Ruth Badley's Blog, page 5

London Calling

Some business and a lot of pleasure took us back to ‘the smoke’ for a few days but it turns out we were missed at the Mount, as on our return our neighbours declared it was good to see us back! After just a few days in London, where we were insignificant specks in the crowd, being noticed felt good.

The lure of the capital city is undeniable though, and this trip was a series of ‘contrasting firsts’, beginning with the biggest two-day exhibition for anyone in the geospatial industry and culminating with an item on my bucket list – seeing the Rolling Stones concert at London Stadium in the Olympic Park. More of that later.

Although Tim is a GEOBusiness veteran this was the first year I’d been available to attend and it was good to catch up with so many of Tim’s old colleagues and business associates who were keen to hear about our Dubai experience first-hand.

With a little research it’s possible to enjoy a some of what London has to offer for no cost. One of the best free experiences in the city is the Sky Garden. With GEOBusiness showcasing the role of geospatial professionals in shaping modern cities, a trip to the 35th floor of the ‘walkie talkie’ building was very much in order. The building in Fenchurch Street offers access to London’s highest public garden and 360° views across the city from the observation decks.

It’s necessary to book ahead for access tickets but we got very lucky on the day and managed to bag a couple, thanks to a cancellation.

After you’ve gawped at the stunning views, you can stroll through landscaped terraces of abundant and lush flowering plants, ferns, grasses and herbs. By then you will be suitably charmed and ready to empty your wallet at one of several bars and restaurants! It feels kind of rude not to, so a couple of non-alcoholic cocktails, (the day was young!) and a packet of crisps later, (we know how to live it up) and we had waived goodbye to the best part of £20. A snip compared to anything similar in Dubai where they know a thing or two about iconic skyscrapers and getting people to part with wads of cash to see them.

The evening before we’d had an excellent dinner in Islington, with friends who live in the area. They introduced us to La Petite Auberge, a French bistro and one of their favourites amongst many in Upper Street.

This was Boeuf Bourguignon heaven – melt in the mouth, slow food, with an unctuous wine sauce and pile of fluffy mash to soak it up. Even a humble chicken breast, generously stuffed with spinach and ricotta cheese was elevated with a creamy sauce, richly flavoured with earthy mushrooms and chicken juices. Every ingredient tasted as if the maximum flavour had been squeezed out of it before chef added the obligatory half a pound of butter. It’s no mystery why French food tastes so good! Butter, cream and salt! But wait, that other naughty but nice indulgence – sugar! It’s not often that a traditional menu item makes me rethink a dish I know and love. Crème Brûlée with banana? A crust of shiny brown caramel clinging to slices of banana atop a velvety, just set custard. Genius. That’s the sort of dessert I dream about. The ‘plain’ version just won’t cut it for me now.

From the best dessert in the world to a bit of flop. A restaurant with the heritage of the German Gymnasium should be able to produce the ultimate Black Forest Gateau but someone here has got the recipe badly wrong. So much cream I wondered if this was chef’s White Forest Gateau joke. Not nearly enough chocolate in the sponge and the essential juicy cherry content squashed into a peculiar hard base. The whole thing drenched in Amaretto, so a stridently almond flavour is all you get. Weird.

For those who care about these things THE BEST Black Forest Gateau – bar none – can be found at The Wolseley. I nearly cried with joy when I ate it.

That said, the Grand Café of the German Gymnasium does a lot of things very well – it’s a veritable meat fest and they do the sausage and schnitzel stuff to perfection. No complaints on the triple cooked chips either and the surroundings, general buzz and service is pretty good too. I’d go back but pass on dessert.

So here we are. The planets have aligned, and we are part of the standing crowd at the Olympic Park, waiting for the greatest rock and roll band in the world to show us what they’ve got. Good fortune again as the support act is Florence and the Machine (pity night one, who got Liam Gallagher). Flo, as she is known on Twitter, was outstanding – great presence, lean, lithe and charmingly humble, she deliverers a clutch of crowd rousing hits, but no one is screaming for an encore.

There’s a brief pause and then the lights, the guitar riff, the crowd roars and Jumpin’ Jack Flash and his trusty musical lieutenants are off, and all my yesterdays are playing back to me. If it feels like that for me, what does it feel like for them?

Every minute of the sex, drugs and rock and roll royalty lifestyle is etched deep into those crumbling faces. The peerless, legendary hits are the soundtrack to their life stories too. Longevity has made the Rolling Stones their own tribute – to their youth and ours.

As they go into Let’s Spend the Night Together, I can hear my parents’ outrage at the sentiment of the lyric. I’m 13 and if Mum and Dad disapprove of the ‘those long-haired creatures,’ that’s all the reason I need to love them.

The teenage defiance I felt some 50 years ago is back and I’m shouting the lyrics as Jagger shows off his historic moves, running, shimmying, shaking and pointing, just as he always does. He is 74 and he doesn’t look or sound ridiculous. He is Mick Jagger, one of the greatest and most distinctive lead singers of all time, miraculously still at the top of his game.

The Stones take us all the way back to 1966 with Paint it Black and I’m reminded of the song that set me off on my ‘black clothes only ‘phase that so infuriated my mother.

Then the red lighting and enthusiastic Woo Woo of the crowd and we’re in for the anti-establishment biggie, Sympathy for the Devil.

I have a great view of the giant video screen at stage left and those crinkly faces don’t lie. They’ve done these numbers a million time before, but now is the only moment that counts. Keith’s characteristic gestures, the slight kick of the left leg, head thrown back and eyes closed when the music takes him higher. Ronnie Wood’s rictus grin to the crowd can’t be faked and even the straight-faced Charlie Watts breaks into a momentary smile now and then. The same commitment and attitude they had in the 1960s is still there. What the Rolling Stones represent is still relevant to the eternal teenagers in us all.

Florence briefly returns for a triumphant duet with Mick on Wild Horses and there’s an extended version of Midnight Rambler to please the hardcore.

My only quibble and it may just be me is with Keith’s solo spot for The Worst and Happy. I’m not a fan of Keith’s high, thin, vocals but maybe the front man needs a loo break! Keith doesn’t seem to be too bothered about disguising his silver hair – the feathers and other pirate paraphernalia that he used to attach to his wayward locks is gone too. Only a colourful head band remains which, from a distance suggests a head injury. Pam Ayres would be pleased to know that Keef has looked after his teeth. They seem considerably younger than he does.

It’s Brown Sugar and the crowd is going wild so when Mick shouts ‘goodnight’ we know it’s not the end. I’ve been ticking off the items on my dream set list and there’s one left to do, guys.

The encore delivers the spine-tingling Gimme Shelter I’ve been hoping for and the ultimate Stones’ show closer, Satisfaction. Ours and theirs for sure.

Next stop New York, for Springsteen on Broadway.

Location, Location, Location!

We’re back! After two and half years in the adult playground-cum-sandpit of Dubai we return to the motherland, free as birds. We could live anywhere in the UK we say. Yorkshire was a beautiful home for many years, but we fancy a change (and a kinder climate,‘cos after Dubai, we’re wimps). Many viewings later, across several southern counties, we find The One.

Eight months on and here we are, in a new and permanent home, on the rural borderlands of Essex and Suffolk. The house is in Essex but down the road the signs announce a welcome to Suffolk. Landscapes and views that inspired Constable and Gainsborough are all around us.

‘Oooh, you’ve chosen well here – gorgeous spot and the driest place in England, this is,’ say the array of tradesmen with Suffolk accents that come to the door in the first few weeks of our arrival.

The south-facing garden, predicted by the same locals to be akin to a Spanish holiday resort for most of the year, remains stubbornly uninviting. For weeks we endure unprecedented amounts of snow, relentless, driving rain, hail and wind, and can only stare at the garden through closed windows.

In truth we didn’t choose the place, we chose the house, but now the sun has come out we realise that our hunches were right. There’s a lot to love here. First off, a weekly fresh food market in Sudbury, our nearest town. Finally, buying, cooking and eating fresh local produce is not aspirational – it’s what everyone does! And it’s good to see that the best, tastiest stuff is not presented in a gussied up ‘food emporium’ where the prices only appeal to the well-heeled. Harrogate, I think you know what I‘m talking about.

This is a proper and popular food market, with cheeky sellers either calling out the prices or, in the case of the fresh fish van, chalking up the day’s bargain catch. I note that the cod I buy is double the price at the supermarket counter that day. There’s also some quality fruit and veg to be had and tasty meat sourced from a farm, a mile or so up the road. To date, rib of beef, bacon, sausages and chicken have been tried and tested. Superb, and a fraction of the price at nearby Waitrose – other supermarkets are available.

Of course, ‘local’ needs to be seen in context. No one is pretending that the sweet and juicy blood oranges are home grown, but who cares if they taste this good? A bunch of vibrant mint purchased here lasts a full week and is infinitely preferable to a plastic-wrapped specimen that wilts after a day. Neither is locally grown but I know which I would rather have.

I may be a newcomer but I’m swelling with pride for Sudbury and inwardly amused that one of the stallholders is selling dates imported from Iran. In your face Donald Trump!

Sudbury market rolls into town on a Thursday but with a little local knowledge it soon transpires that smaller scale producers are in abundance. Lots of people keep chickens, box up the eggs and offer them for sale outside their homes. A modest payment is left on trust.

On most weekends you can find smallholders selling veg, rapeseed oil and even spirits on a village green or farmer’s market somewhere nearby.

The local community have been extremely welcoming. The removal van advertising our arrival, effectively blocked the lane for two days, but no one seemed too bothered. A steady stream of kind-hearted souls, bearing cards and gifts introduced themselves, always ready to answer our dim questions about the rubbish collection and much else that us townies found mysterious in those first few weeks, when snow and ice halted normal activity.

Tim is making contacts in the extensive live music scene round here and me? I’m back to writing. Got that book to finish….

Bye Dubai

Our Dubai adventure is almost over and in the flurry of list-making, packing, repacking, administration and goodbyes, it’s time for a little reflection.

In parts of the world which make it increasingly difficult for ‘non-natives’ to even visit – the UK is a prime example – it’s a privilege to have been welcomed as a guest resident in the UAE. I’ve made friends with people from around the world but sadly, I don’t know a single native Emirati. In a country that is so tolerant of foreigners, it’s a pity that Emirati culture is so hard to penetrate.

After two and half years away, it feels good to be going home and starting anew. I used to be afraid of big changes. Not anymore. Moving from everything and everyone I know was daunting in February 2015. Now it feels thrilling. Of the friends we’ve made here, many have been expats somewhere all their working lives and their positive attitude about living in other countries is addictive.

We won’t be expats again but we will always be travellers, because Tim is now on a permanent gap year! I’m banning the ‘R’ word after this blog post. Retirement has always been the elephant in the room, looming large over our Dubai experience. We came here knowing that this would be the last assignment after nearly 30 years with the same company. This is what we kept telling ourselves and others.

The concept of retirement is so loaded. Why does retiring from work automatically imply that you also retire from life! As the date drew nearer people appeared concerned, disbelieving even.

‘What will you do?’ was the usual response, as if without daily paid employment, the unfortunate retiree will be forced to gaze around their surroundings in bewilderment. Unfortunately, the question, posed so many times can become a self-fulfilling, and paralysing prophecy. After first looking forward to exploring new opportunities, and having the freedom to do so, even Tim started to have a few misgivings.

I admit to not being very sympathetic, although I do understand the wobble. One day, you’ve got a role and a title, you wear a freshly laundered shirt and leave the house at 8.30am and the next day you don’t. Or the next day or the day after that. I say this, but as I write, he’s back in the office, for an official handover. Retirement ‘celebrations’ with colleagues here, and in the UK, are in the diary. Some extremely touching and kind messages have been received, indicating Tim’s contribution was highly valued by many on a personal, as well as a business level.

The reality of leaving work won’t really sink in for some months, so for now Tim remains in the fuzzy edged no man’s land of employment limbo. Neither totally in, nor completely out. A very helpful transition.

We shall see how this pans out but on first observation, managing a permanent gap year requires some structure. So far he’s up and about at a reasonable time, exercising in the nearby swimming pool. A good start. If we weren’t leaving, perhaps this would become Tim’s go to routine. Time to throw in the disruption of relocation. I’m appropriating this oh-so-trendy business buzzword for my own use. Here’s a few disruptive ideas that might inspire others on the verge of a permanent gap year.

1. Physically leave your comfort zone

Research a different country, pack your bags, put your extra stuff in storage and live a different life for a while. Rent your home or arrange a house swap. We may well be doing this again when the UK winter kicks in.

2. Mentally leave your comfort zone

Set yourself a challenge. Write a book, design an app or enrol for a course. Whatever it is, connect with like-minded people on and offline. Use the wealth of free online resources to get you started and join groups for mutual encouragement and feedback along the way.

3.Be acutely aware of time

When you have more free time there’s a tendency to waste it. Everyone needs a period to just chill and do nothing occasionally, but once you’ve embarked on a project you need to stay interested and motivated to see it through. Interest and motivation comes from doing, not just thinking about doing. Set yourself a realistic schedule that you can stick to and milestones that you can achieve, daily, over a month, three months, six months.

4. Sell or refurbish?

Look at your home. Imagine if you had to either sell it or alter it. What would you choose to do? Look into the possibilities of both. Get an architect to give you some ideas and costings. How does it stack up against selling and buying? It’s an interesting exercise and can throw up some surprising results. We thought we wanted to refurbish but after considering the very detailed plans, changed our minds.

5. Refurbish your home

What are the priorities? It’s easy to get carried away with refurbishment, especially if an architect comes up with interesting new ideas. Knock this wall down here, open this room up here, transform that empty loft space with a super-duper conversion. All great, but if all you really want is a bigger kitchen, and none of the ideas achieve that, then refurbishment could be a very costly and time-consuming disruption. We concluded we just didn’t have the stomach, and possibly the heart to stay on top of a major refurbishment project. We had an early warning sign of how it might go, so I pass this on in case it’s helpful. If builders struggle to get back to you with a straightforward price in a reasonable time frame, it tells you they could be equally ‘fluid’ if hired. Going over budget might cause nothing more than a raised eyebrow to camera on TV, but if that’s your money disappearing in extended schedules and unexpected price hikes you might wish you hadn’t started. We took the hint.

5. Sell your home

Before we came to Dubai we’d lived in the same house for 23 years! It’s easy to be sentimental about homes. We’d brought both our sons up in that house. We’d gradually altered and arranged it to suit our needs as the years went by. We knew the history of all its special peculiarities and comforts. There was nothing we didn’t know about that house. Both our sons left home some time ago and they haven’t looked back. It was time for us to say goodbye and move on too. If we loved the house, we reasoned, others would too. We rented it whilst we were here and after that it didn’t feel like our home any more. Returning to the same old, same old just wasn’t for us. Next week a new family move in and we have no regrets. A new home awaits us – somewhere – and with a permanent gap year to fill we’ll have plenty of time to find it!

Georgia On My Mind

I doubt Georgia would have been on my holiday radar from the UK, but that was then and this is now. The world map looks different from Dubai and the cheap flight schedules put Tbilisi, Georgia’s capital, within easy reach. Georgia lies to the south of Russia, where Eastern Europe meets Asia and the flying time is only three hours from Dubai.

Black Sea beaches, beautiful countryside, mountains, caves, fortresses, monasteries and one of the oldest wine producing regions in the world, give Georgia plenty to shout about. Pride in the traditions and heritage of the country is tangible. Georgia’s history has been turbulent, with independence finally won in 1991.

A precious cultural identity is celebrated in music. Every evening groups of musicians can be heard in bars and cafes across the city, entertaining locals and visitors with traditional Georgian songs.

In the Old Town area of Tbilisi there’s a mix of lively bars and restaurants, restored old buildings, historic monuments and striking ultra-modern architecture, notably the magnificent Peace Bridge. The carved wooden balconies on many of the residential buildings are stunning and even the decaying examples have a photogenic grandeur to them.

Tbilisi means ‘heat’ and refers to the city’s naturally warm sulphur waters. A complex of domed bathhouses has been restored and work continues still. Looking around the area we noticed what we thought was an Iranian mosque. Later we learned that this too is a bathhouse, not yet open to the public, due to ongoing restoration work, but deliberately fashioned in the distinctive Iranian style with decorative blue and turquoise tiles.

Exploring the side streets and alleyways leading away from the main thoroughfare, most of the buildings are in various stages of decay, some being held in place by metal supports. Families still live in these buildings, and judging from the piles of rubble it seems a hazardous existence. Hopefully the regeneration of the Old Town will extend to these areas soon.

It was in this unlikely setting that we happened upon the Culinarium Cooking School. As luck would have it the School’s proprietors were taste testing cakes from a local patisserie as we stumbled in. With tea supplied, we were invited to give our opinion on the products. It’s hard to imagine a better welcome to a country than that!

The husband and wife team are food consultants to many of the city’s producers and restaurateurs and were more than happy to give us some top tips on local food and drink. They even helped us secure a coveted table at Barbarestan, one of the best restaurants in the city. The menu is based entirely on a 19th century Georgian recipe book, found at a flea market. As restaurant concepts go, it’s ‘out there’ but the food didn’t disappoint.

Cold vegetable starters included an aubergine and garlic dip and a dish of thinly sliced courgettes, covered with satsivi, a cold walnut sauce. Delicious, lightly toasted flatbread complemented them both. Perfectly pink duck with stewed pears and a chicken and aubergine dish followed. The classic style local red suggested by our server was among the best we tasted on this trip.

With time of the essence, the free walking tour around Tbilisi was the best way to get acquainted with the main sights and the city’s many ancient Georgian Orthodox churches. Georgians are deeply religious and most of the churches we visited were crowded with local worshippers.

Our American guide explained that the widespread corruption of the past had now been reversed. Prime Minister Giorgi Kvirikashvili, previously, the leader of the Georgian Dream coalition, won an overwhelming majority at the last election in what appears to be a highly significant and positive result. Given the current dire state of UK and US politics, I’m a little envious of Georgia’s sense of optimism. Imagine having an inspirational leader, with a mandate for a peaceful ‘reboot’ of the country. If only.

Watching over the city’s fortunes, and visible from our hotel room, the statue of Mother Georgia, a twenty-metre high aluminium figure, represents the Georgian national character. In her left hand she holds a bowl of wine for those who come in friendship and in her right, a sword to deter enemies. Our guide took us up the hill on foot for a statue’s eye view across the city.

Cable cars ferry visitors up and down Sololaki Hill all day long to explore the various monuments and viewing points. With eyes shut throughout I just about managed the descent without a panic attack. Cable cars are just not my thing.

We’d noticed lots of intriguing edibles on our wanderings and our guide had given us a few pointers on some typical local food to try. Stalls selling churchkhela are everywhere. Is it a type of salami or a candle? Neither. This is Georgia’s most popular sweet snack, made from thickened, concentrated grape juice and walnuts. It looks better than it tastes, to be honest, and the highly coloured versions are to be avoided. True churchkhela should be the same colour as the red or white wine that it’s made from. Gaudy blues and greens are pumped full of colouring.

The most sophisticated interpretation of churchkhela we had was dessert at Barbarestan where the red grape juice appeared as a lightly set jelly on a base of crushed walnuts, finished with a caramel sauce. Oh yes.

Georgians like walnuts and aubergines and make use of them in different ways. Walnut oil replaces olive as a dipping accompaniment to bread. Finely ground nuts might be sprinkled on top of a fresh tomato and cucumber salad and can also be added to chakapuli, a hearty meat stew. There’s various versions of this, depending on the season. In the summer the sauce can include sour plums and chunks of aubergine. It reminded me of some of the dishes I ate in Iran. Georgian cuisine has its own traditions but the spicing and ingredients favoured by invaders and traders over centuries has left its mark too.

As a wine producing country of note, Georgia’s drinking culture is huge and local wine shops are everywhere. Coming from the UAE it was a bit weird to see encouraging slogans outside restaurants and bars, suggesting that wine consumption is the solution to most problems! Despite this we didn’t see any evidence of drunken behaviour anywhere. Time to dive in and consume!

At a wine bar we ordered the Georgian ‘tapas’ menu, as way of sharing a few dishes in one sitting without being overstuffed. Our very helpful waitress gave a useful explanation of the two types of Georgian wine. In brief, the classic style comprises reds and whites, made with Georgian grape varieties in the European tradition of winemaking. By contrast, traditional qvevri wines are made in earthenware pots, stored underground during the fermentation process. Grapes, skins, seeds and stalks are used. We tasted several quevri wines but found them too dry to be enjoyable so we stuck to the classic style.

To accompany the wine, kupati, a spicy Georgian sausage, served with a plum sauce and buttery mash soon disappeared. The sausage filling was course cut and probably contained some bits of pig that that we wouldn’t have chosen to eat, but the peppery spices worked their magic. Just as welcome was the little dish of beef and pork meatballs, fragrant with rosemary and made even better with a spicy tomato dipping sauce.

Our appetiser of bread and walnut oil had largely satisfied the carb craving, so the dish of fried potatoes that came after the sausage and mash was hardly touched. But hang on, that’s four dishes and the menu said five. Oh no! Our waitress was clearing the space needed to set down the enormous khatchapuri that completed our order. Khatchapuri is bread stuffed with melted cheese – this was a version of that, but a portion big enough to feed the population of a small country. The Georgian equivalent of an after dinner mint. It can come with a fried egg on top. Travellers prone to indigestion, beware!

On our last full day we took a tour through some of the spectacular Georgian countryside. Tours on a mini bus with a driver and a guide are easy to find and inexpensive. Ours took in several beauty spots and sites of religious significance as well as a wine tasting and tour of the Khareba winery. The Bodbe monastery site was particularly serene and well cared for as it houses the resting place of St. Nino, a revered female figure in the early history of Christianity.

Our final destination, was Sighnaghi, named ‘city of love’ because the registry office is always open and couples can get married without having to first file official documents. The Georgian equivalent of Gretna Green. Sighnaghi is on a hill and the steep climb up to the viewing point came right at the end of a full day’s sightseeing. It was well worth it for the view across the rooftops.

Three Cities In Iran 3: Tehran

Our final stop is Tehran, Iran’s capital city, a sprawling metropolis of eight million people where we hope to glimpse a little of the modern Iranian lifestyle. Our friends Saeid, Rita and their dear little boy Sherwin are our guides. Aged four, Sherwin is a fan of the children’s characters Topsy and Tim and is delighted to meet a real-life Tim. That makes me Topsy. Even though we don’t seem to behave much like the story book people, he seems happy enough to share his Mum and Dad with us for a couple of days.

We arrive on the anniversary of the death of Fatima, the prophet’s daughter. We noticed the black flags displayed on public buildings when we left Isfahan, and in Tehran, evening prayers are taking place at a shrine close to a local bazaar.

As we walk through the bazaar, Rita explains that everyone shops here, rich and poor alike. It’s a great leveller. I can see why. It’s a cook’s paradise for a start with fresh fruit, vegetables and cookware at every turn. The sacks of tantalising spices, teas, dried fruits and nuts look so attractive that we are easily persuaded to make several purchases. At one stand they’re cooking baby beets and selling them like kebabs on a stick – my kind of street food!

I’ve developed a taste for saffron, the highly prized spice, used to flavour and colour food. Iranian saffron is the best in the world and just a few of the tiny red filaments brings a vivid yellow colour to rice or plain yoghurt. It has health benefits too, apparently. I didn’t think I liked the taste but I’ve probably based my opinion on the inferior quality you find on the average UK supermarket shelf.

And with top quality Iranian saffron, comes a kitchen gadget that I’ve never seen before- a saffron grinder. Every home needs one to reduce the strands to a powder, thus making the supply of the precious stuff go even further. Sold! Luxury items as well as provisions are available in the bazaar too. In Isfahan, I took home a silver filigree necklace with a lapis lazuli stone. In Tehran, I’ll treasure a beautiful turquoise and silver bracelet, a gift from our hosts.

Iranian culture places guests at VIP level and the generosity shown to visitors to the country generally leaves a lasting impression. Here’s an example. Rita takes me to an exhibition and sale of decorative homewares. This is well-timed to coincide with the preparations for the Iranian New Year – a time when new items for the home are traditionally purchased. Unlike the bazaar, this has an air of exclusivity about it. The venue, in the middle of a public garden, attracts lots of beautiful, well dressed ladies.

I hadn’t really planned on purchasing anything. Most of the items are too large for our suitcase but it’s nice to browse as there are some gorgeous pieces. A small metal bowl lined with bright blue enamel catches my eye. That wouldn’t take up much space.

Paying for anything in Iran is a little complicated as there are two currencies – the Rial and the Toman. American dollars are also acceptable in some shops and it is these and only these that I have in my purse at this moment. This is effectively a pop-up shop and the charming assistant is not set up for US dollars. ‘You’re a guest here, take it as a gift, from us,’ she says with a smile, ‘Look I will make a note right here on my list that we are giving you a present.’ She even wraps it for me. Would this happen anywhere in Europe? I don’t think so. Utterly charming.

Also located in the garden is the Museum of Time. The building, with its ornate architecture and decorative mouldings is as interesting as the collections of clocks and watches it houses. On the top floor, quirky modern artwork using watch parts to create imagery, is a nice surprise.

While we’re exploring the treasures in the garden Tim and Saeid are driving to the snow covered slopes for a cable car ride, just twenty minutes away from the city.

After all that activity we go for lunch at one of our friends’ favourite places, the wonderful Narenjestan – one of Tehran’s top ten restaurants. The dining area has a great view of the city but it is the five star standard of food and service that makes it special. Our waiter, educated in London many years ago speaks impeccable English.

The menu features Persian, international and seafood dishes and everything we order is first class in presentation and taste. Live classical music too. A memorable conclusion to our six days in Iran.

Iran is a country that can’t fail to impress and our experience, exceeded all expectations. The warmth and generosity of the people, the incredible history, art and culture is truly enriching and so at odds with everything we are told. We can only hope for better understanding in the future.

And the headscarf? Is it a problem? All women must wear a headscarf in public in Iran, by law, including tourists. It’s controversial and I didn’t much like it, personally. Two out of three Iranian women I asked would prefer not to have to wear it. That said, I saw many women who really rocked the look in a way that almost made me envious. Younger women wear it as far back as they dare and there are of course, designer scarves with colour and pattern to add plenty of glamour and chic. Women will always find a way to show individual style and personality, whatever the rules!

Three Cities In Iran 2: Isfahan

The 300-mile journey north to Isfahan takes at least five hours by road so we make an early appearance at Shiraz bus station, with a helpful taxi driver in tow to make sure we head off in the right direction. Isfahan is the ancient former capital of Persia, renowned for its historic sites, art and architecture.

After much examination of our paperwork we’re issued with a flimsy sheet of paper that says we can climb aboard. It’s Tim’s birthday so we plan to search for cake at our destination. With palaces, bridges, gardens, cathedrals, bazaars, museums and paintings to see, we’ll barely have time to scratch the surface of Isfahan’s treasures in two days. To help us make the most of the time our hosts have arranged a half-day tour of some of the key attractions for the next morning. For now, we head straight for the main attraction – the Naghsh-e Jahan Square.

One of the largest city squares in the world, is in fact a long rectangle with masterpieces of Islamic architecture in every direction. In past times the area was used as a polo field, which is some indication of its scale. The Persians invented polo and much else as our guide in Shiraz explained. The exchange of goods through a monetary system, a postal service and the first human rights charter are just a few of the many achievements of the Persian Empire. Religious tolerance is still part of Iranian culture so churches, cathedrals and synagogues, as well as mosques, are evident in Isfahan and other Iranian cities.

The square is a World Heritage Site but what is most striking is how important it remains to all aspects of local life today. Families and young people gather here by day and evening to enjoy a walk, to shop and to socialise. The equine heritage is a little more sedate now than on the original polo field – these days, attractive horse-drawn carriages ferry visitors around. With leisure, pleasure, commerce and worship all on the same site, it’s the best place to capture the spirit of Isfahan when time is brief.

I can’t imagine ever getting tired or over familiar with the nooks and crannies of the bazaar located in and around the square’s edge. Duck into any opening and the vast labyrinth of passageways and courtyards, crammed with stalls, shops and tea houses is a shopper’s paradise. Items you didn’t realise you needed are on show in every direction and everything is so beautifully made. Handicrafts, jewellery, ceramics, homewares in silver filigree and copper, colourful textiles and of course, exquisite rugs and carpets, unique to this region, are just a few of the items that catch my eye and I make a mental note to return to the shopping area tomorrow. For now, where to eat – there’s a birthday to celebrate!

Shahrzad Restaurant is recommended for traditional Iranian food and we find it easily. The upstairs dining room soon fills up with locals. Apart from the sugar content, Iranian food is very healthy and wholesome. Getting your five a day is no problem here as a plate of varied salad vegetables is a standard first course. Tim orders lamb chops and I try a local speciality of chicken stewed in a walnut and pomegranate molasses sauce. All the food is delicious and portions are huge. No photos though as my dish though tasty, won’t win any prizes for prettiness.

The crispy topped rice we had in Shiraz isn’t such a feature on menus in Isfahan. White rice topped with a little saffron or sometimes studded with sour little red barberries is more usual. There is officially no alcohol available in Iran so non-alcoholic drinks, such as ‘lemon beer,’ are served in restaurants. The bottle looks like a beer bottle should but the drink tastes pretty much like lemonade. I really enjoyed the Iranian black tea and lemon verbena variety and the culture of Iranian tea houses. Tea is served with either white sugar cubes or a pretty dipping stick of saffron sugar crystals.

Isfahan is as friendly as Shiraz! We’re approached by a local guy who teaches English and is keen to speak to ‘real English people’. We chat over coffee and cake at his favourite café. He very kindly invites us join his family for lunch the next day but we tell him we’ll be on a tour. He mentions that his grandfather has a carpet shop close to the Armenian Cathedral.

By amazing coincidence, we do end up in a carpet shop close to the magnificent Vank Cathedral, where the proprietor immediately asks us if the previous day was Tim’s birthday! Our cake companion is this gentleman’s cousin and word has been passed to look after the two Brits he met, should they happen to drop by. A fascinating presentation on all the different kinds of Persian carpet and patterns results in a sale. No regrets!

In addition to the stunning tiles and mosaics of the Sheikh Lotfollah Mosque, our guide takes us to the Chehel Sotoun, a pavilion in the middle of a park with its magnificent paintings and frescoes. The name, ‘Forty Columns,’ is inspired by the wooden columns supporting the entrance which, when reflected in the waters of the fountain, appear to be forty in number.

Later we make a point of trying a couple of local specialities that we’d heard about. Beryouni is a fried mined lamb patty, wrapped in bread and served with a yoghurt sauce. A tasty morsel that Tim thinks has a depth of flavour that you only get from offal. Later I found out that lungs could be in the mix. I’m glad we didn’t know that at the time.

The Iranians love sweet tastes and especially nougat, which they call Gaz. We notice shops dedicated to this and similar products. In the Azadegan teahouse, a traditional haunt, with dusty bric-a-brac adorning every spare inch of the ceiling and walls, a plate of sticky shapes called Bamiyeh is served with tea. These are made from deep fried dough, dipped in syrup. Toothachingly sweet!

Vivid colours and textures are not confined to the mosques and palaces. We stayed at the Abassi hotel, a complex built at the time of King Sultan Husayn, some 300 years ago, and restored in the 1950s. A grand outdoor courtyard and Iranian decorative features, steeped in history, adds to our experience of Isfahan.

A short domestic flight north will bring us to our third and final stop, Tehran.