Leaving Tehran

On my last day, I get up at 7 am, grab some felafel (the guy doesn't want my money) and make my way to the train station. Naturally, the dudes selling tickets can't comprehend why I want to go second class to Mashhad, but I get a ticket anyway. I take two busses up through 20km of Teheran's sprawl, then a savari (shared taxi) with a guy I meet on the bus (pays for the taxi). I proceed to look for Christophe's house in this beautifully leafy suburb of north Tehran.

He lives at the end of Islam Ddend street. The "Dead End of Islam" is quite nice - huge garden, flowers, swimming pool, two dogs and a recording studio... and a psychiatric hospital. Christophe's grandfather studied psychiatry in France, married a French woman and set up a psychiatric hospital in his back yard. Christophe is quite relaxed. He takes me up on a walk in a mountain valley north of his house, and we chat about artistic life in Iran and politics.

From there, a range of bizarre things happen. First, we meet Andreas (the German I met in Shiraz, then again in Eshfahan). Then as we return to Christophe's house, his partner, Marnoosh, turns up with a friend who is taking the same train to Mashhad. I travel with him to another friend's house, then to the train station.

Six people in the comparment - Mohammed, an IT student, two girls studying architecture, and two women wrapped up in black chador (pilgrims). They have a problem with being in the same compartment with two men. Enter a mullah and his friend. First thing the mullah does, is gives the architecture students a sermon : "Shame on you, you are from Masshad and half your hair is showing from under your hejab!" They change comparments. David's friend Hooman, rocks up, only to face this request from the mullah: "Please tell this young man about Islam." I evacuate to the dining car. It's a great train - chilled out university students in tight clothes, girls with half their hair showing, and women wrapped up in chador and mullahs.