TWO and a half years ago my wife and I moved from rural Northamptonshire to a lively quarter of Rome. Esther and I left behind things that many city-dwellers covet: a garden with thriving vegetable patch and large greenhouse, cosy evenings by the open fire and gentle dawn-chorus mornings. But then our life changed. Mamma mia, how it changed.
An argument with our elderly neighbour on the day we moved in set the tone. We live on the third floor of a typical six-storey block and reach our front door along a balcony that overlooks the inner courtyard. The balcony goes nowhere except to our front door, but our neighbour’s kitchen windows open on to it. I have a feeling that the elderly woman living next door had lain like a panther in the undergrowth for hours, watching us move in. What triggered her pounce was the placing of a plant on the balcony. We thought it was welcoming sight for visitors; she thought it was a filthy magnet for vile insects that would infest her kitchen. The balcony, she was keen to point out, was not ours but belonged to the condominium. Welcome to Rome.
Balconies have loomed large in our life this past couple of years. Not our own narrow stretch, which is reached from the bedroom, but other people’s voluminous expanses at which we gaze longingly when in the streets, necks strained, peering skywards. Growing stuff in our own sliver of outdoor space is not so much gardening as re-creating one of Houdini’s trickier escape routines, the lesser- known one where he transplants basil seedlings while removing a wetsuit without nudging a large pot off the ledge or treading in the cat litter.
Luckily our flat, which costs €1,300 (£880) a month to rent, is light, spacious and a pleasure to be in — except when the temperature hits 35C (95F) indoors. The block was built in the early Fifties and has good, thick walls that keep heat at bay. However, the shutters were replaced five years ago and in place of the original wooden type, which transmit very little heat, we have metal versions (a common replacement) which become vast, powerful radiators in the heat of the sun. Great. Air conditioning is rare in Italian homes, and while stripping to your underwear and squatting over a humming fan is fine most of the time, it can be a little alarming for guests.
The lack of soft floor coverings certainly helps to make the place feel cooler, but the downside is that, naturally, the people upstairs also have tiled floors. Maybe we were unlucky to move in below a 15-strong tap-dancing family who, when not click-clacking through their latest routine, relax by playing a vigorous game of chess with their kitchen chairs. I feel as though I know the people upstairs pretty well, even though we have still never met. Maybe it is because I see their bedsheets twitching outside our kitchen window every morning, and because I have a pretty good idea of their diet thanks to an assortment of crumbs that land on our living-room floor if there’s a westerly wind when they shake out the tablecloth. Shaking things out of the window is still very much the way it’s done here.
Winter brings its own quirks. Like many people in Italy, we have communal heating which, by law, cannot be switched on before a certain date (which is later the further south you live). In Rome it fires up in mid-November, which is just about right. If it gets too chilly before that, we use electric fan heaters. Ah, but that initiates Su Doku-like manoeuvres involving electrical appliances. Electricity rates here are cheaper if you have a lower-capacity fuse board (the choice of most households), so at times it’s like living in a Bond film as your finger hovers over a switch, a bead of sweat trickling down your temple, eyes darting from side to side as you weigh up the possible consequences of your action. All this because you want to put the coloureds on spin while the trout is baking.
If you’re looking for a home in Rome, then location, as ever, is crucial. If you value privacy, check who overlooks you. Most streets are wide with lots of trees, but when the leaves fall in autumn you could feel exposed. Rubbish is left in huge bins in the street which reek in summer. You could be woken when they are emptied at night, then again when early birds drop their wine bottles into the now-empty recycling bin.
Top-floor flats can get very hot (although you can have a barbecue on the balcony without upsetting neighbours) and ground or first-floor flats are noisy and dusty and windows tend to have bars for security. Flats which have a front and rear, often opening on to a central courtyard, have a far better chance of a through-draught — a godsend, especially if you have no air conditioning.
To stay within your budget, consider sacrificing indoor space for a larger balcony or terrace. The weather is so good you will use the space even in winter. Also, it is worth asking if you will be able to use a cantina or storeroom, often situated in the basement or in the attic. Many landlords keep this space for themselves.
Moreover, find out whether the heating is communal, and make sure that you know what condominium charges you will have to pay. These typically cover heating, minor building maintenance, cleaning of communal areas, the tending of any gardens and wages for the doorman, if there is one.
A further factor to consider is street parking. This, as in any city, is a nightmare, so does the flat come with its own parking space, or the option to rent a space in a communal garage? Most areas are still served by a rich mix of shops, from cobblers to bakers, glorious delicatessens and well-stocked markets. Food is something Italy does better than most places, so do not settle for a poorly served district.
Of course, there is plenty about apartment life in Rome that is splendid. Two bathrooms are typical, the privacy and air-flow afforded by shutters (even metal) make you wonder why you ever bothered with anything else and, for those renting, long contracts of four or eight years are the norm. I am certainly glad we made the move, but I am going to have to see a man in a white coat about my balcony envy.
VIVA ITALIA
COUNTRY LIFE: Two-bed stone farmhouse, above, with swimming pool in Arezzo. Cost: £310,000. Contact: Jackson Stops & Staff, 020-7828 7387, www.jackson-stops.co.uk
CITY SLICKER: Refurbished two-bed pied-à-terre in San Basilio, Venice, below. Cost: £404,000. Contact: Savills International, 020-7016 3740, www.savills.co.uk
