Iran

Inside a mosque in Esfahan.

After we'd passed the last police check and had officially left Iraq and entered Iran, my French companion and I wondered how we would get away from this 2000m-altitude border crossing in the pitch black, freezing cold and deep snow. We didn't have to wait long: two locals gave us a lift in their car to the nearest town and drove us around to find a hotel. They expected nothing in return; this kindness was to repeat itself throughout my stay in this beautiful, hospitable and misunderstood country.

Visas (no cake)

 My imagination (see below)

I dream visas. When I close my eyes, visa forms and civil servants swirl in front of my eyes, taunting me with literal hoops to jump through.

But success is imminent! I think.

Visas and cake

 My dedicated 'travelling eye' biscuit!

I've spent the last few days in London attempting to secure various visas, but succeeding only in returning home minus a passport. On the up side, I've been fed a lot of very interestingly shaped cakes.