Wed 22:30

Last night I ventured into the Armenian Club -- no Orthodox priest this time but a large unkempt man with straggly hair and sideburns. I was directed into the courtyard where a dozen tables were set out for diners -- all of whom were Westerners, all the women headscarfless, as predicted, some drinking wine. The kebab was nice but the service was poor and it was quite pricey once they'd tacked on their 15% service charge.

I woke up before the alarm, set for a lazy 8:30, to find the iPhone claiming it was 7:30. What? Rummaging through the TV channels suggested that daylight savings is no longer in effect. Good job I learnt my Persian numerals.

Heading down the road at 9-ish it is almost comfortable on the shady side of the street but the moment the sun hits you you boil. Bleuch! Today's endeavour not aided by walking right next to my target of Golestan Palace without realising. It doesn't stand out as other than a park/gardens amongst the, I guess, government buildings many of which sport a quotation form the Qu'ran in fine Persian script and below in Engrish on each section of fence. In fact, I walked past the bazaar too, another bazaar that manages to secret itself.

Golestan Palace, however, is worth a visit which makes a change with most attractions so far. It's a collection of Qajar palaces within a city block surrounding some pleasant enough gardens and ponds. Several of the palaces sport what appear to be open air throne rooms: like a stage in the side of a building or, perhaps, the wall of the building removed they are covered with mirrors and mirror segments creating a gaudy glittery experience. Something that would go quite well with the Jewels collection up the road (which, of course, they did).

The Qajars were the nineteenth century shahs (kings) of Pars (Persia, modern day Iran although technically Pars is a region in the south east). Their reign coincided with increasing cultural imports from the West and you can see that in the several collections of artwork and photographs on display. The early Qajars were painted as pale faces with rosey cheeks which is frankly rather hard to believe as anyone with pale skin (me) turns a violent red in very little time here. Infeasibly solid beards and various ridiculous moustaches (but even more ridiculous than a moustache per se) fail to cover up the either effeminate or inbred ugly looks. And that's just the women! (Ho ho!)

In the late nineteenth century they started receiving gifts from various European dynasties and started touring Europe giving them the idea to creaate palaces and galleries and so on. Queen Victoria liked to give fancy clocks which beats many of the "here a portrait of me" from other regencies.

They have a lot of pool rooms which are part of the air conditionning systems but are no longer in use -- which seems a bit odd and would have coome in quite handy.

Afterwards I sought out the teahouse in the park "over the road" which took me about an hour to find the probable building mid-rebuild. No English in the park -- I wonder if LP are aware of that -- though, to be fair, when I worked my way out I realised I had failed to read the pictorial sign at the entrance, not that it told me where on the map I was.

Down to the bazaar and I found my way in fairly easily and not long after had managed to find my way straight through and out the back. No problem, I dived back in and a little while later was out the back again. This time it wasn't so easy to find another entrance in and and stumbled around the backstreets before tramping through the grounds of a mosque and back onto the main drag. A bit like everytime I try to leave a city except I was doing the legwork this time, not the bike.

I was a bit hot by then so gave up and headed back to the hotel.

A well deserved snooze and fight with the wireless (I am currently in reception where the signal is perfect) and I headed out for something to eat. Giving the LP another shot I headed up to Valiasr Av. in search of the Iranian Traditional Teahouse. I found it an hour later partly as it's a fair distance and partly as the map had been a touch misleading. No English sign over the door. A very nice dizi (lamb, potatoes, beans etc.) boiled in an iron pot on the stove then as it's brought to you (using an pair of iron grips) the juices are poured out as a soup and you can later pick about in the pot for the lamb etc.. The chay was served with what looked like a lollipop of yellow sugar crystals. Which it turned out it was. You dunk your lolly in the glass of tea for the desired interval and, hey presto, sweet tea. Not for too long, though, otherwise you have a stick and very sweet tea.

From Valiasr Av. and the bazaar I can report that Iranian women are not complete hostages to religious dogma in the fashion stakes. There are plenty of strappy summer dresses and backless party frocks as well as a full range of exotic underwear. They simply caan't let you know they are wearing a crotchless thong and diaphanous teddy in public. That's probably a good thing depending on your credo. And the wearer.

On the whole I would suggest about 50% of women in Tehran wear a headscarf and somewhere between crotch and knee length tunic/tailored coat. The coats vary between a light summer coat sort of material and linen. Almost invariably, over skinny jeans. These 50%, I suggest, would drop the headscarf/tunic the moment the requirement was lifted and would become just like any other European city (jeans and t-shirt/blouse rather than mini-skirt and strappy top). The other 50% would probably carry on as they are, covered in a chador (big sheet) according to religious doctrine.

The men are just like men in any European city.

One thing I must say about Tehran is that they know how to present an HD display. Quite how British stores manage to sell an HD TV at all given the fuzzy signal they send round is beyond me. They also use a slow moving picture here allowing you to see the detail rather than some ADD music video. Bah!