An apartment at the 11th hour

Last Monday I realized I should probably double check with the owner of my pensione to make sure I could stay for another week while I continued my apt search. Seeing as how we discussed this and that the place had been empty for the past week I assumed there would be a room available for me. Nope. She was booked solid from Friday-Monday so I needed to find another place to go ASAP. She offered for me to come back Tuesday, paying 25 Euros/night for my room which is awesome, but would add up really quick. Plus without the benefit of internet or a kitchen, it just didn’t seem worth it. So I called up a guy who’s apt I’d gone to see a week prior (I had already told him I wouldn’t take it, sure I would find something halfway decent instead) and asked him if the room was still available. The apt was decent but the neighborhood was rundown and dirty and way further out of the center than I wanted to live. But by that point I was desperate with few options. Thankfully the room was still free and he was nice enough to let me move in on Friday.


On my first night in the new apt I decided to check out the so-called amazing San Lorenzo nightlife. I invited my new friend Ben (who lives just up the street but on the other side of the “Wall”, within the center of Rome) to come with me. We started out with dinner at Formula Uno, the popular pizzeria down the street from my apt, around 9pm (it was really good but no Da Michele!).

We finished dinner around 11pm and wandered the streets in search of a cool bar to hang out at. After walking around for 10 minutes without finding a decent place to go, Ben started cracking jokes about the neighborhood being full of zombies—he was only half joking. Literally everyone looked like they were strung out and just a little bit off. The streets were pretty empty but considering it was Friday night we figured we were just too early for the party kids. Finally we found this place called Rive Gauche. Its a big bar set up to look like a Parisian café with dim lighting, iconic French posters and a sea of small tables. And the crowd was (thankfully) a little older. It was packed by the time we arrived (around 11:30pm) but we were able to snatch the last table. We hung out there until about 12:30am and Ben offered to walk me home, saying he wouldn’t recommend my walking alone. By that time the streets were packed with people (guess a night out starts at 1am round here). We passed two prostitutes who propositioned Ben (no joke), beggars, homeless people and drunken minors. Lovely.

San Lorenzo is home to La Sapienza University (the biggest in Rome) so the median age is about 23 and the kids all have this punk rock/grunge thing going on. Everyone stays in the neighborhood for everything—lunch, dinner, nightlife, everything... but for those of us who want to be amongst humans, you have to cross into the “city center” which involves walking through a long scary underpass and walking 10 minutes around the train station. And everyone knows the train station is the last place you want to be in a European city, especially at night (the other day my Italian friend cautioned me against rapists who apparently hang out there. Great).

Now I don’t know if I’m hating on San Lorenzo simply because I’m being stubborn and am determined not to like this neighborhood but I’ve come to the conclusion that it sucks—as does the hyped-up nightlife. The only plus side is that since this area is full of students, all the bars, restaurants and even the supermarkets are pretty cheap (there, a little positivity).

I came to Rome for the beauty of the city. I wanted to walk out of my front door and discover neighborhood tratorrias tucked into cute little side streets around the corner from my apt. I wanted to open my window to the sound of church bells and cars driving along cobblestone streets. I wanted to know the freedom of living in a city where you're actually able to walk everywhere. I didn’t want to have to check my watch every 5 minutes when I’m out with friends, making sure I leave early enough to catch the last bus back home (or forgo that last drink or two so I can afford the 15 Euro taxi ride back home). I didn’t want to worry about my safety walking down the street. Unfortunately this apt situation puts a damper on my experience here. But what I try to remember is that when I moved to Paris in 2007 I ended up in a pretty sh*tty neighborhood too. And if I recall how that story went, I'm destined to find a great apt in a fabulous neighborhood really soon. So the hunt is on again. At least this time I don’t have the threat of looming homelessness to make things even more desperate.