The Verse

My first thought upon entering my apartment at The Verse was: I need to host a dinner party. The open-plan living-dining room seemed simply too nice and too vast to keep to myself, with that luminous Lisbon sunlight flooding through the French windows onto a worktop of rosy marble and shelves stacked with Portuguese Costa Nova crockery. There was even a tray of complimentary snacks from a local deli and a bottle of red from Ode Winery, its minimalist ombre label nodding to the vineyard’s low-intervention approach. I already felt right at home. This was partly because the concierge and I had been WhatsApping for weeks; she’d offered to sort out everything from car hire to dinner reservations for my trip. But also, Rua de São Bento and I had form: I’d lived on this very street during my heady, digital-nomading summer of 2023.  

Back then, I’d sublet a flat from an intimidatingly cool author and photographer couple who were off having #vanlife adventures. Now, here I was in a sleeker, spendier and air-conditioned version of that pad, with a similar penchant for arty coffee-table books, hand-thrown ceramics and immaculately draped woollen throws on display beneath the wood-beamed high ceilings. There was even a linen-bound journal (another freebie for guests) on the coffee table should inspiration strike.  

Touches like this, and the tin vase of lavender on the turquoise bathroom sink, helped soften the sterility that can often plague aparthotels. As you’d expect from a property that only opened in 2024, though, The Verse has a spick-and-span, freshly painted feel, and not a single hair out of place. In fact, eyeing those gleaming, box-fresh Smeg and Bosch appliances, I got cold feet about splattering such a pristine kitchen with what Dr Smith back home calls my 'chaotic' cookery style. Cracking into the complimentary wine on that little suntrap of a private balcony was another tempting option, but the daytime construction work going on in a neighbouring block wasn’t the most ambient soundtrack. So, I decided to hit up some old haunts instead.  

There are, after all, such a lot of good ones in the Estrela district. Call me biased, but my erstwhile neighbourhood (and almost-namesake) offers the best of both worlds when it comes to a Lisbon base: central enough for sauntering to the downtown sights, yet slightly set apart from the tourist throng and retaining a residential flavour. Pavement coffees at Buna and brunch at São, gelato from Nannarella, reformer Pilates at Prescription, a glass or two at Holy Wine, Agência for cocktails, live fado music in Amália Rodrigues House Museum’s garden… on my oft-requested list of Lisbon tips, an outsize number of entries happen to be on or around Rua de São Bento. It's also home to the impressive marble pile of Assembleia da República (Portuguese parliament HQ). A few steps further and you’re in Praça das Flores, a leafy, vibey square that holds such fond memories that I even considered getting a tattoo of its coordinates. On balmy evenings — or simply ‘evenings’ as they’re known in Lisbon — an impossibly attractive, international crowd spills out of the hole-in-the-wall bars and restaurants to lounge and laugh around the fountain.  

The Verse slots subtly among all this — the antiques shops, hipster cafés and artisan bakeries. In fact, its townhouse façade is so well camouflaged that several times I walked past the front door before retracing my steps. Stepping inside, there’s a dinky, downright gorgeous lobby bar decked in more of that blush-pink marble, but that’s as hotel-y as The Verse gets. Well, who needs a spa or pool when there’s one of Europe’s most fun capitals to explore? 

Nor did I lament the absence of your typical breakfast buffet — something that often looks excitingly abundant from afar, then on closer inspection is an unappetising letdown. Instead, at check-in, the receptionist offered me the choice of either ordering a basket of goodies to my apartment or dining at next-door eatery Hello, Kristof. Or indeed to try both during the stay, as I did. The bright, airy-café setting fitted the bill when I was craving some convivial third-space buzz and people-watching while tucking into a spread that included flaky, oven-warm croissants (no wonder they tasted so fresh: I could see an in-house patisserie chef cubing chilled butter for the next batch) and yoghurt topped with granola and compote. Fellow coffee snobs should also note this is the option that includes a barista-made coffee instead of a DIY Nespresso.  

On the other hand, some mornings really call for breakfast in bed — for instance, if you’re on a romantic minibreak, in the grip of a hangover, or, the least fun of the lot, dog-tired after some noisy neighbours kept you awake. Remember my brief notion of hosting a dinner party? Well, the occupants of the apartment above mine apparently had the same idea and actually followed through. Their spirited late-night chatter and scraping chairs drifted down to my bedroom and through my earplugs; for all the charm of Lisbon’s heritage buildings, their soundproofing leaves something to be desired. Circa 1am, my desire for sleep overrode embarrassment at being a party-pooper and I sent an SOS WhatsApp to the night manager. He sprung into action and, after fruitlessly trying to hush the night owls, ended up relocating me to another, far more peaceful apartment — pretty much identical except for the addition of a freestanding bath tub.  

With the blackout blinds drawn, I was able to grab a disco nap the following afternoon, before a restorative soak submerged in almond-scented Benamôr bubbles had me raring to go once again and I trotted off to meet some Lisboeta friends in — yep, you guessed it — Praça das Flores. Some things never change. But the arrival of a discreet, flawlessly decorated home-from-home? That’s one new addition to the neighbourhood I can get on board with.