Behind the Facebook Photos: Finding an Apartment in Rome

It’s not hard to post glorious pictures of Rome on Facebook but it is hard, actually, to move to Rome.  I’m not complaining.  This is absolutely what I wanted to do.  But, similar to other goals and challenges in life, such as running a marathon or starting a business, the path is not joyful and easy all the time.

You start out with a jog around the block and you think, “I could do a 5k.”  The next thing you know you’re saying to yourself, “A marathon wouldn’t be so hard.”  To be honest, as someone who has completed a marathon once, my initial thoughts were more like “OK, friend, you can drag me through this thing.”  It sounded impossible yet intriging.  Completing those 26.2 miles was both painful and exhilarating.  Connecting with other racers during the pouring rain was inspiring but the huge blisters from wet socks were not fun at all. Even though it entailed moments of pure misery, I am very happy that I did it.

Moving to Rome has been much the same.  Bill and I both traveled as kids with our parents, loved backpacker traveling as young adults, and were thrilled to bring our own kids along on as many adventures as possible. We deeply enjoy learning about new places beyond their outward veneer and don’t particularly mind the discomforts of a disappointing hotel room or the lack of a savings account.  I dreamt of more international exposure both professionally and personally. and soon found myself applying for jobs that might open the door. If the door opened, I wasn’t sure we would really want to walk through it or what life might be like on the other side.  However, when a job finally arrived, it was pretty much just the opportunity we had been waiting for.  The choice was simple and the opportunity is quite amazing but, day to day, it is not exactly a walk-in-the-park.

I am going to write a few blog posts about the hard parts – as the world’s cheapest therapy and as an antidote to the Facebook photo blitz of yummy pasta, historical landmarks, waterfalls, and glasses of Aperol spritz.

Let’s start this first installment with lodging. It is a renter’s market here they say.  I would really hate to imagine what it is like to find an apartment when it’s an owner’s market.  My entry point, they told me, should be the work co-op where local folks can list housing available only to employees.  It is a fantastic resource and I eagerly e-mailed several potential landlords.  The first one to reply sounded perfect and I spent some time mapping everything in advance, taking screen captures of the route, and marking up a paper map.  Navigating a city without a phone data plan is possible, right? We all did that just a decade ago but it involves a lot of frustration that we have all chosen to forget: asking directions, wrong turns, language barriers. I finally arrive at the apartment only a few minutes late and fall in love with it.  It’s big with a nice layout and access to an enormous rooftop garden.  I say I want to think about it and to check out the neighborhood.  I was so happy, a great apartment found on the very first try!  But, alas, I am approached by several street people just outside the front door and I notice a fairly large number of people sitting against walls, or shouting on corners.  Things seem dirty and, even though it is not yet dusk, I am a little nervous to be on the street alone.  Rome is an amazingly safe city but this little corner, I discover, has gone rapidly downhill in recent years.  No way is my 16-year-old daughter walking home through this neighborhood every night.

I visit a few more apartments and finally find another one in a great neighborhood, though it is a bit more expensive. This could be perfect.  However, when I pay the small fee for a co-op lawyer to review the 4-page Italian-language contract, I discover loopholes like “renter must replace the bathroom fixtures with high quality materials”, “all outside windows will be re-painted with high end paint” and extraordinary condominium fees on top of the rent.  I’m disappointed and getting a little frustrated but there is another apartment, not quite as perfectly located, yet still in a sweet little neighborhood and, happily, a bit less expensive.  It seems like it will work.  The realtor wants me to commit quickly.  “We can have it ready for you in two weeks!” I was super excited. By this time, I had learned that one should negotiate on the rent.  Weird but OK.  The expected drop is about 10% so I offer 10% less rent and say I want the apartment.  After four weeks, several check-in e-mails, and several replies like, “Don’t worry, we will have an answer for you by Thursday.” I got the hint.

I was, by then, looking at apartments listed on every list serve in town.  Thankful for Google translate, I was traipsing out with a map and an address almost every day. I found another great rooftop deck but the apartment had tiny stairs inside that could barely be navigated by my cat let alone, dog, husband, or guests.  I found a fun apartment with kid/guest bedrooms that included lofts for sleeping and it was just steps from a lovely park.  I met the owner and we had a great interaction.  I said, “yes, I want the apartment and I will need to move in by January.” He said he was nervous about the move-in date and, after that, I heard nothing.  I visited another apartment in the area, which, by coincidence also had a neat sleeping loft.  It was not perfect but it could work. Yet, there was a smell, a sewage smell on the 6^th floor?!  Weird. So I asked the landlord and she called a plumber and then she called to tell me “The plumber says you will just have this smell after it rains.” Um, no thanks.  So, after another week of visiting apartments all over town, I contacted the nice owner of the first loft apartment and offered to stay in temporary lodging until a move in date of February 1^st.  His agent promised to get back to me in a few days. Silence.

The following week, after nearly two months in Rome, I visited three more apartments.  One was stunning but in the touristy part of town where we will meet no real Italians. A friend warns me that Saturday nights in summer there will be noise all night in the streets even after the bars have closed.  Another has five bedrooms.  Five! I only need three and it has no light and is in an area full of offices – safe but no neighborhood feeling.  And then I find a great apartment with three bedrooms, a little further out of town.  I take a video, show my family, and e-mail the realtor: “yes, I will take it” and I ask a few questions.  Two full days later, I finally get back a response. “Our man has gone out of town and will answer your questions next Wednesday.” Really?

And so, another week begins.  Our furniture will be shipped from Seattle this week and we don’t know what should come and what should stay. Our temporary lodging runs out in 4 weeks and we now have a second temporary spot lined up until the end of the year across town.  Moving across town with a dog, a cat, and all our possessions?  Not likely to generate a bunch of happy Facebook photos.

++++++++++

The day after I wrote this, I saw an ad for yet another apartment. I called the realtor who, by miraculous good luck, spoke English.  She tried to put me off a few days in visiting but I said “no, today.” She volunteered to meet me but only if I could get there by 5pm.  I don’t know what got into me but I had a good feeling.  I made it by metro, tram, and screen-shotted map to the apartment in 24 minutes – including a long pause as I passed the archway below.

I said I would take it as soon as I saw the little back yard and the outdated kitchen on the first floor. The realtor laughed and told me to wait until I had seen the whole thing.  By the roof, I was more than sold!

I didn’t want to finish this post until we had signed the lease and moved in.  I thought I might jinx it.  But here we are, celebrating our first holiday in our little “villa.”  It is imperfect but it is perfect in the ways that matter to us right now.

This weekend I posted happy photos on Facebook of our rooftop deck.  We enjoyed an Aperol spritz up there on Friday evening and a picnic lunch yesterday afternoon in the sun.  I do feel insanely lucky.  I am happy. But, like the first few hours of a marathon or the early days of starting a new business, it hasn’t been without cost, frustration, and unexpected challenges.

What’s the topic of the next blog post?  Maybe “Why does it take six weeks and a dozen visits to the cell phone store to get Internet in Rome?” or “Ten tips for arriving at work with clean hair and clothes when the heat and hot water in your Roman apartment have been out for 3 days.”