Moving house across international borders is an interesting experience; and one we've had a few times already. For a few precious days, one exists outside the symbolic comfort zone of house keys - those small silvery reminders of a fixed address. One's goods are packed up and in transit, stacked in our case to the rafters in a big lorry plus equally long trailer. Your typical sardines really had nothing on our mover's packing skills. Our Swiss currency no longer held. It'd be weeks before our new Irish bank would open an account, requiring a first utility bill for proof of address. So we enjoyed the brief freedom of roaming nomads whose belongings fit in a suitcase or two. Sadly 'civilization' would reassert itself soon enough. In just three days, our cargo resurfaced in the new residence. Attachments restructured. The shackles came back on, materialized as—really!—60 cubic metres of stuff. Packing and then unboxing it did remind us good. Ownership is very weighty indeed. Plus, the entire notion of owning anything is dead silly when the eventual casket or urn disabuses us from taking anything with. We all know that in theory but moving makes it just that little bit more tangible; at least for a short while. Having visited a very good friend who was getting ready for chemo to combat blood cancer in his hospital gown just days prior to departure rubbed this in even further. Life is very transistory. But, this isn't a feature on death but living.


Our crack movers had shown up on the last Monday of April to pack the things we hadn't already. By Tuesday, a long lift was anchored to our 3rd-floor balcony rail. Load by taped-up load, our flat on Le-Mont Pèlerin got emptied out over the course of half a day. By 17:00, our landlord's parents had signed off on the empty space. With them went our copies of the keys. At 3:00am the next morning, Ivette and I set off for Holyhead/UK. Our journey started off in unexpected deep snow in the French mountains. Much later, it traversed rush-hour rain-soaked traffic on the M5 north of London (my GPS had given confusing directions to have me miss a critical exit). That travel day ended in a most spectacular sunset when we approached our intermediate coastal destination west of Bangor/Wales by 21:00. Blondie the cat proved to be a very amenable traveller. She slept through most of it. On Thursday, we took the fast ferry to Dublin, checked in with Irish customs to formally import our car and secure our VRT exemption dockets, then headed out to Westport where we'd booked a B&B for the night. Along this stretch we encountered sun, rain, sleet, tiny hail and then sun again to pack four seasons into a few hours. By Friday, our tireless French moving crew had cleared customs themselves and their lorry arrived by about 13:00. With our rural drive far too narrow and sharply cornered for their trailer, they had to leave it parked on the main road, clear out the main vehicle first, then transfer the remaining goods from trailer to lorry. By 19:00, they'd finished their mule task to head off to London for the next job. Now we'd officially moved in. 'cept it looked anything but. A heavy week of endless unboxing followed as Blondie sniffed out emerging familiar things one box at a time. I doubt she made the connection to our 11-day absence in February when we'd scouted Ireland for a new home. But she most certainly recognized all of her favourite things and had a blast exploring the new digs.


With the electricity changed over into our names, Swiss SIM cards swapped for Irish versions, a VRT inspection booked to obtain proper Irish vehicle plates, sundry other housekeeping chores accomplished or scheduled and the post man having delivered our first mail to know that we were the new tenants, we could kick off our new life on the truly green Emerald Isle. The open sound-room/dining/kitchen area here measures a stout 15 metres by 5.5 metres. It's topped by a 2-storey gabled ceiling with sky lights and wood-sleeved trusses. Its French doors overlook a wild meadow with rugged Irish ponies belonging to a neighbour, then rolling hills and Clew Bay with Claire Island in the distance; and through the long-wall windows it stares up craggy Croagh Patrick, the holy mountain which the locals call the Reek. Because this house sits all on one level to involve no stairs at all; and because this sound room accommodates large speakers and true infrasonics - I'll be able to review bigger heavier transducers as long as they're delivered so that one man can unbox and rebox them by himself. I expect to requisition a number of floorstanders I've always been curious about. But it'll be a few weeks before I rejoin the reviewing circus. I finished up all pending assignments before the move and the next reviews booked include a number of HighEnd Munich demonstrators which will ship after the show has wrapped. This includes a complete Gryphon system; single-driver widebanders from Czechia; the Kalya über monitor from Apertura; and the B11 from Boenicke Audio. Stay tuned and thanks for your patience as I slowly ramp back up to our normal reporting schedule...