I love this picture !! Many thanks to Gary for sending us the link. This Iranian family was out for an afternoon stroll at the site of the Ganjnameh Tablets in Hamedan; they were absolutely delightful. The lady at the front of the picture was grandma – she was what I can only describe as a colourful, kind-hearted and gregarious lady – and she was definitely the boss ! After photographs all round they insisted we join them for cups of steaming chai from an enormous scarlet vacuum flask accompanied by bars of chocolate produced from the depths of grandma’s handbag. Such spontaneous hospitality and generosity I will never forget.

It had to happen. The end of the trip. But that hasn’t stopped us making the most of our last day in Iran. Wanting to have a diverse day we decided that our first port of call would be the infamous Den of Spies ( the old US Embassy ) with a view to seeing the anti-US murals painted outside on the walls. We were a little wary as we had heard tales of tourists having the memory cards removed from their cameras by policemen after photographing these pictures. In readiness, we removed the half full memory cards from our cameras before starting out and replaced them with new, unused ones so that in the event of a minor diplomatic incident we would not lose all of our precious photos from the trip. However on arriving we saw no soldiers or policemen and, avoiding the eyes of the security cameras, happily snapped away. No one was interested. No one took our cameras from us. Feeling confident we took our one and only trip on the Tehran metro to the old bazaar. I’d read about this in Betty Mahoody’s ‘ Not without my daughter’ and on arriving recognised it from the book. High, vaulted – brick ceilings, arched and stained coffee brown. A sea of black chadors led us deeper into the old alley ways of the bazaar and winding our way through we were eventually disgorged into a little square where we found a beautiful mosque. Locating the ladys’ entrance we took off our shoes at the entrance and pushed back a heavy plush green curtain and gingerly entered. ‘ Salam madam – salam !’ The traditional Iranian friendliness with which we have now become accustomed greeted us. We were handed floral chadors and lead into the prayer rooms where we were accosted by a fantasy of mirrored walls and ceilings, pink and mint green chandeliers. The floor was carpetted with thick persian carpets and they felt reassuringly warm under foot. Meeting the eyes of a lady knitting in vivid pink wool I asked ‘ haletun chetori ? ( how are you ? ). This met with several calls of ‘hello madam – welcome – where you from ! ( in farsi of course ). We were able to say where we had been and what we had enjoyed in Iran whilst a small boy at our feet started to play with a large red car, weaving it’s plastic tyres along the patterns in the carpet. I’ll never forget the hospitality and kindness of these people; welcoming doesn’t begin to desribe it. Last stop of the day was an old cafe – come – tea house where we enjoyed turkish coffee, chai and what looked to be generous slices of jumbo swiss roll. Walking to catch a cab back to the hotel we spotted the British Embassy surrounded by high wired fencing and balasts. A smiling soldier allowed us to take a picture of the road sign outside the embassy: Babbi Sandz Street. Never say the Iranians dont have a sense of humour. So here we are. The trip is all but over and we must say goodbye to this wonderful country and it’s people. So, khoda havez Iran – I love you and your people and long to return soon. Inshallah.

In ancient times the Persians said that ‘Esfahan was half the world’ meaning that to see Esfahan was to see half the world – why travel anywhere else ? It certainly is an amazing city. The archictecture is unlike any we have ever seen: domes, turquoise tiles, mosaics, huge vaulted mosques and some of the most beautiful stone work. It takes something to get to 43 and be stunned to speechlessness ( is that a word ? ) at the beauty of the old mosques. It’s a new kind of calm which passes over you on entering one of these enormous domed rooms – the intricacy of the tile work is offset by the simplicity of the structure. The silence is almost oppressive, only broken by the audible in-takes of breath made by visitors to the room. Blue skies complement the skyline packed with minarets and graceful towers. A man sings under the arches of one of the old bridges and we are in heaven ! To come to Esfahan is to challenge the senses in a new way. Be brave – give it a go – Iran is wonderful ! Tomorrow we head for Kashan before driving back to Tehran. Back to the desert and those wonderful mountains !

Rich, creamy and fruity – that’s Fesenjoon ! Having waited years to sample the authentic dish, I was thrilled to see it on the menu tonight. A concoction of chicken cooked in pomegranate juice and ground walnuts served with rice. Somehow sitting in the old converted merchant’s house in the ancient city of Yazd it tasted SO much better. And what a perfect end to a perfect day. We had started early, driving out to the Towers of Silence – two immense brick structures, each a-top it’s own hill. They were constructed hundreds of years ago for the Zorastrians to deposit their dead, the bodies left for scavenging crows. At the base of the hills sat the remains of old dwellings complete with wind towers. It was sandy, dry and arid; desert surrounded by mountains. Later that day we took lunch at another old merchant’s house converted into a beautiful restaurant:a courtyard with sofa beds around it’s perimeter – an oblong pool in the centre. Climbing up onto the roof we looked over Yazd to take in a sea of sandy coloured buildings and wind towers – so different from anything else we have seen so far. Lunch was alfreso - splendid stews and kebabas with salad followed by a stretch out on one of the many sofa beds to indulge in fresh pistachio ice cream. Bliss! Walking out that afternoon we wandered through the old winding lanes to find a beautiful mosque – a turquise mirage of tiny tiles patterned into an intricate mosaic. Vast expanses of blue and green and azures covered the walls, minarets and domes to create a stunning contrast to the blocky sandy buildings of the desert city. And so to Fesenjoon; a wonderful end to a beautiful day. Tomorrow we travel to Esfahan for three nights of mosques, culture and history. They say here that Esfahan is ‘half the world’ meaning that to see Esfahan is to see half the world. Can’t wait to find out !

Sitting alone on a persian mat, wrapped tightly in a chador, I have to say I felt rather un-nerved. This was my first ever visit to a Mosque and I wanted to make sure I got it right. I was never going to blend in but I could at least respect the ritual and custom of the Mosque. I had been lead into the ladys’ prayer room by an incredibly friendly attendant who helped me with my chador. I say chador – more of a floral sheet – with which I covered my head and body and clutched under my chin – knuckles white, determined not to show any hair. Walking into the room I sat down with my back to the wall and watched, listened and committed to memory my surroundings. The walls and ceiling were patched with mosaic mirror tiles – a huge chandelier hung from the ceiling. The floor was matted with red persian rugs and it was fast filling with women in black chadors. I looked at a lady by me – her face was gnarled and brown and her teeth had long departed her. A slight smile and her face broke into an enormous toothy grin: ’salam madam – salam.’ Others then looked across at this nearly 6ft western girl with a rucksack and smiled and called ’salam – salam.’ Then the prayers started. The ladies lined up in rows and listed to the call of the mezzuin – chanting responses and placing terracotta prayer stones before them. This was another world. There were the devout with their hands held upwards holding a prayer book and others using their mobile phones. Two girls next to me said hello and it turned out that they were from Kabul in Afghanistan but were now living in Shiraz. I felt a complete alien but gripped by the ceremony and what was going on around me. What a contrast to the bustling bazaar of earlier that afternoon when we had bought vegetable and spiced cheese samosas from a young man selling pastries. I had immediately spilt chilli sauce over my hands at which point his partner trotted off to the cafe next door to get a handful of tissues for me to mop up the sticky mess. The bazaar was old, brick-clad and cavernous, full of wonderful warm spicy smells, sparkling materials hanging from beams and children running and dodging men with wheelbarrows full of pomegranates and lemons. It was dim, it was smoky and it was fascinating. And talking of fascinating – this morning we headed off for Persepolis ( worth a quick google ) to see the remains of the palace of Darius II. We were blessed with a warm and sunny day – blue skies providing a perfect backdrop for the caramel – coloured pillars and columns. Walkways and stairways were intricately carved with reliefs depicting soldiers and civilians carrying animals and bearing swords in preparation for meeting the King. Again – another ‘tourist hot spot’ with very few tourists about. I won’t go into the history of the palace remains but will try to describe the site in terms of sensory detail. Think endless columns, stone gateways, arches, wonderfully carved phoenixes, mystical beasts on plinths, rock, stone and mountains – hey you’re there already! Well, this evening we arrived at Yazd, a desert town, and will be staying here for two nights, leaving for Esfahan on Saturday. It’s been another fascinating day in the Islamic Republic. I feel safe here and have become accustomed to wearing a headscarf and manteau – bad hair days are a tiny price to pay for a glimpse into this intriguing country.