Tehran is encircled by a mountain range. The lower areas are densely populated, resembling the bottom of a vast cauldron, where the bustle and fervor typical of large capital cities boil continuously.
That autumn, snow began to accumulate on concrete and asphalt. Squares, streets, avenues, and parks lost the green carpet of low vegetation. It’s only outside the city’s perimeter that the massive white blanket covering everything becomes truly visible. Every now and then, snow would fall again in light flakes. Even so, it did nothing to cool the city’s hustle—neither the frantic traffic nor the lively pace of pedestrians.
And if white is the color of peace, the one lived in these parts seems fragile, fleeting.
ARAB-ISLAMIC MEMORIES FROM PORTUGAL IN IRAN
I first visited Iran in 2001. I was accompanying a traveling exhibition by the Portuguese National Commission for the Discoveries, which stayed there for a while: “Arab-Islamic Memories in Portugal.”
The exhibition was well received and served as a valuable cultural bridge.
I recall the deep interest and dedication of our Embassy—and especially the Ambassador—who made sure everything went smoothly, from our arrival at the airport to our departure.
During breaks in the exhibition setup, we had a bit of time to move around and get a fleeting glimpse of the city. In the central area, lively groups of students would pass by, chatting and laughing. I felt the urge to strike up a conversation, but the circumstances made it difficult.
Lunch outings to a friendly local restaurant gave me the chance to build a small connection with one of the waiters. He didn’t speak much, but he understood English well enough—while I didn’t understand a word of Farsi. Still, through him, I learned something I would never forget. I’ll return to that shortly.
ISFAHAN – HALF THE WORLD
Once the exhibition was set up, and before returning to Lisbon, I went to Isfahan, returning to Tehran the same day.
The few hours I spent there were clearly too short to explore the city that had once been a key cosmopolitan center on the Silk Road. Traders from all over the world—Armenians, Jews, Indians, Chinese, and Europeans—passed through or settled there.
Between the late 16th and the first half of the 17th century, Isfahan was not only the political, economic, and religious capital of the Safavid Empire, but also a hub of Persian science, philosophy, theology, and literature.
During this golden era, people said Isfahan was “half the world.”
Today, it is known as an open-air museum of Safavid architecture. Starting from its central square—Naqsh-e Jahan (Imam Square), a UNESCO World Heritage site and one of the world’s largest city squares—passing through the Imam Mosque, the Chehel Sotoun Palace, one of Iran’s Persian gardens also classified by UNESCO, to the Khaju Bridge, regarded as a masterpiece of Persian architecture, the entire city is a journey through space and time.
This experience confronted me with the history of civilizations I knew little or nothing about—and, I admit, still don’t fully understand.
It also brought me face to face with a more recent past, one that shaped Iran in the second half of the 20th century and continues to shape it today.
NOT LEARNING FROM HISTORY
The flight to and from Isfahan was aboard an old Boeing 727 from the national airline. The exit was marked at an emergency door in the tail, at the very back of the aircraft, under the roaring of three deafening engines. At that time, this was considered one of the noisiest planes in commercial aviation.
As loud as it was resilient, that American aircraft struck me as an anachronistic symbol—a relic that made me reflect on the tensions and conflicts still shaking the country.
The outdated 727 dated back to the era of Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, the Shah of Iran, who ruled with an iron fist for nearly four decades.
We now know that his power was maintained—and even reinforced—through the intervention of two major Western powers: the British and the Americans. The British, via MI6, and the Americans, through direct CIA involvement. This was confirmed in a CIA report completed in 1998 but only made public in 2017.
Together, in 1953, they sponsored a coup that ousted Mohammad Mossadegh, a democratically elected Prime Minister just two years into his term.
Shortly after taking office in the early 1950s, Mossadegh promoted the nationalization of British Petroleum (BP). He immediately faced fierce opposition from the British, who tried to mobilize Europe to block Iran’s nationalization plans at all costs. But Europe was preoccupied with the collapse of its colonial empires. Decolonization was sweeping across Africa and Asia, and the last thing it wanted was another front of conflict.
Mossadegh paid a high price for daring to defy Anglo-American interests.
Beyond the oil embargo, there was successful investment in destabilizing the country through the incitement of internal discord, which shifted the fragile balance of power.
After a failed initial attempt, a second coup ultimately succeeded. Mossadegh was ousted and replaced by Fazlollah Zahedi, a loyal follower of the so-called “American friend”—the Shah.
More than two decades later, the 1979 Islamic Revolution brought the fall of the Shah and the rise of Ayatollah Khomeini—a deep blow and humiliation to American interests in the region.
Time has not healed the wounds. Even now, 72 years later, American threats are once again escalating.
If the current U.S. administration follows through with a new military intervention, it may very well mean another tragic chapter for Iran—and for the region.
In Iran, as in the world, it seems we are unwilling—or unable—to learn from history.
A SWEET FAREWELL IN TEHRAN
On my last day in Tehran, during my farewell lunch at the same restaurant I’d frequented while setting up the exhibition, the waiter I’d gotten to know asked where I was from. When I replied “Portugal,” he gave me a huge smile and exclaimed—several times:
Porteghâl! Porteghâl! Porteghâl!
He immediately fetched a few oranges and placed them on the table, repeating with joy:
Porteghâl! Porteghâl! Porteghâl!
At first, I didn’t quite grasp what he meant. But I soon realized that in Farsi, the word porteghâl means “orange”—and comes from the name of my country.
Likewise, portughāli is used to describe both the Portuguese language and Portuguese nationality.
And so I learned that in Iran, oranges, like myself, came from Portugal.
Thanks to their sweetness, the oranges had stayed. I, however, had a return ticket for the very next day.