Rome, sweet home: Moving in!

Flat hunting in Rome is not for the fainthearted. At first I was surprised by the sheer number of apartments available, especially given my criteria of a three-month period, and a location in the centre of Rome, but many of these were quickly eliminated as it became clear they each had their own special 'quirks' (read: reasons not to live there ever ever). But today I finally moved in to my new home for the next three months, much like a real grown up.

In Bologna, I cheated a bit on the house finding front, and my host family came to the rescue - never underestimate the importance of having some locals on your side if you plan on getting anything done in Italy. For the first month I stayed in their converted attic, then for the second they offered me my very own independent flat. Although this was a bit retro in some ways - the water heater was a blue gas flame beneath the tank, which made terrifying gurgling sounds any time I dared turn it on - it was lovely, really big and in a nice area just outside Bologna's city walls.

I loved the whole moving in thing. Even cleaning the bathroom was pretty exciting (I suspect the novelty of this particular task may wear off soon though), as was doing my first food (or more specifically, cereal, tea and biscuits) shop. The neighbours were great, by which I mean someone on the ground floor had an Aristocats welcome mat, and the lady who lived opposite was very kind when I had a near-breakdown on my doorstep because I couldn't unlock the door. I may have been using the wrong key.

The downside of the smooth start to my year abroad accommodation-wise was that it made the Rome situation all the more terrifying, especially as Italians seem to be utter Internetphobes and everything has to be done over the phone, rather than in nice easy Word Reference-able emails. Being forced to check vital details and negotiate on the spot in another language is a true sink-or-swim situation...but I'd like to think I managed to swim, or at least tread water in a panicky, uncontrolled manner, splashing water around unnecessarily and looking like a lunatic but ultimately staying afloat. The flathunt involved charging round the different neighbourhoods of Rome, checking out dubious decor, pretending to understand various contracts and definitely-not-legit suggested payment arrangements, and having awkward conversations with potential future flatmates. Many of these were unfortunately yet more creepster men in their thirties, keen to tell me how much they'd love to live with an English girl.

Naturally, in the end I chose the first apartment I'd got in touch with. It's in a nice, studenty area and really close to the other two girls who are here from Oxford, as well as being opposite a metro station. The flat is shared with four Italian students, which is basically the holy grail in terms of language learning (assuming I summon up the courage to get off my laptop and interact with them once in a while, of course).

My view is uninspiring - it's of a wall - but now Daylight Savings have hit (in typically unorganised Italian fashion which completely messed up my flat-viewing schedule that day, I might add), I'll be out of the house most of the time it's light anyway. My room here is also the smallest out of the approximately sixty three thousand that I saw, but the tiny-ness isn't really a problem since I only have 23kg of possessions to my name here. The problem was that most of the others I found were just rooms to rent in someone's flat. Some were absolutely gorgeous and in amazing buildings, and one had a pet parrot and a roof terrace overlooking the Colosseum which I did fall a tiny bit in love with. None of the landladies were happy with any visitors at all though, and I didn't really seeing the point in paying a lot more for a bigger room if I can't invite people round to show it off. This room feels like it's properly mine - my very own bit of Rome.

One of the best bits about my new home is the front door to the building, which is very old and grand, and fancily decorated. In Italian, the word palazzo (palace) is used to describe apartment blocks, and it feels quite apt every time I walk through the two-storeys-high door to come home. Overall, what with finding somewhere to live, and starting my new job tomorrow, I'm feeling quite the adult. We'll see how long that lasts.