I rode Pessoa's imaginary car to the Praca do Comercio.
Up a broad avenue to Praca Marques de Pombal.
These and the other features he mentions are mainstream tourist sites, touches of classical glamour, I suppose, at the edges of his territory he seldom left during the last two decades of his life.
Much of his talking/writing life was spent in here:
His table in there has been preserved, they say. I'll take a closer look soon.