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After checking every single cabinet and drawer in the diner-style kitchen (some call it research or curiosity, but I know I’m just nosy), I opened the fridge last. There might as well have been golden light emanating from the door’s middle shelf where a carafe of cold water sat. My shoulders relaxed from relief, and after chugging a full glass, I felt touched—the hosts of this Airbnb in the center of Rome had thought to leave this for me.
I’d arrived to the Eternal City early that morning on a red-eye and spent the day sightseeing, both ecstatic to set foot in Italy for the first time and slowly wilting under the relentless late-August sunlight.
As it approached noon and the temperature neared triple digits, I found a bench to cool my heels in a small, quiet park—that just happened to overlook the Colosseum. Ancient stones peeked through bright green leaves on trees lining a walking path, and I almost preferred the partially obscured view. I’d filled up my water bottle at a nearby nasone and sat in silence with souvenir vendors also cooling off in the shade.
After picking up the luggage I’d stashed near the train station, I sought refuge from the heat one last time at the Basilica Papale di Santa Maria Maggiore. (I couldn’t leave Rome without seeing a church, and I knew I wouldn’t have time for the Vatican on this trip.) Then I headed to my digs for the night, near the Campo dei Fiori in the rione Parione.
After climbing up to the fourth floor of the circa-16th century building, I reached a beautiful set of double wooden doors that opened into the foyer, off which sat the kitchen. You know what happened next.
My delight kept growing when I realized the apartment had glorious AC. Having lived in New York City for years, I’m no stranger to a lack of air conditioning, so I hadn’t counted on it.
The living room was cozy with two couches and a smart TV that I’d take advantage of later that evening. Tall windows let in lots of light but sheer curtains kept the heat out. The layout was split-level and up the first set of steps was a loft-style bedroom overlooking the living room. I immediately felt like I was in a writers’ den. The double mattress rested directly on brick-colored tiles; the sloped ceiling had rich wood paneling and beams; and there was a desk overlooking the entire reason I’d booked this place: the balcony.
Rest your feet in the living room, equipped with a smart TV
Enjoy a dinner in seated at the indoor dining room table, or out on the patio
The red-and-white-tiled kitchen has all the basics, plus a Nespresso machine
I fantasized about enjoying cheese and an Italian red on my own private balcony before the trip. Once I stepped out on the terrace, I realized I’d have to adjust given the boiling temperature. The sun beat down hard on the balcony, baking the ceramic planters and black metal patio set.
But the view made it all worth it. Rows of classic Roman buildings and cobblestone streets stretched out in front of me one way, and the dome of the Basilica di Sant’Andrea della Valle loomed the other way.
I took pictures of it all from every conceivable angle before succumbing to jetlag. I washed off quickly in the stand-up shower and flopped on the double bed of the main bedroom, separated from the loft by a door.
A small, open skylight was letting in the kind of natural light I’d kill for in my north-facing studio back home—so I drew the shade and drifted off into the best nap of my life, surrounded by darkness and crisp white sheets.
Admittedly, it was hard to leave what, to me at the time, felt like a sanctuary. I ventured back out when the sun was lower and my eyes were not anymore. The apartment is just a short walk to the Tiber River, where I browsed small markets and enjoyed the sunset (good riddance).
After pizza and gelato, I returned to my little oasis and knew it was time to try again. I stepped back out onto the balcony, the sun nowhere to be found. Heat was still seeping up from the brick underfoot, but the dark night sky was more forgiving. Glinting lights replaced harsh shadows. I heard the chatter of diners and soft music from the live jazz band down the street that I’d passed on my way home. I may not have had the charcuterie or wine from my daydream, but at that moment, I didn’t care—there was no one else in Rome I’d rather be.
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