Yen V.
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If you ever need proof that Lisbon is a city designed specifically for people who read like they’re plotting a small revolution, just walk into Bertrand—the oldest operating bookstore in the world, allegedly, and absolutely the most subtly dramatic.
I walked in for “a quick browse” (the three most dangerous words in my vocabulary) and walked out with the usual: a book I didn’t plan to buy, a print I didn’t need, and the quiet suspicion that someone in this city has been reading my mind again.
In today’s haul: Saramago’s Historia del cerco de Lisboa, because if you’re going to be confused, you might as well be confused by a Nobel Prize winner.
Bertrand has this dangerous charm. The kind that whispers: “Buy another book, you sophisticated disaster. You deserve it.”
And, of course, I obeyed.
The aisles are narrow enough to make you feel like you’re discovering secrets, but wide enough that no one breathes on your neck (a rare luxury in European bookstores). The staff behave like gentle librarians who’ve sworn an oath never to interrupt your existential spiral. And the books—they arrange themselves politely on the shelves as if waiting for you to pick the one that will ruin your next three nights of sleep.
What I love most is the energy:
Bertrand doesn’t make you feel like a customer. It makes you feel like you accidentally wandered into your own intellectual origin story. Even if you’re just buying a book because of its cover design.
Lisbon has many tourist traps, but Bertrand isn’t one of them. It’s a sanctuary for those of us who read to stay alive, and shop for books like we’re stocking an underground resistance library.
10/10. Would fall into another literary rabbit hole here again.