in every room. In the beginning, label them carefully so you know what's in them. But as you progress and get more tired, only label them with the room they're going in or a name of a person, but not what's actually INSIDE them. At the very end, forget to label anything so that you have at least 10 boxes of "mystery items". It will make it more interesting later, when you unpack in your new home.
Remember that you need something important in one of the packed and sealed boxes that is at the BOTTOM of one of the big stacks. Curse and swear, in both languages (because when you get angry, you get more fluent in your second language).
This isn't stuff to be moved, au contraire. This is crap to go in the trash or out on the street. As soon as we can surreptiously sneak it down there without any of the neighbors seeing us as we completely fill up the trash cans and block the sidewalk with our garbage.
The night before the move, remember that you need cash to tip the movers. Run to the nearest cash machine, only to discover that bank has actually closed and moved elsewhere, and taken their cash machine with them. Walk 3 blocks to another machine. Curse and swear (choose any language you like). Hike back up the @*$%# hill to your apartment because of course the mini-bus never comes when you are really exhausted.
Throw all your remaining clothing (mixing clean with dirty) and important paperwork, mail, etc. in suitcases because you're out of cartons AGAIN. Keep small suitcases handy to put the things you don't want the movers to touch (small valuables like jewelry, the table-top mirror you bought on your birthday in Venice last year, and your step-son's piggy bank - he has more cash on hand than YOU do, and you realize you probably could have borrowed money from HIM to tip the movers and saved yourself that trip down the hill to the cash machine) because you will take it to the new apartment yourself on moving day.
On the day of the move, make extra coffee and go down the hill to the nearest boulangerie to buy croissants and pain au chocolat to feed yourselves and your movers - movers with a full stomach are happy and cooperative (have beer on hand for later, too). The movers, fortunately, arrive on time and several of them remember having moved you IN to this apartment two years ago. The foreman is a real hoot (for a French guy). They had done a good job the last time, so you feel relieved to have some of the same men working for you this time.
Watch with your heart in your throat as they set up the mont-charge (and yes, I know I should have turned the phone horizontally, but I didn't want to drop said phone from 4 flights up)...
That's Georges in the video, in the brown coat, watching the guys get set up. We got a bit lucky here in that the street was already partially blocked for "works" so we had ample room to put the truck and mont-charge.
...and start loading all your precious possessions on a little platform measuring about 6x8 feet, and lower them to street level 4 stories down in a brisk wind. Decide you can't watch anymore when they load the refridgerator and other bulky items because you don't want to be a witness in court if one of them falls off the lift and kills someone below. Feel suitably impressed (and grateful) when this does NOT occur.
Hail Mary, Mother of Grace, please do not let any of our stuff fall of this flimsy-looking contraption and kill anyone below. I know I'm not even Catholic but I'll pray to anything or anyone right now who can keep a catastrophe from happening. Amen.
When you run out of places to sit down because they have taken all the chairs, decide to leave with your suitcase of valuables and go to the new apartment to wait (even though there is also no place to sit there either, except a few cushions you have brought previously). You also need to try and stake out a convenient parking space for the moving van; this is no small feat on a narrow but somewhat busy street, but you are determined.
Arrive at new apartment and see there are not one but TWO small parking spaces DIRECTLY in front of your apartment's windows. Gleefuly block the spaces with the building's trash can (borrowed from the foyer) and some empty boxes from upstairs. Bring a folding ladder to sit on in the cold while you wait for about 90 minutes to keep impatient drivers from stealing your spots. See a snooty rich lady give you the stink-eye for refusing to give her the spot she believes she is entitled to.
You could fit 3 or 4 Smart-cars in that space! No wonder people were giving me the evil stare of death for not letting them park here.
When the movers (and your loving husband, who stayed behind to supervise and lock up) finally arrive, they put the mont-charge in the saved parking spots (hooray, the space is just big enough!), park the truck around the corner somewhere, and everyone goes out for lunch for the next 90 minutes. (Again, well-fed movers are happy movers. Just hope they don't drink too much beer or wine at lunch, but this is France so you know this is most likely a fruitless hope.) Go to a different restaurant than the movers, to give them their "time off" without you watching them.
Finally, the mont-charge is raised again (this time, only one floor up but that is still high enough for a falling refrigerator to kill someone). The movers block the street with the truck (because there is no where to park it AND the mont-charge) and somehow, your stuff that previously filled 120m2 of living space is squeezed into only 60m2.
It may look orderly, but there is a huge dining table buried under there. 10 days later, we're still eating on the coffee table.
Laugh your ass off Watch respectfully as your husband reassembles the large L-shaped sofa bed by actually climbing INSIDE the sofa's storage space to attach one of the arms (thank you, Ikea, for creating quality modular furniture). Resist the temptation to shut him inside the sofa.
Pay the movers (movers and pretty much everyone else in France accept personal checks!) and tip them (they are pleased, which probably means you overtipped... but then again they didn't kill anyone with a falling washing machine and that's got to be worth something). Try to ignore their snide jokes about how they can come back in two more years to move you somewhere else (we are hoping to stay here at least 4 years before the youngest member of the family will outgrow the space and demand his own bedroom with a door that can lock us out). Come into your new home and collapse on your nicely reassembled sofa which is practically the ONLY space NOT covered in boxes.
Try to remember in which labeled or unlabeled carton or suitcase you might have put the bed sheets (for tonight) and some clean underwear (for tomorrow). Go out to dinner because there is no food in the house. Then, come home and fall asleep amid the cartons.
Voila! You have moved! Now, good luck with all those stupid cartons. You won't be able to find anything, even in the ones you thought you marked well.
