The first thing that hits you about Iran is Shirea law, and it hits you pretty hard. Women everywhere dressed in Black flowing robes with just their hands and faces showing is something to behold. It's like being parachuted into a scene form 'March of the Penguins'.

Fashion by Henry Ford; any colour as long as it's black.

Our two weeks in Iran have been a whistle stop tour, but an enlightening one. It is hard to imagine how the reality could be further from the popular image we are fed by the British media of a terrorist state populated by sword-wielding religious nut-jobs and boiler-suite clad hostages. Our two weeks took us from the Turkish border through Tabriz, through the paddy fields and temperate rain-forests of the north west, found us drinking smuggled Armenian vodka in a Butlins style holiday resort on the coast of the Caspian sea, took us walking in the mist clad mountains of Masoule, through the mountains of Hamadan and into the desert regions of Esfahan, Shiraz and Yazd and then on to Tehran, and nowhere did we encounter other than a friendly and enthusiastic welcome.

There are many reasons to visit Iran: the landscape, the history, the architecture, the culture, the handicrafts, all of which are quite unique, and not forgetting the inevitable opportunity to purchase a Persian rug. First and foremost amongst these reasons, though, must simply be to meet the Iranians.

It is here I admit my embarrassing ignorance of the Iranian heritage, but it came as a revelation to most of us that this is not an Arab race. This fact is quite literally written on the faces of the people as soon as you enter the country. With origins that stem from the Arian races of Russia the predominant facial characteristics of the Iranians are almost as far removed from those of the peoples of the Arab states as are our own.

Iran has a long history of being at odds with the Arabs. It is perhaps not surprising therefore to find amongst a fair cross-section of people that there remains a strong anti-Arab feeling (not perhaps enhanced by the relatively recent invasion by a certain despotic Iraqi leader). It nevertheless comes like a blow from a sledge hammer to discover that a large proportion of people here are pro Britain and the USA and that there appears to be quite strong support of the most recent Iraq war - another substantial revelation.

Politics is, quite understandably, a hot topic of conversation here and in their characteristically frank and open manner we were quizzed regularly on our opinions of the current 'negotiations' between the Mullah regime and another well known despotic, religious nut-job. There is a general feeling here that the Iranians have had enough of having religious doctrine shoved mercilessly down their throats and the Mullah regime is apparently a long way from popular amongst the Iranian people. Change, I think would be almost universally welcomed; there is nevertheless a very clear, present and understandable concern about the possibility of potential on-coming hostilities. From my own, admittedly naive, perspective any such hostilities would be a tragedy of biblical proportions. Whether you agree with the action taken in Iraq or not, it was impossible not to recognise the human tragedy that was routinely taking place there under the guidance of the Regime. Whilst there is no doubt that Iran exists under the cloud of an overly conservative and perhaps oppressive religious regime, however, these are not an abused people. Any justification for pre-emptive military action would, at least internally, lack the imperative of harming the few to save the many and as such would be far harder to defend.

It is impossible to discuss Iran without mentioning Politics and Religion, but one should not forget the people. Everywhere we went we were welcomed with friendly curiosity by seemingly happy people keen to find out where we were from and what we thought of their country (and to sell us carpets). It is in many ways a paradox, but whilst the Islamic regime restricts freedom it also provides a safe environment and allows for friendly inter-personal interactions that simply do not exist in 'free' countries. The Iranians are a handsome race. There are an astonishing number of truly beautiful women in this country and yet there exists none of the arrogance, posturing or social tension that is found in Britain. Maybe because the law here provides such an intractable safety net people are free to assume a more open, natural and friendly attitude free of the defensiveness and assumptions that plague our own society. Food for thought indeed.

In the end all regimes fall. Moderation is gradually seeping in and boundaries are being tested at all levels. This is perhaps most notable in the younger generations who are finding ways to morph traditional Muslim dress as far towards sixties French chic as is humanly conceivable. Head-scarves are no more than token gestures leaving designer hair-cuts clearly in evidence, chadores are becoming tighter-fitting, hem-lines are receding and Hollywood looks and heavy makeup are commonplace. In the face of cultural creep it is hard to see how the current regime cannot gradually begin to crumble. There is always, of course, the possibility of a Tiananmen Square style resurgence but I fervently hope for the sake of the wonderful people I met here that the current political saber rattling comes to naught and the Iranian people are given time and license to instigate whatever change they wish from within.

Leaving Dahab it was a whistle-stop back through Jordon (just a day spent here in Aqaba) and then across the border into Syria. Four nights in Syria, taking in Palmyra, which is worth a stop not least for the play of the sun across the desert and ruins when viewed from the amazing crusader citadel. Then a series of rough camps all the way back into Turkey to the Iranian border. Highlights along the way included:

A swim in the dead sea, which despite knowing exactly what to expect will, I think, remain one of the wierdest experiences of my life, some amazing rough camping and scenery through the remains of the Syrian desert and into the greener north. Camps through Turkey including 2 different Mt Nemruts one of which sports some amazing carvings of stone heads. On to Lake Van, where we spent a wonderful afternoon boating to an island, chatting with locals and then relaxing in a rather pleasant Hamam. A whistle-stop indeed, and a pleasant prelude to the crossing into Persia...

After Mt Sinai our return to Dahab was a welcome return to normality for a brief spell and it was good to see the place in pretty good shape after the bombings with life returned more-or-less to normal (as much as that is possible) even if there were somewhat fewer people in evidence.

We had time for just one night here and spent it at a rememberance party for those injured and killed in the recent events. What a party. Food to literally feed the 5000 and live music and fire juggling laid on. To the girl juggling the fire, by the way, (whoever you were) Wow! That was one of the most sexy displays I have ever seen. Amazing.

The rest of Egypt was a bit of a blur. It took us only a day to travel back up the red sea coast, away from the relatively fertile lands of the Nile and back into the desert and then on into the beautiful mountains of Sinai. After a really nice rough camp just on the Sinai side of the Cuez Canal we then carried on to St Catherine's monestary at the base of Mt Sinai itself. The intention to spend a peaceful night on the top of the mountain and wake early to see the sunrise on the holy mountain.

A romantic notion indeed.

The climb to the top of the mountain was spectacular if somewhat hairy in the dubious light of a Petzel headtorch, and when we arrived to a deserted mountain top lit slightly by the moon the monestary on the mountain could not have seemed more haunted and alone particularly to the accompanyment of the lone priest chanting to the sky. The stuff of novels, to be sure. The poiniancy of the moment was somewhat marred, of course, by the 5000 people who arrived shortly after us and proceeded to shout their goddam spanish and german heads off ALL NIGHT. Ahem. So it's a public mountain, and they have every right to be there, but when you see someone in a sleeping bag it would be normal would it not to assume that that person is trying to sleep and at least, for example, not park your frigging deck chair right next to them and shout down their ear all night. Or is that just me?

So after a sleepless night I am noone's friend, and with that many people on the top of the mountain it was virtually impossible to either appreciate the view and actually impossible to find anywhere to park a tripod, so I lugged 7kg's of gear up that goddam mountain for what turned out to be no reason whatsoever.

I have to say I have had better mornings. And by the time we had waited for the water-colour sunrise and cueued up to decend the mountain behind the slow moving hoards, the base of the mountain and the truck was a welcome sight indeed. On to Dahab and a welcome rest.

Well man, it has been a while. Where was I? Oh yes, Luxor. That was pretty cool. Whilst at the same time being fiercely hot. The first day in Luxor was spent bouncing around on the back of a donkey taking a tour of the Valley of the Kings. The VOTK is astonishing, mainly to see the lengths that the Egyptians went to never to have to visit their relatives again, and the desert scenery is stunning but what made the day for me was the donkey derby. It is virtually impossible to look cool when on the the back of a donkey, and my rear end will probably never recover (despite spending most of last summer learning to ride the donkey's larger relatives), but if you get the chance to race a donkey leave your style and street-cred in the hotel and do it. You won't regret it. Laugh? I nearly died! (literally)

Other things we did in Luxor:

Watched an excruciatingly tacky light show in the Karnack temple. The temple itself was very impressive, however, and well worth a more traditional visit.

Went food shopping by hoarse and cart. Pretty cool. From now on all my trips to Tesco will be conducted thus. It was also a new experience when shopping for fish to have a catfish handed to me still wriggling and then watch while it was coshed senseless, behedded and gutted with a cleaver whilst I was standing surrounded by hung remains of various parts of camels, cows, and other less recognisable gore strung out along the sides of the street. A far cry from vacuum packed supermarket offerings and closer to a scene from A Nightmare on Elm Street.

At least you know its fresh, eh?