I lost my scarf on the train so come down for brakfast wearing my little travel towel on my head. Better look an idiot than be shot. So it's off to the Grand Bazaar for headscarf. Gods, it's hot! Tehran has insane traffic and locals just step off the pavement straight into it. Can only cross the road when sheltered from oncoming by at least one granny and preferably a couple of toddlers. I understand nothing at all, especially the money. The Grand Bazaar is closing as I arrive. the bazaaris - an economic and political force here - are on strike. Policemen. Manage to find a corner that has cheap lapis lazuli and buy a couple things before a really nice and well dressed gentleman stops me and says 'Madame! Danger, Madame. Bazaar, danger!' May be the strike, maybe just me on my own, whatever, I listen and get the hell out. Find scarf. get lost on way back.
Luckily bump into lovely Aussie Penny at the hotel. She is resident here and takes me for lunch, shows me where to buy fags. If that not enough, she is a direct descendant of James Watt. Without whom, of course, I wouldn't be here. Trains, steam, OK?
Later a fabulous evening with Martyn in a funny little clothes bazaar. Prob like the east End of London when the Jews ran the ragtrade. Very busy, very family, very fun. Strange lame-ish evening gowns in the windows, and lilac wedding dresses as tho Tehran was populated by drag queens. back at the hotel I am severely tepted to take side trip to Kurdistan with Kurd of great beauty. However, altho naive and trusting to the point of imbecility, even I have to query the motives of a 23 year old with the face of an angel offering to show me round K. My charm? Doubt it as have no charm left after 3 days on train. To bed. And I don't like Tehran one bit.
