Love letters to Roma

A fool is one who admires other cities without visiting Rome.

(Francesco Petrarca)

Rome never really leaves you. It lingers, like the scent of citrus in stone courtyards or crimson wine in echoing osterias. Rome is a folded letter slipped into the drawer of my heart and rediscovered years later, still perfumed with the beauty of a past life. My brother, father and I wandered along the cobblestone streets, eyes wide to the wonder of saints in marble and fountains that glitter like treasure. From the colossal walls of the Collosseo to the sacred aura of la Città del Vaticano, and stumbling across the pope himself.

We dined like Roman emperors and prayed like pilgrims, under the shelter of the exquisite Palazzo Montemartini — a sanctuary of soft-spoken luxury and a portal into the heart of the city. This is a love letter to Rome, to the Palazzo, to family and the kind of travel that turns nostalgia into something breathtakingly beautiful.

Palazzo Montemartini, Rome

There are hotels that sparkle brightly, and then there are those that hum softly in your soul long after you’ve left. This was the Palazzo Montemartini for us. A Radisson Collection Hotel, nestled gracefully in the heart of Rome and just a stone throw away from Termini Station, its location is inexpressibly convenient yet worlds away from the bustle of the ancient metropolis. It felt less like checking-in and more like returning home. Once a 19th century palazzo, this hotel marries past and present — long marble corridors and sculptural light, neoclassical arches softened by the warmth of minimalist design.

We arrived and were greeted open-heartedly and led to a stunning Skylight Suite with towering ceilings and light that spilled through curtains in that uniquely Roman way. The sun poured in like silk across travertine walls. It kissed my beautiful brother, still half-asleep, giggling with his breakfast tray in bed. We shared golden eggs and succo d’arancia as we watched and heard the city come alive. The space held us both, laying in bed recounting memories of childhood adventures, and honey dreams of a colourful future together. In a world that sometimes feels like there just isn’t enough time with those we love the most, Palazzo Montemartini gave us that pause.

For those seeking romance, reflection, or reunion, Palazzo Montemartini offers not just safety, but a story of elegance and timeless beauty. A backdrop for memories — both old and yet to be made — where true luxury doesn’t talk, but rather whispers.

A taste of Rome

In Rome (and all of Italy), food is an offering, a love language passed through generations and placed tenderly before you. Like Mediterranean cultures that are centralised around culinary traditions, every dish tells a story—and ours began with a plate of carbonara. Carbonara was born in Rome and its consumption a Roman rite of passage. From glossy golden ribbons of spaghetti coiled on classic Italian Maiolica plates, glazed in silky egg yolk, to perfectly crisped guanciale, cracked pepper and a snowfall of pecorino. We chose Rome’s staple, La Carbonara trattoria, not far from the Colosseo.

It was warm with the clatter of cutlery and that certain special hush that falls before every first bite. As I picked up my knife and fork and prepared to slice through the mountain of twisted spaghetti, a family at the table next to us gasped in horror. “Oh no, no, no!” they laughed, gesturing wildly. The nonno reached for his own fork and with a twist of his wrist, demonstrated the proper Italian way: a slow swirl to swivel the pasta along the fork, no severance to the ribbons. We all laughed as my brother and I followed their command. A quiet and unforgettable moment of cross-cultural communion, united by pasta.

Later that evening we walked to the Fontana di Trevi, the hot late-august sky was a bright and brilliant cerulean blue. We indulged in dripping gelato straight from the canister, my brother’s cone a swirl of limone and cioccolato, mine a classic fior di latte, and my father’s forever pistacchio. With gelato in hand, the fountain glowed beneath the sinking sun, casting ripples of silver light against the baroque stone of Oceanus, the Greek god of all water. We stood together and flipped three coins into his waters, for eternal life and wishes yet to be fulfilled.

For dinner, we made our way to Pizzeria Da Baffetto, tucked along via Storia not far from Piazza Navona. Smoke curled from the open pizza oven, the air thick with mozzarella and roasted tomato. We shared blistered-crust pizzas, from quattro formaggi to regina, edges charred like brush strokes. My brother, still flushed with joy, saved his widest grin for his favourite dessert — a glass cup of house tiramisu. Baffetto’s was layered just right, kissed with cocoa and disappearing by the spoonful. In Rome, desserts don’t end… they echo through incessant laughter and undying love.

Rolls Royces and rosaries

As long as we were together Rome felt like it belonged to us. A city gilded in golden light and divine detail. The Cavalieri Rome Hotel gave us a scenic tour of the city in one of their Rolls Royces, its leather seats cool and smooth against the heat of the Italian afternoon. As we glided through cobblestone streets, past marble ruins and sunlit piazzas, history and present were stitched together. The Colosseo is Rome’s captivating centrepiece, its arcs yawning open like a timeworn theatre, spilling secrets and stories of gladiators. My brother leaned out, his wide doe eyes tracing centuries with his gaze. We weren’t just tourists; we were time travellers in this city of echoes. As we approached the Citta del Vaticano (Vatican City) the air grew still.

We arrived at the cusp of the Angelus Address, the Pope’s weekly ritual where he delivers a special prayer, sermon and blessing from the balcony of the Palazzo Apostolico. The soft sound of hymns drifted in the wind as the crowds gathered in prayer. Not only did we see him once, but later he appeared again, this time in his bulletproof Popemobile (yes it's actually called that)! My brother gasped, I smiled and my dad snapped his camera… Even Rome, it seems, knew we were there.

Our father—the quiet architect of this enchanting trip — led us down a side street into a jewellery shop that felt plucked from a Caravaggio painting. Gilded frames, burnished wood, velvet-lined counters. A place where saints might shop, if saints wore gold. We picked out two gold rosaries, and he placed them over our heads with the tenderness of a blessing. I still wear mine — not for ritual, but remembrance. Of faith, of family, of our last summer in Italy.

Rome, remembered

They say you never leave Rome. Not really. You carry it with you — in the folds of your memory, in the softened sun of a golden afternoon, in the laughter of your younger brother as you skip hand in hand down cobblestone streets. Some places give you postcards, but Rome gave us poems… and perhaps that’s the magic. Rome doesn’t simply exist to be seen. It exists to be felt — through warm plates of carbonara passed between a father and his sons, through the weight of a gold cross pressed gently into your palm, through the echo of your own little footsteps beside the ruins of great ancient empires.

With its impeccable service, serene atmosphere and enviable location in the heart of the city, Palazzo Montemartini offered more than just rest: it became a seamless extension of Rome’s magic. My sincere thanks to the team for curating such a thoughtful and memorable stay — an ideal base for discerning travellers seeking both timeless charm and modern luxury.

And like any true love letter, this one ends not with a farewell, but with a promise to return.

Travel notes

Where to stay

Palazzo Montemartini Rome, A Radisson Collection Hotel.
Modern design meets timeless grandeur. Just steps from Termini. Tranquil spa. Outstanding service.