Take a wild guess.

Our “morning flight to Tehran” was canceled and we took a public bus instead, because:

• a. The flights to Tehran were either too early or too late in the afternoon.
• b. There weren’t enough seats for all of us on the plane.
• c. The travel agency hadn’t bothered making prior reservations for us on any of the flights back to Tehran.

I was given reasons (a) and (b) for taking the bus.

Who the hell were they trying to kid?! I used to run resorts and book flights for our guests. Hell, I used to run an airline. Wait, what am I saying? I am part of an airline! And even without all that, I’ve been traveling long enough and booking my own flights to know when an agency is dicking me around.

We talked to Gareth who talked to Mustafa and, in the end, there wasn’t anything we could do about it.

So the bus it was. Granted, it was the most luxurious bus I had ever been on – IT WAS STILL SIX FRICKIN’ HOURS ON THE BLOODY BUS.

We arrived in Tehran at 4 PM and the plan was to herd us onto another bus and, in place of the Golestan Palace and the Tehran City Gardens, we would see the Mausoleum of Ayatollah Khomeini, the Martyr’s Cemetery, the Azadi Tower, and the US Embassy.

The last thing I wanted to do was to get on another bus, especially so close to rush-hour, having been advised on how notoriously bad Tehran traffic can be. (Sure enough, when I spoke to Anna over breakfast the next day, she said that they had spent most of their time on the bus.)

Oscar and Chad invited me to skip the tour and join them at a party that night, and I, in turn, invited them to store their luggage in my hotel room before they had to fly out to Moscow.

As soon as the bus pulled into the terminal in Tehran, we grabbed our bags, said goodbye to the tour group and hopped in a cab for Parasto Hotel.

After freshening up, we walked around Tehran. We strolled past the British Embassy, which closed after protestors (against economic sanctions on Iran) stormed the building last year. There were armed guards outside, who were very friendly though, and signs for “no photos”. But we could plainly see the smashed up windows of the embassy from the street.

On offer at a roadside stall. See anything familiar?

In the absence of liquor, we bought some energy drinks (Hype!) from a roadside stall to keep us going and, later, found a big supermarket which we absolutely had to check out.

Visiting a middle-class neighborhood in Tehran. Definitely more than a few steps up from our Parasto ‘hood.

It was a bienvenida (welcome-home) party for someone who had just gotten back from the States and, although the party was dry, it was amazing to witness the Iranian joie de vivre. They joked, laughed and danced on tables. A party like that anywhere else would have been impossible without alcohol.

Iranians, apparently, eat very late. Lunch for them is around 2 PM and dinner, especially at parties, is around 11 PM. Oscar, Chad and I hadn’t eaten much the whole day, having been on the road most of the time, but the spread that followed was well worth the wait.

This was just some of it. More food was served but I was too hungry to take any more photos.

I thought everyone was exaggerating when they told me that our host’s mother had to be the best cook in all of Iran. I had had some pretty amazing food during my stay and I didn’t think it could get any better. I was wrong. I thought I’d died and gone to food heaven. I couldn’t believe it when the guys had to pull me away from the buffet table to catch their flight. I had only had three servings and more food was still being brought out! I should have asked them to leave me there.

I am totally hooked on Persian food now.

And I am proud to say that I only ordered kebabs twice during the entire trip. Once, at a chelo kebab place in Tehran, because I had to order chelo kebab at least once and, another time, at one of those tourist bus places, when I ordered fish and needed a back-up second dish. Even then, the first time, I had a beef kebab and, the second time, I had chicken. So, no, I never had the same thing twice.

(Out of respect for our friends’ privacy, I will not be posting any photos taken of them during the party on Desperate Measures or on the blog’s public Facebook page.)