Its Portuguese Cousin

Sunrise is unique because it's intense and immediate. It requires no past experience or background knowledge but rather bypasses the brain, grazes the heart and goes straight to the spinal cord. It justifies every effort to see it - and for no other reason than one mentioned by George Mallory who was trying to explain why he wanted to climb the Mount Everest: "Because it's there!". Sunrise is a natural phenomenon that is almost impossible to resist, even if one might be less awed when seeing it for the umpteenth time. A bookstore on the above picture is anything but.

Cerebral experiences do depend on, at least, some background knowledge. Without it, Bertrand bookstore is pretty unremarkable - just another building in the heart of Lisbon's Chiado district. The signage changes that perception. Even a neutral sign

sets the place somewhat apart: after all, not many - if any - bookstores share a roof with a cafe. The main message

implies a much-much bigger picture.

It might be a mere coincidence that the store opened its doors in 1732 - just 25 years after the appearance of Marsh Library in Dublin - or it might be one of the consequences of Enlightenment inspired by many giants of European intellectual thought (such as Voltaire, Descartes, Newton, Kant...) and resulting in books becoming the vogue of the day, year, and the 18th century as a whole. Books mean first and foremost exactly the two cultural institutions in questions: bookstores and libraries (along with print shops) - and it's likely that both mushroomed all over Europe contemporarily with Marsh and Bertrand. It's equally likely that only the Irish library and its Portuguese cousin survived and preserved their identity for about three centuries.

Time is a wonder in its own right, and it leaves its mark on everything it touches. While its negative impact (aging and eventual destruction) is ruthless and direct, the positive one is much more subtle. It's best described by an anecdotal remark concerning English gardens: "They are really easy to create. All you have to do is plant grass and keep cutting it for 300 years!" One might argue that, in a way, it's the same grass - and, while it's impossible to see the seedlings from the past, those looking at the garden, might be able to feel their presence. It's the subjective "feel" rather than objective "see" that defines one's experience at Bertrand. The store is quirky but its quirkiness is, in fact, visible - and it's created by the choices of the present rather than spirits of the past. Ambiguous posters (strictly speaking, the English equivalent of the Portuguese verb should be "try" rather than "taste")

unusual signage

and the above-mentioned cafe. The connection to the past might be imaginary - nothing in the appearance or behaviour of the staff or customers betrays the history of the place - but it acts almost like a self-fulfilling prophesy by evoking a sense of continuity. For the staff, that sense might be dulled by daily routine (getting excited by something you see every day might be contrary to our human nature as a way of preventing an emotional burnout) but a one-time visitor can't help feeling it pretty intensely. Upon leaving, the emotion is enhanced by a perfectly concise goodbye sign