It has been two years that I have been aware of my year abroad, that’s twenty four months, that’s 731 days to get prepped, organised and ready. Last week, whilst checking in though the truth revealed itself. Only being allowed 20 kilos was enough to get any young lady down but finding out I had exceeded the limit had me in hysterics throwing that Prada bag , those GHD straighteners and countless items of clothing at my mother who we’ll say was more than impatient and stressed at this time. As if my momentary panic hadn’t been enough, I arrived at Ciampino airport in Rome with no accommodation and no job which left me questioning what I had been doing exactly for two years, 24 months, the past 731 days!?
I should mention that I am in Rome to study – at the most prestigious University in Italy (Lizzie McGuire eat your heart out). Italians though are notoriously well-known for being disorganized so it was no surprise that when asking about  accommodation at the college it didn’t lead me to my dream palace. When you imagine Rome it usually involves quirky cafés, Roman gladiators with luscious locks and the Trevi fountain lit up by the night sky. Funnily enough, not one of these aspects could aid me in my current state so I headed to the closest internet café and began researching.
I soon came across the following site:  http://www.rentalinrome.com/ which was very handy and packed with apartments. Despite what others may advise you, stay away from hotels or hotels near train stations, also known as ‘Termini’, I’m sure your mind is spinning with a stream of horrific images and yes- that is exactly what Termini is. Anna the landlady of one of the flats soon met me in order to show me around. With my objective to become native, the religious undertone (naked cherubs and doves on the ceiling) and the Italian furnishings (carpets hung on the walls)  I was convinced. Although, I would lie if I didn’t say that the view overlooking the Spanish steps didn’t catch my eye.
Still planning on becoming native I invested in a ‘codice fiscale’ literally meaning a citizenship card. (National Insurance in the U.K and Social security number in the US). Take note Scriptoeris goddesses- if you don’t have one of these in Rome you almost can’t exist , I understood when the banker needed to see it or my phone guy but the baker too?!
Perusing around Rome led me later to accidentally stumble into a nearby gelateria (ice-cream shop). It had white walls and pictures of Paris and New York , I soon labelled this particular gelateria ‘a little piece of heaven’. Suddenly, a gladiator-built Roman with luscious locks pulled me in by the arm (I wasn’t complaining). Apparently I needed to complete my trial..  I soon realized that this was an interview I had by chance stepped into. It wasn’t long before I was handed a very unattractive apron and cap and told to work behind the counter. My forte in languages definitely makes up for my lack in competence when it comes to Mathematics. In fact, until this very day I had put Algebra in my ‘will never need it again’ mind box. “It’s all about the swirl; the first scoop is the perfect semi sphere around the cone whereas the second scoop needs to have a tongue, around 6 cm†the head chef kept telling me. Mamma mia! Every so often I may have sneaked a lick or two. Even though every time I did, the hunch Roman appeared behind me “the swirl, the swirl, don’t forget the tongue!†he would demand.  It was no surprise that I went to bed with this mantra being played over and over in my head and a ‘fiordilatte’ taste on my lips.
Strolling back home from the Gelateria I perused through the typical Italian markets and alley ways whilst reflecting on my day;Â I had learnt how to make Italian ice-cream by a national expert as well as scoping out the most magical apartment. It was whilst I was ruminating through the streets though that I came across a spectacle: the Trevi fountain lit up by the night sky. There really is, no place like Rome.