Rome, Slowly: Finding Our Own Corner of the Eternal City

Early morning street scene in Trastevere as the city slowly wakes.

Rome is not, by any reasonable definition, a quiet city. But very early in the morning, before the tables fill and the scooters begin to zoom through the streets, it almost is.

My first mornings in Trastevere began with church bells and the slightly amusing realisation that Australians seem to get moving much earlier than Italians. Rome wakes slowly.

On my early photo walks I watched the neighbourhood being put back together for another day: the local church being cleaned, streets washed down, deliveries arriving, dogs being walked and pigeons strutting importantly through the cobbles. A man headed out to buy his morning paper. There were also the remnants of the night before — bottles here and there, chairs out of place and, one morning, a Lime bike that had somehow ended up crashed into a row of parked scooters, creating a small scene of chaos waiting patiently to be discovered.

It felt like seeing behind the curtain. For a few minutes, before Rome belonged to everyone again, it felt as though the city was ours.

Layers of history embedded in the streetscape.

We stayed across the Tiber in Trastevere, where faded ochre buildings, shuttered windows, climbing plants and narrow cobbled streets provided exactly the Rome I had hoped to find. Hidden behind a rather unassuming entrance was Hotel Santa Maria, recommended by our wonderful travel advisor Georgina Grandi from TravelManagers. Once a 16th-century cloister, the hotel surrounds a peaceful courtyard filled with orange trees, flowers and Mediterranean plants. For a garden lover, it was heaven.

After the glorious chaos of Rome outside, stepping through the gate each afternoon felt like entering another world. There were tables beneath the trees, a resident cat who was both extremely chatty and very sweet, and a rooftop sun terrace wrapped in jasmine and dotted with pots of citrus and inviting sun lounges. From up there we looked across terracotta rooftops into the everyday lives of the neighbourhood — washing fluttering in the sunshine, windows thrown open, sheets and bedding airing above the street.

It was Rome at its most ordinary, and perhaps because of that, one of my favourite views.

Early morning light in the streets of Trastevere

Breakfast came with another small pleasure. The gentleman making coffee asked where I was from. Australia, I told him. The following morning my cappuccino arrived with a kangaroo drawn into the silky foam. The next day, a koala. How could you not love a city after that?

There were grand plans, of course. You can't come all this way and not see the Colosseum and wander through the Roman Forum, trying to comprehend the astonishing amount of history beneath your feet.

But one of our best decisions came only hours after arriving. After the monumental travel haul from Australia — fellow Australians, you know exactly what I'm talking about — we climbed aboard a Vespa sidecar tour.Nothing clears long-haul cobwebs quite like hurtling through Roman traffic in a sidecar. We clattered across cobblestones, squeezed alongside buses that felt close enough to touch and flew down streets with centuries of history casually standing at either side. Then, somewhere in the madness, the Colosseum appeared at the end of the road. I let out an involuntary whoop. Pure joy. Possibly terror. Probably a heady mixture of both. It was a moment.

We walked a lot after that. Rome rewards walking because between the places you've deliberately gone to see are the things you never knew you were looking for: beautiful old doorways, umbrella pines, tiny fountains, street art, neighbourhood shrines, market stalls piled with magnificent artichokes and light falling across ancient walls.

And naturally, we ate. There was cacio e pepe. Every day. There was pizza al taglio, sitting in enormous trays behind the counter, cut to your chosen size with scissors, weighed, heated and handed over simply wrapped in paper. And then there was my first maritozzo. I had dreamed about these little Roman buns before travelling, but I wasn't prepared for how good they actually were: feather-light bread, an outrageous amount of cream and the faint perfume of lemon. It was ridiculous and perfect.

Afternoons were made for Aperol Spritz and little plates of snacks back at the hotel. Aperitivo is, I discovered, a serious Italian sport and I was determined to compete for Australia at an elite level.

One evening we found Vanda, a restaurant that immediately reminded us of our friend Sally and The Stanley Pub back home — delicious food, mismatched china and glassware, good wine and that wonderful feeling of a place being completely comfortable in its own skin. The wine list arrived in an A4 folder. We went back twice. And I didn't take my camera. That probably tells you how happy we were there.

Perhaps my favourite Roman detour, though, began months earlier at the gym in Corowa, NSW. A friend casually mentioned that her sister owned a bakery near the Colosseum.

"If you're in Rome, you have to go and see her."

What are the chances? So we went looking and eventually found Antico Forno Ai Serpenti, tucked into a neighbourhood away from the grand monuments. My enthusiastic beginner Italian initially caused more confusion than enlightenment, but Google Translate, some photographs my friend had sent and plenty of gesturing eventually opened the door of understanding. We met her brother-in-law, spoke to her sister by phone — she happened to be away that day — and made plans to meet when she next comes to Australia.

Our favourite Roman detour started with a conversation back in Corowa, NSW.

Ricky outside “Antico Forno Ai Serpenti”

Then we sat. Coffee. Wine. Beer.

Watching Rome pass by.

And perhaps that is what I remember most about those few days.

Not simply ticking off Rome's famous landmarks, although I'm very glad we saw them. It was finding our own small corner of the city: a garden behind a doorway, a koala in a cappuccino, pizza wrapped in paper, jasmine on a rooftop, quiet streets before breakfast, a neighbourhood bakery connected improbably to home and the slightly terrifying exhilaration of seeing the Colosseum from a Vespa sidecar.

The great monuments tell you why Rome is eternal.

The little moments are what make you want to return.

- Georgie

Our Rome itinerary, including Hotel Santa Maria, the Vespa tour and a food tour, was organised with the help of Georgina Grandi of TravelManagers, who had recently travelled to Rome herself. Her recommendations were absolutely spot on.