Back on Turkish Airlines again for a 3 hour hop to Tehran. A B737 with a cheerful younger crew and only about 50% load, so no problem. We all had our last chance of a drink (good Turkish raki and then red wine) before the double whammy drought of Iran and Ramadan together. This could be really bad, as each is a downer, but put together … we shall see. The Iranians can be a pretty heavy- going group, so this may be a somewhat uphill visit. As foreign airlines seem to be banned from landing here in daylight, we arrived at the grim hour of 02:30, but the airport was of course hopping. The ultra-dour immigration female, in her regulation chardor, did not smile or even speak once – Welcome to Iran.

I was met by one of the guides we had last time, a very cheerful man named Ali and we did the regulation three cheek kisses and real lips on cheek stuff, not in the air. I know so many guides here, who of course are all men. I’m going to get a lot of this. Men will kiss the cheeks of other men who are friends or relatives each time they meet and sometimes also when they part. As they always have strong stubbly faces, I may need Bandaids in the end. As Ali had an airport pass to come in to customs, we sat and had the regulation glass of tea while waiting for the bags to come up. You can drown in glasses of chai here. Someone had obviously had a go at trying to rework the combination lock on my suitcase, as it was not at what I deliberately set it to before I checked in. They would never be able to crack it with two locks, as it is 3 digits of my phone number on one side and the next three on the other, thus very uncoordinated numbers. It’s a great way to know if someone tried to take a look. Bloody nerve.

Then the drive through the deserted and very dark night time streets, so I cannot see if some of the buildings still have the huge signs crying out ‘Death to America’.  We arrive at the somewhat less than wonderful Laleh Hotel. This had been an Intercontinental in the good old days (or 1 suppose, now the bad old days, depending on your inclination). It is a pale shadow of its former Intercon. grandeur, for sure. Threadbare carpets and a general air of dusty dilapidation and very dimly lit, which increases the general gloom. The mature counter staff all have a strong air of quiet resignation to the will of Allah, who has provided them with employment that means standing around all night pretending they are having a good time. One actually remembered me, which makes me wonder why, but I suppose this is my 4th or poss 5th visit, so I should sign up for the frequent stayer’s club. I was in bed by 04:00, so I could be woken by the traffic at 07:30. Iranians drive with one hand on the wheel and the other on the horn. Managed to ignore it for a while and slept a little more, but finally got up. Of course, too late for infidel’s daylight breakfast (the locals had theirs while still dark) and it is now coming up to midday and the restaurant is firmly closed. I have become temporarily Ramadanic (if such a word exists) and thanks to the bottle of water in my room. I shall survive until tonight. I do have a box of loukum if all else fails, but am keeping that for Mongolia to help cheer us all up in the coolth there.

I am being collected by the boss-lady from our agents here later and we shall take the one hour flight down to Isfahan, where hopefully it will not be raining (as it is here, quite hard, hence my being stuck inside writing, rather than being outside walking around). I brought my laptop down to the lobby and plugged it into a wall socket, so I can type and survey the scene. Lobby is huge, with carpet emporia all around, which is kind of ironic, due to the terrible state of the floor coverings. Many sofas and quite comfy seats, so there is a steady progression of people coming past or sitting down chatting, all keeping a shifty eye on the foreigner typing away. OH NO, it’s midday and they are playing the call to prayer over the hotel loudspeaker system. There is no escape.

Later on, in Esfahan. My good friend Parvenah, the boss-lady, arrived at the hotel and along with her enormous handbag, we were squeezed in to a very small car.  She is one of those women who carried an extra large handbag, from which a never-ending amount of ‘things’ can be produced.  It almost became a challenge to ask if she had something bizarre and see what happens.  Need a calculator or box of paper clips or a stapler – les voila. Patent medicines, printed programs, a spare pair of slippers .. all there.  She only smelled a rat when I asked if she had a pane of glass. She thinks I am funny.

We survived our quick hop from Tehran on a dilapidated Iran Air B737. Just an awful looking crew, in true Iranian fashion -if any UA f/a turned up looking as rough as them, they would be sent home. Weather here was perfect for our arrival but in the last 24 hours has gone into a slow decline and it’s now pouring. We have another 36 hours before the arrival of our aircraft and then it had better be good – much inshallering all around on this case.

We have had several very SLOW meetings with the hotel. Pavenah, with whom I am now on first name terms and for whom I brought a nice big box of tea from a Harrods shop in Istanbul airport, takes no prisoners and various hotel depts have awaited our pleasure. She is early 50’s, dyed light hair, which you see when her big headscarf pulls back, which happens to all of them all of the time and looks disarmingly over the top of her glasses. She has a ‘mother’ and I know to ask after her wellbeing and often receive more information than I needed. Having said all that, we get on like a house on fire. She is a rampant anglophile, with a sister married to a Brit living outside London, so goes there frequently, so I am in already, but she has a good SOH (probably an advanced one by local standards) and has already told me that she thinks very highly of TCS and me in particular – seems I asked fewer daft questions when I came to scout Iran about 5 years ago, than other outfits she handles.

The sad thing is that as I always miss the posh second night HUGE caviar dinner in Esfahan, as I am flying to Shiraz to make sure all will be well there next day, before they arrive in our aircraft.  But the problem is resolved. Parvenah travels on our aircraft in the morning and brings me about half a pound of the most delicious Beluga I have ever eaten … worth a FORTUNE in Fortnum and Mason. It’s a kind of wonderful problem to have a mound of caviar, which really just needs to be eaten.  (One year this happened and I departed pronto from Shiraz to Singapore, for a quick night at Raffles there. The then Front Desk Manager, Richard Yap, a Malaysian, who was going fast up the hotel management business chain, always fixed me a room and I knew he loved caviar. I lugged the caviar in its tupperware from Shiraz to Dubai to Singapore, with the help of Emirates crews, who put it in the fridge on the aircraft.  ‘How long do you need?’ Richard’s his only question when I arrived.  ‘10 minutes’ I said and promptly, 10 mins later, there was Richard and a very posh butler with a wheeled cart.  Hot blinis, with their own little heater, lemons, sieved egg yolks and whites, a bottle of frozen vodka.  We needed nothing else and just stuffed ourselves.  20 years later, neither he nor I have ever forgotten our caviar orgy.)

All meetings are always accompanied by several glasses of tea. I have rechristened Iran Chai-ran, which they seemed to think most original and amusing. I was totally ravenous last night as it had been 21 hours since food last passed my lips (and that was a TK dinner, so that hardly counted either). I did manage to get out here for a while during the day and walk the streets – no one gives you a second glance. Shops are still grouped together by what they sell, so acres of shoes, followed by clothes, followed by gold (being much examined by ladies in full black chardors). Did a stop in an ‘antique’ shop – run by a little Jewish guy, with his elderly father propped up in a kind of day bed behind the counter.  Amazingly there is still a Jewish population here. All sorts of terrible junk, but did find a nice pottery oil jug that will look good chez moi. The set up was just very Dickensian.

Today we have had both breakfast in daylight and also lunch – I made polite enquiries about all these flagrant breaches of the Ramadan rules, but it seems that there is a legal Koranic out, insomuch that if you are travelling (and this means not many k’s from your home) then the rules are officially bent. It doesn’t seem to matter that we are ensconced here for a few days; we are still technically on the move and the mighty Koran itself gives the OK. When you think that that was written in the days of donkeys and camels, it doesn’t make sense now, but anyway it’s OK not to starve.

The other guides have arrived today from Tehran.  A big, cheerful reunion and I have never been kissed by several men in such fast succession. In Syria, just so that you know, it is also three kisses, the same, and there you do lots of little sucking noise kisses on the third and last one.   Don’t even ask.

(Later addition – I think 1 have been kissed 60 times – 10 men I know multiplied by 3 kisses on arrival and 3 on dep!). Next problem is that they are all heavily into sweet, gluey colognes, so when you get the kisses in the morning, you end up smelling wildly perfumed. Meanwhile the women you do not even touch, no handshakes, nuttin, which is so unusual for us.  It’s the women who run the show and are very ballsy too, so please don’t think just because they are covered up that they have no power.  They DO.