Bookstore in Lisbon

The Most Magical Bookstore I Found in Lisbon (and the Stranger I Met There)

By Hannah Greer
A literary cultural discovery with a twist of fate.

Getting Lost on Purpose in Lisbon

My third day in Lisbon was unplanned. I left my map in the hotel, slipped on my walking shoes, and gave myself one rule: follow whatever pulls you. That morning, it was a smell—roasted chestnuts drifting from a corner vendor. Then it was the sound of Fado echoing from a record store. And finally, it was a single blue tile with gold script: Livraria Aurora.

I almost walked past it. Tucked between a bakery and a locksmith shop in Bairro Alto, this bookstore was so unassuming that it looked like it had fallen asleep in time. The door creaked as I pushed it open. And from the moment I stepped inside, I knew I’d stumbled into something rare.

A Place That Smelled Like Stories

It was the smell that hit me first—old paper, ink, something herbal I couldn’t place. The shop was barely wider than a hallway, but it reached upward in a labyrinth of mismatched wooden shelves. Sunlight poured through a stained-glass window and fell on spines with titles in Portuguese, English, French, and even Latin.

The owner, a man in his seventies with tortoiseshell glasses and a linen vest, gave me a nod but said nothing. I liked that. He seemed to understand that some people don’t browse—they wander.

In the back room, I found a reading nook with velvet chairs and a stack of poetry books tied together with twine. I sat. And that’s when the stranger arrived.

The Stranger with the Poem

She looked my age. A little older, maybe. Short hair, soft eyes, wearing a yellow raincoat even though the sun was shining. She asked, in accented English, “Are you reading Pessoa?”

I was.

She smiled. “He always finds you when you’re alone.”

We started talking—about books, about the city, about how Lisbon has a way of slowing you down. Her name was Léa. She was French but had lived in Lisbon for two years. “I came for a week,” she said, “and never left.”

She handed me a folded piece of paper. “A poem I wrote,” she said. “For strangers who sit with Pessoa.” Then she left.

I opened it hours later. It read:

You looked like silence before it speaks.
Like the page that knows it will be turned.
Like longing that asks for nothing but to be held.

I’ve carried it with me ever since.

Why That Bookstore Meant So Much

I’ve visited grand libraries and famous bookstores—Shakespeare and Company in Paris, El Ateneo in Buenos Aires. But Livraria Aurora was different.

It wasn’t a place for selfies. It was a place for secrets.

I didn’t buy anything. The owner didn’t ask me to. He simply smiled as I left, as if he knew the magic had already happened.

I came to Lisbon expecting views and custard tarts. I didn’t expect poetry handed to me by a stranger. I didn’t expect to be seen without saying a word.

Don’t Just See—Stumble

The best parts of travel are rarely the ones you plan. Sometimes they’re found in bookstores no one reviews, in notes no one asked for, from people you’ll never meet again.

If you’re in Lisbon, get lost. Truly. Follow your nose, your ears, your instincts. Maybe you’ll find Livraria Aurora. Maybe you’ll meet a poet in a raincoat. Or maybe you’ll find something only you can describe.

But whatever happens, don’t underestimate the power of small, quiet moments. Sometimes, they’re the ones that turn into the stories you tell forever.

Ever received something unexpected while traveling? A note, a moment, a memory? Tag @AffordableJourney with #FoundInLisbon and share it with us.