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Some cities dazzle on arrival. Lisbon lingers. You tune into it, like a radio station caught between frequencies: the sun warming tiled walls, laundry snapping overhead, a guitar echoing somewhere far off. For my first-ever visit, I didn’t want to stand at a distance. I wanted to slip into the city’s rhythm, to stay somewhere that felt part of it. Airbnb led me to Antiga Casa Pessoa, a quiet apartment building with an unassuming façade in Lisbon’s historic Baixa district.
But this isn’t just any old building. Antiga Casa Pessoa is the result of a decade-long labour of love, transforming a derelict 19th-century Pombaline building into an award-winning architectural project. Two friends, Maria Eugenia Ocantos and Pedro Ramos, with no background in real estate, saw what many others didn’t – a cityscape peppered with forgotten gems waiting for revival. They enlisted architect José Adrião, known for his reverent approach to heritage, to oversee the rehabilitation. What they created is less a renovation than a resurrection.
When original frescoes hidden for decades revealed themselves beneath the surface, rather than alter course, the team leaned in, preserving all they could and building around them. They layered in modern necessities like bathrooms, kitchens and a lift without erasing the building’s soul. Today, Antiga Casa Pessoa comprises 13 apartments (all bookable on Airbnb), each with its own distinct frescoes and layout. With between one to five bedrooms, there’s an apartment for every kind of guest, from solo travellers chasing stillness to big families seeking space to sprawl.
I chose the one-bedroom apartment called A Fonte or The Fountain. The name alone had me sold – nostalgic, slightly dramatic, like a black and white film with an exquisite soundtrack where nothing happens except one long, meaningful glance. But it was the images of the soft, spectral and stunning frescoes that drew me in. It felt like déjà vu in plaster and stone; new to me, yet curiously intimate. Within hours of arriving, I was padding barefoot across the 19th-century original floors and pretending I’d lived there for years.
High ceilings give the rooms a kind of hush, as though they’ve been practising silence for years. The living room opens up to Douradores Street, which hums with Lisbon’s quiet theatre – sunlight catching gold on the yellow trams, tourists in sensible shoes, the occasional fado singer dragging a love song up the street like smoke. You’re in the city, but floating above it just enough to feel deliciously removed.
And that’s the thing: you are in the city. Step out of the building and you’re a short, cobbled stroll from just about everything. Ten minutes to Alfama. Eight to Praça do Comércio. Five to a pastel de nata so perfect I went back the next morning (and the one after that). The metro is close, the river closer. Lisbon unspools around you, warm, walkable and impossibly charming even when it rains.
Inside, the modest apartment wraps itself around you like a robe. Every detail, from the soft furnishings and linen to the marble and wood used across every room, has been thoughtfully chosen and sourced from small Portuguese producers, giving the space a deeply rooted, quietly luxurious sense of place. There’s a sun-drenched lounge that invites you to settle in with a good book, while the generous queen-sized bed practically insists on long, indulgent lie-ins.
The bathroom is minimalistic with a better-than-expected shower. The kitchen is small but mighty, with a washer-dryer, oven, stove, and a fridge that I promptly filled with amber wine, green olives, and butter that tasted faintly of flowers. I cooked once. Then I remembered I was in Portugal and surrendered myself to sardines and pavement tables.
But the true centrepiece of The Fountain is the fresco itself. I spent hours lying beneath it, watching the scene unfold: a tableau likely of Lisbon itself with a stone fountain at its heart, water spouting from the mouth of a mythical sea creature. A parrot and peacock perch in dense, leafy branches; birds drink from the basin; sailing boats drift through distant waters. It feels immersive, dreamlike – a private mural of the city’s imagination.
And yet, the charm of the apartment lies in its restraint. It doesn’t ask for your attention. It lets you sit in silence with your thoughts, or the absence of them. Light moves through the space like a second language, casting shadows that make time feel elastic. You’re not just staying in a Lisbon apartment, you’re inhabiting a conversation between past and present.
If you’re the kind of person who wants room service and a rooftop infinity pool, you’ll likely find this place too quiet. But if your idea of luxury is finding a corner of the world that doesn’t ask anything of you, for spaces that whisper their history and invite you to slow down long enough to listen and where the only plan is no plan, The Fountain might just become your favourite Airbnb too.