Camellia Philips and her husband, having never set foot in Sicily, purchased an apartment there for 57,000 euros and immediately ordered the entire three-story building dismantled, crated, and shipped to their block in Manhattan. The structure arrived last week and now stands wedged between a parking garage and a bagel shop, its original Sicilian stone facade still dusted with volcanic grit.
«We didn't want to travel, so we brought the travel to us,» Philips said, supervising as workers bolted the balcony to a fire escape. «The neighbors in Sicily said the view was nice, so we had the view removed as well. It is currently in a container off Red Hook.»
The relocation has triggered a mandatory resettlement scheme: the building's former occupants, informed by megaphone at dawn, were given matching apartments on the same Manhattan block and a timetable for when to water the geraniums. A curfew now applies to anyone within earshot of the new Sicilian courtyard fountain, which runs from dusk until the last delivery scooter falls silent.
City officials have assigned a night-shift inspector to count the building's original floor tiles each morning and file a verbal report. «We are treating this as a standard cultural exchange,» a Buildings Department spokesperson said. «The couple has until Friday to decide which side of the street is Sicily.»