The ghost of Salazar

I was sitting at an outdoor patio cafe in the heart of a Lisbon neighborhood, enjoying an espresso, when a voice broke the morning air.

"Where are you from?"

I looked up from my laptop. Sitting across from me was a man with a striking head of thick white hair and a matching white beard. After exchanging a few pleasantries, he opened up and began to share his life story.

He was 92 years old, speaking fluent, effortless English. Had he not told me his age, I easily would have pegged him for someone in his late 60s. The secret to his youth, he told me, was a daily regimen of tennis.

Hearing about his vitality, I mentioned my own 87-year-old father who currently suffers from dementia. His expression softened. He told me his wife had passed away just two months ago at the age of 95. Right up until the end, she completed puzzles every single day, but she, too, was slowly losing her mind before she left.

As I turned back to my screen, he looked at it with a slight grimace. "I don’t like the new technology," he said, pulling out a simple, early-2000s model flip phone. "I don’t like the new smartphones."

For 50 years, he worked as a General Manager for Ford. He recalled the era of António de Oliveira Salazar—the nationalist dictator who ruled Portugal for decades. "Salazar required companies to have manufacturing in his own country," he explained, drawing a modern parallel to Donald Trump’s economic policies. Under that regime, Ford had assembly plants, glass factories, and manufacturing facilities scattered all over Portugal.

"Not anymore," he sighed. "Now, all the parts are fabricated in China."

The very cafe we were sitting in was located on the ground floor of the building where his family has owned a flat for 56 or 65 years. Every single morning, he walks down here to have his coffee and simply enjoy the breeze.

Shortly after we began talking, his 61-year-old daughter joined us. She is a sharp, practicing criminal defense lawyer here in Lisbon. Sitting together, they shared a cynical view of modern Portuguese society.

"They are all selfish," he said, gesturing broadly. "All the politicians nowadays, and all the trade unions—they are only lining their own pockets."

He looked toward the street. "I used to see policemen walking the beach before, keeping order. Now, they just sit inside their cars. You never see them."

To him and his daughter, history looked different than what is often written. "Salazar did a lot of good things for Portugal," he insisted. "He built the schools, the parks, the infrastructure, and he ensured there was no proliferation of communism."

Before we parted ways, the two of them generously mapped out a list of hidden gems and various places I should visit during my stay, proud of the rich history packed into their small country.

I closed my laptop, grateful for a morning reminder that the most compelling histories aren't found in guidebooks, but at the cafe tables right next to us.