How to spend 3 days in Rome with 85 euros

I was visiting Italy for the third time in two years, and frankly my neglect of Rome was just becoming embarrassing. The problem was not a lack of desire, but rather a lack of finances. Sitting on my friend's couch in a small town outside of Venice, I flipped open my wallet to find a staggering 85 euros.

I reviewed my options for visiting Rome with such an extravagant sum of money.

Partly because I wanted to see if I could do it and mostly because that's all the money I had. 

Option 1: Pay entrance fees and visit all things of historical and religious significance. Don't eat. Sleep on the streets.
Pros: Will become more cultured and able to slip things like "Well, when I was visiting the Vatican..." into conversations.
Cons: Might starve to death. Cardboard box not very comfortable. 

Option 2: Stay in cheapest hostel available. Eat nothing but pizza. Walk around everything without going inside anything. Limit gelato intake to 1  2  3 cones a day.
Pros: Place to sleep. Will not starve to death.
Cons: Will not get to sound cultured at cocktail parties. Sore feet from walking too much. Only 3 cones of gelato per day.

Option 3: Spend three days eating gelato. Sleep in train station.
Pros: Gelato
Cons: Copious amounts of gelato could result in love handles. Train stations very drafty. 

Option 1 lost its appeal when I stepped outside of the train station. A giant clap of thunder erupted from the clouds followed by hard pellets of frigid rain. Committing myself to option 2, I took the bus across town to the Orsa Maggiore women's hostel. Sorry guys. This is for ladies only. 

The hostel isn't too tricky to find, but if you take the bus (1 euro), you'll have to walk a bit. If you have a wheeled suitcase, it will likely lose the will to live as you drag it over half a mile of cobblestone.

The hostel, located in Trastevere, offers all of my most basic requirement for survival. It's clean, right above a bar, has free wi-fi and includes breakfast. 

The total for three nights came to 30 euros. Pulling out my travel journal, I meticulously subtracted that amount from my 85 euro budget. That left 55 euro for the next three days. Taking a deep breath and pulling a map from a stack near the front desk, I retired to my room and mapped out an itinerary. 

As I planned my onslaught of all things pizza and gelato-related in Rome, the rain continued to hammer relentlessly against the window.

I dumped the entire contents of my suitcase into the bottom of the locker assigned to me and waited for the rain to dissipate.

Eventually I got tired of waiting. Shrugging my raincoat over my shoulders, I marched out of the hostel determined to become more familiar with Rome, one gelateria at a time.

But I forgot the map. Which turned out to be a little bit of a problem.

Spotting a sign for the colosseum, I left the riverbank, skirting around buildings and trying to stay under the eaves in a last-ditch effort to remain dry. I spent 15 minutes standing underneath a tree before I decided that I didn't really want to see the colosseum. What I really wanted to see was dinner.

I scrutinized every pizzeria I walked by before succumbing to the one with the cutest server. Under the watchful eyes of the gorgeous man behind the counter, I devoured my first slice of Roman pizza. Subtracting 3 euro (I splurged on a Fanta) from the tally in my travel journal, I walked back out into the pouring rain with 52 euro left in my wallet.

After a pathetic attempt to window shop in the rain, I darted into a grocery store. Shaking the rain from my hair and coat, I grabbed a basket and spent the next 45 minutes wandering down every aisle in this miniscule corner market. I walked out with the following: (1) bottle of water; (1) salad; (1) package of mozzarella; (1) bag of chips; (1) packet of cookies; (1) tube of children's toothpaste (it was the smallest AND it had a dinosaur on it); and (1) super absorbent dishtowel (I forgot my towel and didn't want to borrow one from the hostel. I don't know...just go with it).

The total came to 8 euros and 56 cents. Although I now had cookies in my possession I was down to 43 euro and 44 cents. I consoled myself with one cup of kiwi gelato, and retired to the hostel with 41 euro and 44 cents in my pocket and two more days in Rome.

The next morning brought tolerable weather. Grabbing my map and my journal, I set out to find the pantheon.

I found it. Very impressive. Also impressive was the small café (caffè Tazza d'Oro) around the corner where I enjoyed an espresso (1 euro).

And even more impressive was San Crispino, a phenomenal gelateria just down the street from the Treviso Fountain.

 I tried the basil, pine nut, ricotta with chocolate chips, and ginger gelato. Go ahead. Judge me. I don't care. It was amazing.

It was also expensive (7 euros) so for dinner I sat in my room munching on my salad from the night before while my eccentric Aussie roommate expounded on all of the wonderful attributes of my country. I think I nodded in all of the right places.

My third day in Rome dawned bright and clear. I had visited St. Peter's the previous day and from there I  jumped on city bus #116. For 1 euro, this small bus makes its way past most of the city's main tourist attractions. Having seen a good portion of the city already-- including the previously elusive colosseum--I decided to devote the majority of my last day in Rome to exploring the neighborhood around my hostel.

This was my favorite part. I spent the morning across the river wandering around the farmer's market before heading to the pizzeria Frontoni for lunch.

Sitting at a small table, I savored a beer and two slices of pizza (6 euros) before slipping back out onto the quiet streets of this quaint quarter of Rome.

Enjoying an espresso (1 euro)  in the dark corners of a comfortable café, I stared out the window for an hour before ambling over to a bar to enjoy a glass of wine (3.50).

Eventually, hungry and in danger of freezing to death, I stumbled into Alle Fratte di Trastevere for a pleasant dinner at a cozy table looking out onto the street (15 euros).

Yeah, that's right. I spent the entirety of my last day in Rome eating and drinking. I didn't see one single tourist attraction. But sitting in the dusky light outside a small café in view of the Basilica di Santa Maria, I wasn't feeling any pangs of regret.

Rome: The Vatican vs. Pizza

A few nights ago I found myself throwing back vodka with a bunch of Ukrainians in a small town in Umbria. How did this happen? I'll tell you. It's a very short story.

British guy.

This is exactly the sort of thing that happens when British guy is around. When he's not around I tend to retreat to my little hostel at around 8 pm where I can eat cookies and relax my aching feet while catching up on my favorite blogs.

Which is exactly what I'm doing right now because British guy is on a secret mission in Spain and I am spending a few days wandering around Rome in search of the absolute best slice of pizza known to mankind. I might also go see the Vatican. Maybe.

I do keep trying to go see things in Rome, but then I see a café or a pizzeria or a gelateria or a farmer's market and I get distracted. It happens. Often.

While wandering around Trastevere today I rounded a corner and stumbled upon a pizzeria so enticing that I couldn't continue walking. I shoved my way in through the crowds of Italians not lining up to place their order and pressed myself against the glass counter. That's what the Romans were doing.

Prego? the man behind the counter shouted in my general direction.

I pointed at a slice of pizza gorgonzola and a slice of pizza con patate and used my hands to show how big of a slice I wanted. He weighed out the pizza and then asked what I wanted to drink.

Sometimes when people ask me complicated questions like that I get nervous and just shout out the first thing that comes into my head. In this case, it was beer.

I enjoyed a split second of relief at having answered his question, but then he came up with an even more complicated question. What kind?

Dammit.

I couldn't see over the counter because I'm too short and instead of sensibly asking him what types he had, I told him to just give me whatever beer he likes to drink.

I thought this was a clever plan, but unfortunately it backfired.

He scoffed and responded that he didn't drink beer. Then he gave me a look that would have been justified had I asked for a glass of sewage water.

I panicked.

What did that scoff mean? Had I unwittingly broken some unspoken rule. The Italians, I know, are fussy about their unspoken rules. I have been chastised twice in Italy by complete strangers. Once for ordering a cappuccino after noon and then again for putting parmesan on a pasta dish that was not served with tomato sauce. Both instances left such a lasting impression on me that I have since incorporated these little rules into my life.

But I couldn't figure out what--if anything--I had done wrong this time. The man behind the counter eventually handed me a Nastro Azzurro and threw my pizza into the oven. All the while muttering in Italian and occasionally flinging out semi-coherent phrases that the other Italians around him seemed to agree with.

They were probably talking about football or Berlusconi or something totally unrelated to the ignorant American girl who had clearly violated some social code. But I couldn't be sure so I tried to look remorseful and ashamed of my ignorance as I slunk to my table with my pizza and beer in hand.

But then I took a bite of the gorgonzola pizza with fresh tomatoes and I nearly cried from happiness and nothing else mattered in the world.

The man behind the counter came over to check on me after I had devoured both slices of pizza. He raised his eyebrows and asked something that I hope was along the lines of "Did you enjoy your meal?" because I grinned and nodded and indicated my spotless plate as further proof.

If he was asking about something completely different-- such as my thoughts on Berlusconi or the Italian football league-- he nonetheless seemed satisfied with my response. Whatever social crime I had committed when ordering had been forgiven.

Happy, full and absolutely in love with Rome and all things Roman, I downed my beer, pulled out my journal and people-watched for an hour before wandering to a café 500 meters down the road in search of an espresso.

Tomorrow I plan on doing the same thing. And who knows, perhaps I will even make it to the colosseum. It's hard to say. There are a lot of pizzerias, cafés, and gelaterias on the way.