Last September, me and one of my best friends from school, decided to go on a spontaneous trip to Italy’s famous capital Rome. Together we had already conquered Belgium, Russia, Spain and Thailand so we decided it was time for a new adventure.
As is the norm, we booked the cheapest flight we could find and before we knew it the plane was speeding down the runway at an incredibly unsocial hour.
When we arrived the sun was shining and it was hotter than any summer in England. We transferred by bus to the Termini station and followed the map to where we thought our booked hostel would be, wearing our favourite, over sized sunglasses.
Navigating our way to what looked like a block of private flats we were very confused and loitered around on the street. Where on earth was our accomodation? Had we been stitched up and conned out of a deposit?
We asked a man who was working in the vegetable shop next door if he had any idea where our home for the next 3 nights would be. In full flowing Italian and a few hand actions, we concluded that he wanted us to buzz into the block of flats that we were stood outside.
Starring at over 20 buttons, we looked at each other with a smile and thought- when in Rome. We then pushed several of the buttons hoping for a reply but this did not seem to work.
Finally, an old man opened the door, wearing very old winter clothes. He looked uncomfortably hot, but informed us in good English with the enthusiasm of the Italian accent that he had “seen us in the street” and that he was “expecting us”.
Naively, we followed him into a lift best suited for faulty towers and headed up to the 5th floor. At least me and my friend were together. He then led us down a corridor which smelt strongly of urine and our hearts sank. Oh god.
He then opened the door to our bedroom and let us in but continued to tell us how he had not yet reopened for business that afternoon. Entering the room we found two bunk beds with ladders sellotaped onto the sides. Glancing round the room i starred in disbelief. We really had not even got our moneys worth, despite paying just 20 Euros a night.
On the wall by the chipped wooden door, was a ripped note asking us not to shower for more than 5 minutes. It must have been for water bill issues. Having visited the bathroom a few minutes later i was relieved to get out of there and thought 5 minutes was actually enough to intoxicate my lungs so badly i may not survive any longer. I was thankful for this time limit, even if i could have drawn the conclusion myself.
I survived falling off the toilet due to the cracked toilet seat and also survived the smell. However, i wondered if i could make it through the rest of the nights.
Pulling ourselves together, we decided that we had braved worst in Thailand and that we would just spend as much time as possible out of the hostel.
We agreed to save ourselves the delight of a shower and felt we would remain fresher by just changing out of our travel clothes into something cooler and heading out to see the sights. That is what we did.
We attempted to hurry out of the hostel to avoid the old man, however, we were soon beckoned into a small room, which we soon realised was his bedroom. A very old TV with a huge areal was playing in the corner too loudly for comfort and over the top he was shouting out directions he had marked on a map.
This old man turned out to be sweeter than we first thought as we talked about the places he recommended we should visit.
I had previously seen letters of thanks and children’s drawings lining the corridor thanking him for a wonderful stay. Admittedly, i thought they had been written by him, however, as the conversation continued i started to warm to the friendly guy and felt bad for thinking he had decorated his own walls with messages of thanks.If only he cleaned his bathroom.
With map in toe we had survived the first few hours of our Rome adventure.
Travelogging 