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Firstly, a story. When I was on a train in Morocco last November, I shared a carriage with a 24-year-old American guy who’d recently converted to Islam, and had travelled over from Long Island to marry this Moroccan girl whom he’d met over the internet. The pair were on their way to the US Embassy to get the bride her Green Card, and although we had a long chat, I only remember the bits about the mess he gets into during a wee-wee. It turned out that he adhered rather too strictly to Islamic traditions and opted to squat instead of stand up when having a piss. Inexperience and the clumsy clothing meant that instead of aiming at the hole in the ground, it splashed all over his clothes. Hmm.

I could never quite shake off that story whilst in Iran, and often wondered just how many people’s urine I was stepping on inside a cubicle, with flies everywhere. Thankfully, no squatting for me so it was in-and-out in less than a minute, and often, I didn’t even bother touching the door. As I was unsure of Persian bathroom etiquette, it took me ten days to realise that the door should have been shut. Oops. Well, at least I went into the right toilet every time…. I had a few close shaves by almost walking into the ladies’; with no urinals as a pointer and only signs in Farsi with no pictures, it’s pure luck that I pissed in the correct toilet every time.

You’re probably wondering why I’ve spent two paragraphs telling you this crap. And yes, it’s very banal, but I hope it demonstrates the kind of things that I had to worry about during my 17 days in Iran - in other words, trivial things. I spent ages researching into Iran, trying to dispel all these notions that it is a dangerous place to visit. I knew it wasn’t, and I was right. In short, I’d never felt so safe in a foreign country before. When in Iran, there are only a few things you have to think about: getting run over by a) cars on the lawless roads, or b) motorbikes on the anything-goes pedestrian pavement or c) both coming at you on the edge of the kerb and in any direction, (that said, crossing the road is thus a thrilling experience) the odd earthquake (a big one is expected soon), and, on a personal note, rats. Big, fat rats which run along the canal sewage by the kerb. So if you are not careful, you could get run over by a bike and end up in a ditch with shit and rats running over you.

Other than these, I had no worries whatsoever. If some secret official was watching me, I wasn’t aware of him. I could go into any internet cafe and sent whatever I wanted though many websites were blocked, (most of Rupert Murdoch’s newspapers but not CNN or BBC, both of which are freely available in hotels). I didn’t worry about muggings, pickpockets or scams. In fact, so liberal was the atmosphere that I frequently forgot I was in Iran. There are police everywhere and they do look out for you, as do the locals. Tourists are still something of a novelty in Iran and if you enjoy being gawped at, it is the place for you. And not only do they gawp at you, they stare - hard. But it is also the only place that I’ve visited where strangers would go out of their way to say, ‘Welcome to Iran’. It can be quite touching and you do feel for the locals who are desperate to readdress the wrong the impression about Iran that their president and the western media have created around the world. All except for taxi drivers, of course - they just want to rip you off. Cue lots of arguments over the equivalent of 25 cents.

Feeling liberal in Iran is, of course, an illusion. You can’t walk ten yards without being reminded of who’s really in charge - the incumbent Ayatollah Khamenei and his more famous predecessor, the evil Ayatollah Khomeini. The latter is evil for prolonging the Iran-Iraq war even when Saddam offered a ceasefire, costing 1 million lives in total. Khomeini is also evil for letting Iranians to ‘freely’ pursue whatever they wanted immediately after the Islamic Revolution in 1979, only to monitor them in secret, before ruthlessly imprisoning/rooting out/killing all those who were un-Islamic - hence a mass exodus to the West in the early 80s. Now dead, his successor steadfastly refuses to let the west corrupt his people (he’s losing the battle) and he’s the one who spreads hatred against the west. Make no mistake about it - whatever President Ahmadinejad says about Israel or whatever, they’re empty words. It’s the Ayatollah who wields the real power; the President can be dismissed or defeated in elections - the Ayatollah is there till the day he drops dead. It is he who decides whether to wipe Israel off the map, or whether to develop nuclear bombs. He appoints the justice minister, he vetoes legislation, he’s in charge of the mullahs who control everything - from dress code to what the news presenter says on television. Presumably then, Ayatollah Khamenei ok’ed Mr Bean for broadcast at 7.30am, as well as that awful BBC show, ‘Just for Laughs’ an hour later.

Chatting to the locals, many said they yearn for change. Inflation is at 20%, and the young are all educated but have no jobs. Whilst some were discreet about their views, often it was the women who were most vociferous in their criticisms of the regime. Only one woman I spoke to didn’t mind wearing the headscarf as ’she was used to it’ - the rest hated it. When pushed, all pointed their fingers at the Ayatollahs and the mullahs, whilst few had much respect for their president. Many had no time for Bush or Blair, and all hated Bin Laden. Israel was also another unpopular subject, and the war in Iraq was good and bad for them as their loathing for Saddam remains undimmed thanks to the decade-long Iran-Iraq War.

But amazingly, they all love America and American culture (Iranian-bottled Coca-Cola is freely available), so much so that they teach American English at schools and universities. Many harbour ambitions to move there, or at least find a spouse in the UK first, and then move to the States. You’ll also be amazed at how knowledgeable they are at Hollywood films and celebrities - Sophia Loren and Scarlett Johanssen get the thumbs up every time, whilst the men idolise English football and especially Cristiano Ronaldo. They are not so au fait with music and quite a few had never heard of the Beatles which is refreshing, but they love the ringtones on their mobile phones which - like Europe - also translate into dreadful Iranian dance music. The most amazing revelation though came from an unmarried 30-year-old woman (I was surprised at how many unmarried late-20s women there were) who had never even heard of Princess Diana!

The last thing I want to say that if you’re a woman, travelling solo and fancy a trip to Iran - now is your last chance. As the country gets more used to tourists, the more forward the local men will become, as they have in neighbouring countries in the Middle East. Many women travellers told me that they were harassed in Turkey because many local men assumed they were ’sex tourists’ - women who travel to the Middle East in search of a toyboy. This coupled with the wrong impression through watching western porn and on the internet that all western women were ‘easy’ meant Iranian men are becoming more ‘predatory’ in touristy areas. Someone I met said she got a phone call in her hotel room from the guy at the reception wanting to ‘make love’, whilst others blew kisses to her on the streets. Perhaps these are just isolated incidents, and is not common in more conservative cities, but it doesn’t augur well for the future.

Bleungberg will be back. One day.

One more day to go in Iran, and it’s going out on a bit of a whimper…Bleungberg’s been laid low for a couple of days by a bout of diarrhoea and headache, and the likely source of that is probably one sip of tap water from Ramsar on the Caspian Sea. Shouldn’t have gone into that cakeshop; shouldn’t have listened to the shop owner to drink some water; shouldn’t have been so greedy; and certainly shouldn’t have taken that coach through the Alborz Mountains back to Tehran - motion sickness has never been so painful.

But, fighting fit again, Bleungberg is off to do what he does best in the remaining hours before a short trip to Dubai at 5am - cruising the bazaar for all sorts of crap. Last night, Bleungberg also paid a trip to the Mausoleum of Ayatollah Khomeni, the founding father of the Islamic Republic at 21.00, and was confronted by a whole throng of wailing devotees, which was both eye-opening and fairly astonishing given the fact that the guy’s been dead for twenty years, and probably caused more heartache than good.

Nonetheless, that’s Iran for you - a country of contrasts and devotion, and it’s the right time to leave. Too many rats now on the street and they are big. I was snapping away on the anti-American murals outside the former US Embassy last night, and the only thing I was worried about wasn’t getting arrested, but the rats on the ginat sweage canal which runs parallel to the building…it was scary.

A full round-up to follow next week when Bleungberg is back in London. In the meantime, here’s hoping the last day in Tehran will be trouble-free.

Two weeks in Iran, and I have finally found a place or two that I really dislike - anywhere along the Caspian Sea. My goodness is this area ugly and horrible - and the Iranians flock here in droves to holiday on non-existent beaches and constant rainfall! No rain for me- thankfully - but I wouldn’t even wish to see my own worst enemy on some of these beaches - they are rock hard and full of algae. I heard that the Caspian Sea is disgusting, and from what I saw, they are right!

A rare blip of ugliness on this trip to Iran, which is proving to be the trip of a lifetime. Isfahan was, as previously mentioined, superb on every level. Yadz, Shiraz and Persepolis (apparently one of the world’s greatest archeological sites)was slightly disappointing but the people there and travellers I meet along the way more than made up for it - it’s incredible how many Dutch people there are in Iran….with their caravans! And I’d never met so many people yapping on about India before, which both fascinates and puts me off from going there for now (stories about rats the size of cats at train stations…).   

There are rats in Iran, of course, and they aren’t small either: one scared the living daylight out of me the other day after which I screamed and jumped towards this man who was both dazed and amazed by my epilepsy-like reaction. Thankfully, incidents of rat sightings have been few and far between. Just three more days and I’ll be in Dubai so no rats for me after that - hopefully - until I go somewhere dirty again.

Greetings from Yadz in Central Iran - easily the most beautiful, diverse yet also the campest place I’ve been to in the world.

That’s the surprising verdict given what they do to homosexuals here -  they hang them…whilst the Saudis behead them. Why camp? Well, you only have to stand on the street for five minutes to see the number of metrosexual men walking around with the most outrageous hairstyles (makes Amy Winehouses’s beehive look tame), over-the-top perms and mullets (Billy Ray Cyrus springs to mind), blond highlights, pony-tails, weird-looking fringes, plasters on their noses after cosmetic surgeries (Tehran especially is famed for all sorts of surgeries from nose-jobs to sexual realignments) and lots of bling-bling (though not on their ears). Meanwhile, the women - those who dare to dress a little provocatively which is to say they wear more colourful headscarf, tight jeans and high-heels but still covered up from the chin downwards - often resemble a cheap hooker, with very heavy and dodgy make-ups and silly hairs. Think Soviet-era women of the 1980s with their distinctive red lipsticks, or think Joan Collins in ‘Dynasty’ and you can’t help but feel that these women - how ever beautiful they are (and in most case, they are…there’s the old adage that Brazil and Iran have the most beautiful women in the world; they aren’t wrong about the latter) - look dated, cheap and something between a tramp and a drag-queen. Sad to say, these people are the ‘trend-setters’ of Iran.

In the west, we wouldn’t even bat an eyelid upon seeing these. Here, one can’t help but think they’ve gone a bit too far in their efforts to appear westernised and to impress their fellow peers. Underlining these ‘crimes against fashion’ is all part of the young’s rebellion against the conservative regime, and is apparently only in season for eleven months a year. That’s because for four weeks every year - at random - the government’s ‘fashion police’ swoop into the major cities and ‘arrest/caution’ those who don’t adhere to the Islamic Republic’s strict dress code. Well, that’s half the city gone then as the majority of the population here is under 30 (the Ayatollah banned contraception after the Islamic Revolution in 1979) - most of whom are also unemployed. For those who dress conservatively (men in dull colours, women in black chadors from head to toe), I’m sure they can afford to be a little smug as the rest get carted off to the police station. Then again, if you had the choice of wearing a heat-absorbing black chador over your whole body in the soaring temperatures, or you can elect to look slightly vampish, allowing for a bit of respite from the searing heat but at the risk of being arrested - I’d go for the second one! It’s already quite hot here during the day (27 degrees) - but gets even hotter from next month onwards (40+). What the women have to wear here is, to put mildly, inhumane. Those in power would argue that this is to protect the fairer sex from getting molested by men who can’t keep their hands to themselves, hence, segregation on the underground and on buses. I say they’re doing the deodrants industry a great service.

That is why I’ve not seen a pregnant woman yet as anything which shows a woman’s figure is frowned upon. Naturally, breasts are out, too. These are just one of those things which I find fascinating about this country. I’ve been here for just over a week, having worked my way from the Azeri-dominated northwest region to Tehran (super-busy, like a horrible version of Los Angeles or Hong Kong), and then onto the beautiful central regions, from where I’m writing this. In terms of nature, Iran is breathtaking - palaces, mosques, Mongols stuff - and it’s massive and still fairly cheap. There’s so much to see, and the food is excellent. I’m here for 17 days though one could easily spend a couple of months dossing around from town to town. People are friendly - they always say hello and would happily chat to you for no reasons other than to know where you’re from or what religion you are, or simply to improve their English. It can get pretty tiresome but one handshake normally gets rid of them. (Thankfully there are lots of mosques for me to go into to wash my hands). On one occasion though, I was asked about my religion and I replied ‘agnostic’, which didn’t go down particularly well and is apparently less worse than being Bhuddist (evil) or Jewish (dirty). So, I’m now a Catholic and often I tell them I’m Thai of whatever I feel like. I even lied about being married when I hung out with this Belgian girl for a couple of days last week - she was travelling alone and said that as soon as we went our separate ways, she felt ‘unsafe’ and that men were following her. She really opened my eyes in terms of what it’s like to be a solo female traveller - half her problems or concerns simply don’t apply to me.

Writing this from Isfahan and honestly, this country continues to amaze and daze the Bleungberg bandwagon; Isfahan is astonishing pretty. Compared to the hussle and buzzle of Tehran, Isfahan is in a league of its own in terms of beauty, and atmosphere. Tehran doesn’t really allow you to think about the more mundane things in life - you are always watching out for the next motorbike that might hit you on the pedestrian pavement, or the next giant canal which could appear out of nowhere on the street. Here, whilst traffic is still something to look out for - it always is here in Iran - there are ample opportunities to relax and just admire the scenery in the parks along the  Zayandeh River, or just people-watching in the immense Imam Square. Loving, loving it. And if we’re deported tomorrow, we can at least claim to have visited on of the most beautiful places on earth.

Direct from the heart of Tehran - this is the latest traffic report…and the news is bad, bad, bad and very bad.

To say the traffic is bad in Tehran is something of an understatement; it’s awful. It’s also exhilarating and dangerous. Drivers battle with each other, drivers doing their best not to run over the pedestrians, who try to outfox the motorbikes which stray onto the kerb to avoid the traffic jams, cutting corners, ramming into each other in every direction….it’s just utter mayhem out on the streets here.

Bleungberg first experienced the Iranian driving style five days ago when the party arrived in Tabriz and along the way, it was like a rollercoaster ride. The conditions of the roads are surprisingly good which I guess is its one saving grace because its users are not terribly forgiving. We can’t say they are bad drivers because they never seem to get into any sorts of accidents. They take their chances, and often getting away with it. Incredible! Cars bully truck drivers, and pedestrians bully motorbikers - this is an utterly crazy place.

Otherwise, Iran has been terrifically fun thus far. Tabriz was an excellent appetiser to accompany Tehran…so much so that the starter is actually better. The historical sites that Bleungberg has seen so far has also been incredible - much like the amazing landscape which we left behind in Northeastern Anatolia. Forget Australia or America: you have to drive for miles for the landscape to change; in Anatolia all along the Armenian border, you get to experience four seasons inside just two hours. Breathtaking does not do the scenery justice - you have to see it to believe it.

Onto Isfahan tomorrow, and then continuing in a loop before arriving back here in a week’s time. Tehran is far too big to our liking - good metro though with excellent air-conditioning - and hopefully Isfahan will be much nicer.

Greetings from Kurdistan,

Kurdistan doesn’t exist, of course. Just a silly little game I’m playing with the Turkish internet monitoring unit in case they think I’m a Kurdish-sympathiser. In truth, I don’t care about their plight because otherwise, I should also feel sorry for the Romas, the Armenians, the Tibetans (a very trendy cause right now!), the indigenous tribes ?n the Amazon….r?ght?!

I’m spending the night here in Do?ubayaz?t, on the eastern edge of Turkey and 35 km from the border with Iran, where I should hopefully be inside tomorrow afternoon. I came here on the advise of one of a friend as I fancied going overland into Iran from Turkey rather than fly directly into Tehran - a trip which has also included a stay in nearby Kars and a detour to the beautiful ancient site of Ani, right on the Armenian border. I won’t bore you with the details other than to say that borders have never looked more spectacular! The people are nice (too much hand-shaking), and any food without lamb or sheep’s brain in it has been wonderful, especially the honey. I have however, developed a severe loathing for Turkish desserts which are just far too sweet. The spectacular scenery (mountains, snow, gorges and shitloads of rocks) has been accompanied by an extremely heavy militarised presence throughout the reg?on - roadside checkpoints, armed police and soldiers in DVD stores - a daily reminder of the tension and unease which exists in the area between the Turks, the Kurds and the Armenians (?e.the Russians). The town I’m ?n feels like a garrison frontier town and I suppose that makes ?ts otherwise dusty and dour appearance more exciting. ?t’s the kind of place that you would find in Northern Europe where suicide rates would be sky high.

My journey actually began at the other end of Turkey - in Istanbul last Sunday. I might have beaten the snow and the Terminal 5 chaos at Heathrow airport, and only just beat the de-ic?ng queue for my flight to arrive virtually on time in ?stanbul, in the end however, my holiday got off to the worst possible start in the hands (or should that be laps?) of a Romanian lap dancer. Allow me to explain. I was walking around Taksim Square - the main stomping ground for many tourists and travelling football fans - in search for food as soon as I arrived. I was looking at some cakes and walked into some guy at random when he started talking to me in Turkish. He soon realised I was foreign (Hello! yellow skin?! Somebody thought I was an Uzbeck yesterday, by the way), and he and his friend invited me to go along to have dinner with them, which I agreed, and it all went swimmingly well until we all went somewhere else which could only be described as a ‘gentlemen’s club’. As much as I tried, I couldn’t get out of it and before I knew it, some Romanian girl called ‘Marlee’ had parked herself next to me. Nothing happened whatsoever other than some drinking and smoking and when the bill came two hours later, it was 300 pounds per person! What has this world come to? Not wishing to argue, I coughed up my bit of the money and left those two to it. I even negotiated a discount though the whole episode demonstrates that how ever much I travel, I can still fall into these stupid little traps that I could easily have got out of at the start. Maybe I’m naive or just plain stupid but either way, it’s a lesson learnt - when in doubt - GET OUT! The interesting thing is that I still feel strangely fine about flushing 300 pounds down the toilet in the space of two hours. It’s a lot of money to ‘feel fine about’ - what the hell has happened to me? Am I too cynical about mankind nowadays that I think everyone becomes fall victim to something silly at some stage? Or was it because my stay at the hotel was free and I just treated the 300 pounds as ‘phantom’ accommodation costs?! I don’t know.

Overall, Istanbul was slightly underwhelming for me - not enough history (surprisingly so), shit bazaar (too organised - Fes in Morocco wins hands down) and a little on the expensive side, especially for food. None of these nonsense in Iran, of course, from where I will hopefully be able to send e-ma?ls without interference and certainly no silly stories ?involving a lap dancer of any sort.

Bleungberg is blogging from Kars, Eastern Turkey tonight, having arrived here from Istanbul this morning after the scariest landing ever! Anyway, Istanbul went by like a flash and although we didn’t stay there long enough to experience the full treatment, we were slightly underwhelmed by it all and felt that perhaps it is not such a good place to be visting by oneself, and would be better in groups or pairs. In addition, there doesn’t seem to be a great deal to sightsee which is odd given its immense history. Worst of all was the bazaar which was too organised and clean to our liking. Still, transport was excellent and the setting was gorgeous - especially in the sunshine. Will definitely have to go back again to get the full treatment.

Meanwhi?le, Kars is dusty and small but feels great as it has a frontier, town feel to t. An? on the other hand, was awesome. Qu?te why only 1000+ v?s?tors go there a year ?s qu?te beyond me.

Bleungberg is watching the Grand National, and will shortly be embarking on a three-week trip around the Middle East - Turkey, Iran and Dubai.

Will it all pan out as planned - or unplanned? Will I get refused at the Iranian border? Will there be a massive earthquake? Will Robert Mugabe step aside? Will Prince Philip be dead by the time Bleungberg returns? Will Bianca shut her face on EastEnders?

All will be revealed in due course.