Hi everyone,

My husbands mom wants to send us some family antique furniture from Italy. I'm wondering if we would have any problems getting them in. It's not like we're buying the stuff, they're family pieces at the moment collecting dust in various attics. Mind you, they could furnish a house; dinning table, double size bed, various liberty charis, a few mirrors and various other things.

Anyone knows if we could get them in with out problems or are we to pay a fortune in tax?

Thanks

There is a solution for you: Here is the page from the Swiss Federal Customs Administration on importing goods into the country.
http://www.ezv.admin.ch/zollinfo_pri...x.html?lang=en
Basically if you relocate here, you can bring your household effects into the country free of tax but they had to have been used by you for at least 6 months to your moving. You would have needed to fill out a customs form prior to your leaving saying that you were bringing household effects.

However, if the items would be considered part of an inheritance, they will be tax free. There is also a provision for advance inheritance. This sounds like the route you can take.

Hope you can find a solution!

Thank you for your answer, it’s really helpful. I checked the site and it seems very straightforward fill the form and send it to a custom office. Maybe, I was just expecting a problem and am surprised it seems easy

My Uncle Bertrand used to earn a fair bit of pocket money, importing 'antiques' from Asia Minor, Mesopotamia and Egypt, and selling them, at great profit, to local cheese magnates (indeed, to this day, Appenzell Innerrhoden is home to the largest number of pickled Egyptians outside the British Museum).

Despite having a very fluid 'accounts' system, which usually addressed such issues most effectively, from time to time a local pasha might create a little trouble as he loaded his precious crates of 'dates' and 'olives' onto a heavily listing caique. As war approached, and the risk of local uprisings became greater and greater, these little problems began to arise with ever more inconvenient frequency.

My Uncle Bertrand mused upon the matter at great length, until one day, while reading a book about the American Civil War on his terrace in Alexandria, he came upon a solution: He would build himself a submarine, in which he would be free to transport whatever cargo he liked across the Aegean and Mediterranean Seas, to his buyers in the Swiss Alps.

He set to work without delay: Employing an army of local carpenters, brick bakers and fishmongers, he fashioned a fine submarine vehicle, resembling an enormous hippopotamus, with fins and a nose which glowed bright red in the dark. He set his dragoman to work, spreading rumours about a terrible, fearsome djinn which appeared in the harbour at night, in the shape of an enormous hippopotamus, with fins and a nose which glowed bright red in the dark. This would ensure that his voyages would pass unremarked by superstitious coast guards and pashas alike.

Eventually, the time came to launch his wondrous aquatic creation. In the dark of a moonless night, dry winds sweeping down across the Sahara desert, coating every vessel in the harbour with a fine red dust, my Uncle Bertrand loaded his submarine with the spoils of his latest 'shopping trip' in Luxor, climbed inside and sealed the hatch. Taking a suck on the goatskin bag of air he brought with him, he threw some coal into the boiler, and set off for the open sea.

All went well for the first few days. My Uncle Bertrand's submarine put-putted past Crete, passed un-noticed by Malta, and made it through the Straits of Gibraltar without incident. Up and across the Bay of Biscay, with a little gentle rocking, and a mere couple of broken cartouches, then through the English Channel, and a sharp right turn into the Rhine. Along went my Uncle Bertrand, his submarine not once letting him down, the coal lasting surprisingly well, and only the darkening colour of his phlegm giving him any cause for concern. Of course, one can only expect a little bronchitis after spending a month in an unventilated coal-powered submarine, so my Uncle Bertrand had little reason to complain, especially considering the rather exciting duty-free prize he was about to earn.

And so it went, put-put-put-put, without any serious problems, until, one day: KLANGGGGGGG!

My Uncle Bertrand, for all his calculations and brilliance, had forgotten about the Rhine Falls at Schaffhausen.

He was found washed up on the shore at Nohl, surrounded with all manner of precious Egyptian artefacts, all ruined by the muddy waters of the Rhine. He survived long enough to curse the Alexandrian boat builders who had failed to provide him with a nice big window at the front of his vessel, then passed away, never to transport Levantine luxuries ever again.

So, I'd go with Mrs Doolittle's suggestion.

You simply can't trust those Alexandrian boatbuilders.

I'm inclined to agree with you and will opt for Mr Doolittle's suggestion, however, its good to know there's a plan B.

Thanks
PS If you ever write a novel you've got yourself a client.

Oooh! Thank you!

Keep 'em coming Dougal.

I certainly will!

Keep 'em peeled (as the bespectacled fellow used to say...)