Jess’ recent Italian entries have inspired me to return to blogging about our own summer adventure.  Today, in the darkness of a London afternoon, my thoughts turn to Rome and to our ‘hostel’ there, Campanella3.

Matt and I had stayed in a hostel in Rome before, during our honeymoon in 2006.  While that was a memorable experience, it was all for the wrong reasons.  Crowded dorms, people sleeping in the reception, only two bathrooms, snorers, no sleep, no security and so on.  So, when it came to picking a hostel for the return visit, I decided to spend a little more time on HostelWorld, researching our options.

But even it’s great online reviews couldn’t prepare me for the fabulousness that was Campanella3. It’s not near the main train station and wasn’t quite on the Central Rome map we’d photocopied.  So, once we got out of Ottaviano train station, we did end up wandering back and forth along Viale Giulio Cesare for what felt like half an hour before we found the turn off.

It was worth it though.  This was no hostel room, it was an apartment.  There was our bedroom with four beds, a television, plenty of cupboards; a double room next to us; a beautifully decorated bathroom; and best of all, a fully stocked kitchen.  Pots, pans, knives, forks, an espresso machine and directions to the supermarket – everything we needed to cook our own Italian meals.

Even better was the ‘breakfast’ that the owners provided for us.  Again, Campanella3 earns a set of inverted commas for exceeding our expectations.  Usually the second B in an Italian B&B is a croissant and a cappuccino.  Here, we were given baskets that were overflowing with croissants, muffins, pastries, juices, chocolate bars and much more.  And, when we decided to take some of the extras for lunch, we were embarrassed to find that they were restocked for breakfast the next day.

And, once we got used to the winding roads, we found that we were only 10 minutes from the Vatican, home of Renaissance artwork, guards in strange uniform, and a famous dome which we got to know a little too intimately.  But that’s a story for another day.  Maybe tomorrow.

Tash