When we started renovating the building, the working name for every room was just a number. Somewhere in the second month, someone on the design team pinned a still from Amarcord above the desk in what's now Room 2 — not for any grand reason, just because the light in the photo matched the light coming through that window at four in the afternoon.
It stuck. By the time the rooms were finished, each one had quietly picked up a film to go with its mood rather than its number: the warm, unhurried one became Amarcord. The one with the chandelier and the separate lounge became La Dolce Vita. The one where the sea fills the balcony doors from sunrise onward could only be 8½.
Fellini was born a few streets from here, and the town has never quite let him go — his face is on murals, his films play in the summer piazza screenings, and half the city can quote Amarcord's opening scene. Naming the rooms after him wasn't really a choice. It was more that nothing else fit.
