17 Dec 2025
The morning in Porto was cold.
Not dramatic cold, just the kind that makes you crave something warm before you even fully wake up. We started the day with pastel de nata and hot chocolate. The tart was sweet and comforting, but the hot chocolate mattered more—it helped quiet the cold that lingered in our hands.
We had planned to join the Sandeman Free Walking Tour around 11am, which meant we had plenty of time after breakfast. With that extra window, we decided to walk around and visit Livraria Lello, the bookstore often nicknamed the “Harry Potter bookstore.”
Livraria Lello: Crowds, Beauty, and a Necessary Compromise
Livraria Lello opens from 9am to 7pm. It’s popular, of course, but perhaps because it was winter, tickets were still widely available when we checked the night before. We decided not to pre-book and just see how it felt in the morning.
When we arrived around 9:15am, there were already two lines outside. One was queuing for the 9:30am slot. The other was for people holding 9am tickets, who could go straight in. Since tickets were still available on-site, we bought the 9am tickets on the spot and entered immediately.
Inside, it was already quite crowded.
Not so crowded that you couldn’t walk, but crowded enough that when you wanted to take photos in the “good spots,” there was no real way to escape other people. Still, it is a beautiful bookstore—the carved wooden shelves, the red staircase, the stained glass ceiling. It earns its reputation.
The books were clearly priced higher than usual, which felt understandable… I guess?
Later, during the walking tour, our guide explained the backstory. Livraria Lello used to function as both a bookstore and a café, serving locals, writers, and students. But after its association with Harry Potter became globally famous, tourism slowly pushed away regular customers. Eventually, the shop struggled financially.
That’s when the ticketing system was introduced. You can’t enter without a ticket now, but the ticket can be redeemed as a voucher toward a book—though most books still cost a little more than the voucher value.
It’s a compromise.
But it keeps the bookstore alive.
And honestly, that feels fair.
I’m only a moderate Harry Potter fan. I didn’t visit because of Hogwarts nostalgia. I came because I like bookstores, and because I wanted to understand why this place mattered. It was pretty. I enjoyed it. And when it started to feel like enough, I was ready to leave.
Decorative Glass, Dictatorship, and Quiet Resistance
There was one detail that stayed with me.
At the back of the inner bookstore, there are shaped glass panels. At first, I thought they were purely decorative. Later, our walking tour guide explained their deeper meaning.
During Portugal’s dictatorship era—the Estado Novo regime (1933–1974)—students and intellectuals often gathered in cafés near universities. These spaces became informal hubs for discussion, dissent, and intellectual exchange. When the secret police entered, café staff would deliberately create obstacles using furniture, narrow layouts, or glass partitions, slowing them down and giving people time to escape.
Those glass panels weren’t just decoration.
They were protection.
Learning this changed how I saw the space. I was touched by the idea that an entire community—waiters, shopkeepers, ordinary people—quietly worked together to protect knowledge and intellectual life.
People don’t always get to choose where they’re born or the systems they live under. But they still find ways to protect what’s good in society. That quiet, collective effort felt deeply human—and deeply inspiring.
Walking Through Porto’s History — and the Wine That Built It
After Livraria Lello, it was time for the walking tour.
I used to join free walking tours nearly twenty years ago when I first travelled through Europe. You tipped at the end, the guides shared stories and small anecdotes, and the walks were equal parts education and wandering. After all this time, I wondered if it would still feel the same.
It did.
As we walked through Porto’s old districts, the guide began explaining why this city feels so grounded, so weathered, and yet quietly confident.
Porto’s most beloved historical figure is Prince Henry the Navigator, born here in 1394. While he didn’t personally sail across oceans, he funded and organised the expeditions that pushed Portugal into the Age of Discoveries. For Porto, he represents outward curiosity — the idea that the world is meant to be explored, traded with, and understood.
That mindset shaped everything here.
Unlike Lisbon, Porto originally belonged largely to the Church, not the crown. That’s why the city’s most powerful buildings were religious rather than royal. The palace here belonged to bishops, not kings — a reminder that for centuries, faith, land, and power were deeply intertwined.
And then there was wine.
Port Wine, England, and the Douro Valley
Porto would not be Porto without port wine.
The guide explained that port wine comes from the Douro Valley, one of the oldest demarcated wine regions in the world. Grapes are grown on steep riverbanks inland, harvested by hand, and traditionally fermented before grape spirit is added mid-process, stopping fermentation and preserving natural sweetness. This fortification is what gives port wine its richness and higher alcohol content.
But what truly shaped Porto wasn’t just how port wine was made — it was who loved it.
The English.
During the 17th and 18th centuries, England and France were frequently at war, which disrupted the English supply of French wine. English merchants turned to Portugal instead, and port wine became a favourite. British families established wine lodges across the river in Vila Nova de Gaia, where cooler temperatures were better for aging wine.
That’s why, when you cross the Dom Luís I Bridge, you’re technically no longer in Porto — you’re in Gaia, where many famous port wine houses still bear English names.
In a way, Porto grew wealthy not just from wine, but from long-term relationships — trade, trust, and mutual dependence. The river wasn’t just scenery; it was infrastructure.
Listening to this, the city suddenly made more sense: solid, working-class, less performative than Lisbon. Porto feels like a place built by labour, belief, and patience.
Names, Borders, and a City That Became a Country
The guide also pointed out something deceptively simple:
The name Portugal itself comes from Portus Cale — the early settlements of Porto and Gaia.
Before there was a nation, there was this river, this crossing, this trade point.
In that sense, the Portuguese kingdom began here, long before Lisbon became the capital. Porto isn’t just a city; it’s a foundation.
At one point, we passed a dark street near the Sé Cathedral — the same narrow alley we had walked through two nights earlier. Still unlit, still uneasy. The guide mentioned that even historically, this area wasn’t meant for comfort; it was functional, defensive, and inward-looking.
Hearing that didn’t make it less dark — but it made it less random.
Sé do Porto: Fortress, Faith, and Survival
The walking tour ended near Sé do Porto, the city’s cathedral.
After tipping the guide, we decided to go in — and climb the tower.
The cathedral is one of Porto’s oldest buildings, originally constructed in the 12th century, when Portugal was still forming as a kingdom. Architecturally, it feels less like a delicate church and more like a fortress — thick stone walls, narrow windows, heavy proportions.
And that’s intentional.
Sé do Porto was built during a time of instability and conflict. Churches weren’t just places of worship; they were places of refuge. Faith and defence existed side by side. Over the centuries, Gothic and Baroque elements were added, but the core remains solid and severe.
Inside, it’s quieter than grand.
The climb up the tower was tiring — narrow stairs, uneven steps — but once at the top, the city opened up. From there, Porto didn’t feel romantic or staged. It felt real: layered rooftops, winding streets, the Douro River holding everything together.
Looking down, I realised something: Porto doesn’t impress you all at once. It reveals itself slowly, if you’re willing to walk, listen, and sometimes climb.
Francesinha, Richness, and Personal Taste
After that, we walked to Mercado do Bolhão and then nearby to try francesinha, Porto’s most famous dish.
Historically, francesinha was inspired by the French croque-monsieur, adapted by Portuguese migrants returning from France. It evolved into something unapologetically heavy: bread, ham, sausage, steak, melted cheese, and a thick beer-based sauce poured over everything.
It’s rich. Decadent, even.
It’s worth trying — if only to understand the city’s relationship with comfort food. But taste-wise, it wasn’t quite our thing. Coming from Malaysia, where strong flavours and richness are everyday experiences, francesinha felt more weighty than nuanced.
Still, trying it felt right.
A City I’d Return To
Afterwards, we walked a little more before heading back.
Porto stayed with me — not because it demanded attention, but because it didn’t. It’s a city shaped by belief, wine, trade, quiet resistance, and time. A place where history isn’t polished smooth, but left visible.
I do hope I’ll return one day.
Douro Valley
Listening to Porto’s stories — about trade, faith, and port wine — it became clear that the city itself is only half the picture.
The wine that shaped Porto does not come from here. It begins inland, along the steep riverbanks of the Douro Valley, where vines cling to terraced hillsides and harvests are still shaped by hand and season.
Porto is where port wine is aged, traded, and remembered.
The Douro Valley is where it is born.
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