Day 7 
August 4th 2014

Woke up before dawn. Different sounds from the forest. The air is still cool. Down at the bottom of the garden I find the horses tethered and resting. The stallion is naturally separated from the mares. To my astonishment I find the foal (a colt) harassing the stallion. He would walk up to the stallion's circle and make his mark the way horses do. This is clearly a challenge to the stallion's authority. I think a new star is in the making. To my amusement the colt stops his tricks as soon as he sees me. It is as if he was being naughty while the humans were not looking.

As the sun rises, I wake Colin up to see if we can take a photo of the historic house with the stallion posing at the entrance. Kheder wakes up and joins us. He is up for it, so we set about preparing for the shot. Ateshe joins us. Slowly the sun rises over the hill and the golden rays fall on the old roof. This is going to look good. The stallion is chosen for this shot. He performs perfectly.

After a while everyone is up and about. Colin and I finish the photo shoot and join the breakfast team. Plans are made for reloading the horses. The loading ramp has been left behind so we must look for some kind of high platform where we could back the lorry to and walk the horses in . The grooms drive up the hill in search of a suitable ramp while we follow on foot with the horses. Several sites are tried with no success. 

After an hour or so we come across a possible roadside ramp but it is at the right angle to a busy mountain road. Ateshe, Layla and the grooms agree that this is the spot. The truck is then backed up right across the road. The horses are led in one by one. Naturally they are reluctant to participate in this unorthodox approach, so some time goes by before they are persuaded to go.

Meanwhile Louise's grandson, Cameron, is busy managing the traffic with his stop/go banner that he has found from somewhere. He is a very resourceful young man. Predictably our activities have attracted quite a crowd by now.

Once all the horses are safely in, the grooms head for Kordan. The rest of the team drive back to base in the Abolmobile while Colin and I walk down the hill for the last time. We walk slowly as we do not want this part of the journey to end. What fantastic memories we have collected. How privileged we have been to be allowed in amongst such wonderful people. Such kindness and hospitality. Back at base, we are informed that a driver has been found to drive us back to Tonekaboon where we will find another car to drive us back to Tehran. 

All  packed up and set to leave. Colin and I set about taking some detail shots of the old historic villa.

After an hour or so the taxi arrives. Hooray...it is an old Peykan. I have been telling Colin about this iconic car for days now. The original Peykan has a special place in the Iranian hearts. It is in fact the very first car that was made in Iran. No more than a re-assembled Hillman Hunter of the late sixties, this vehicle is synonymous with all Iranian city vistas.   Some are still in operation. 

As the car arrives, I find that familiar wide grin on Colin's face. He is clearly delighted to have a chance to have a ride in one. Luggage all loaded up, we thank and say good bye to Soraya Khanoom and set off down the hill. Abol follows with the rest of the gang.

Our driver is in his early sixties. He drives with one elbow out of the window while he changes gear, as if he is playing Ten Pin Bowling. Before long he pulls up at a roadside garage. After much discussion he picks up what seems like a steering assembly for a car and ties it to the roof. We are off again. This performance is repeated a little later. We are worried now. Abol has gone ahead and we are concerned about losing him.

The driver assures us that there are no more stops and we really are heading down the hill now. He is not kidding. Somehow the age of the car, the sound of the engine, the double de-clutching do not seem to sit comfortably with the speed with which we are hurtling down the hill on such twisty mountain roads. The local road-using cows seem alarmed too...

Eventually I inform the driver that we really are not in "that much of a rush"...
This is greeted by an almost non-existent nod. No change in speed.  Colin has not spoken for a while. His gaze is fixed to the dashboard. I look to see what it is that he is looking at. The answer is obvious. The temperature gauge is hovering around the maximum. Perhaps the driver is driving fast to get as much air as possible into the radiators. If so I would hate to think how he plans to drive back up the hill.
After what seems like a life time, we arrive at the main road and find Abol. Goodbyes are said to the grooms as they set off for Kordan. 

We drive to a quiet residential area. Abol rings the door bell on a large double iron gate. Moments later our hostess Maryam appears at the gate. We are there to drop the keys off. Many greetings and thanks again for the hospitality and a promise to catch up somewhere in Europe. We then set off to the town's bus terminal to find a taxi to drive us to Tehran. Another job for the Amazing Abol. He, of course, manages it with his usual charm and humour. A car is found, all bags put away in the trunk and we set off towards Tehran.

Plans are made to stop somewhere on the way for lunch at one of Abol's favourite Cheloksbabi (kebab houses). This is good news indeed as Abol's choice of eating houses has been faultless so far.

A hundred kilometres or so later we pull up by the roadside at a very busy strip where there are nothing but restaurants on either side. Abol leads us in. A large table is found for us. Everyone settles in and orders are made. I leave to find the toilet.  I am told it is right at the back of the building. I follow the marble steps down the side and am suddenly greeted by the Caspian Sea in its full glory. Wow! That was unexpected. It is only now that I realise that we have come all this way without managing to put a toe in the water. Should I have a go now? Perhaps not.

Back in the restaurant and faced with yet another huge feast. The dishes just keep coming. Colin has opted for the saffron rice and lamb again. I follow suit. Lunch over, tea is brought with a few sweets.

We wrap up and leave towards Tehran. It turns out that we are going back via the old Chalous road. Exciting news indeed. This route is literally carved out of raw rock through dramatic scenery. Soon the greenery gives way to shear sharp, shiny granite.

After a couple of hours the scenery softens a little and the mountains turn into gentler hills. Local beekeepers appear on the roadside with their honey for sale. In some valleys we see hundreds of beehives scattered around. Where are all these bees foraging? There must be a huge supply of wild flowers near by to support what seems like a few million honey bees. I ask our driver to stop so that I can take a few photos to show my beekeeping friends in North London.

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A while later we are flagged down by Abol. They have stopped on a mountainside at some cafe to have some rest and drink some tea. A welcome break. 

Tea drinking over, we set off again towards Tehran. On the way we go past what appears to be a huge ski resort.There are mile after mile of ski lifts, all standing still in the heat of the summer. Ateshe informs us that this place is under several feet of snow in winter and is very, very crowded with skiers from Tehran. Eventually we drop down to Tehran, which is a huge metropolis. A bit of a culture shock after where we have just been. This is Colin's first view of Tehran. He seems struck by the contrast. 
We wind our way through the northern Tehran roads and find ourselves at the Firouz family apartment in Velenjak. Abol is in a rush to get away so we arrange to meet later. I offer to treat everyone to dinner(cs)  to thank them all. The problem is, I know nothing and nowhere in Tehran. Enter Abol again. He offers to find the best restaurant in Tehran, book a table and pick us up later. Back at the apartment we enjoy a proper shower for the first time in days. More tea and Firouz style hospitality. Cameron has his cousins over from New York so he soon disappears with them. A short rest  and we are all set to go out. Abol arrives but this time in his city car. This is a little hard to take in... Our hero has turned up in a little Peugeot! How can a man who drives a mountain of car arrive in what seems like a toy car by comparison? The news gets worse. We are all going in the same car - but how?
Abol is un-phased . We will sort something out, he says cheerfully. Out in the street, I find myself sharing the back seat of the car with Colin and Layla while Abol, Ateshe and Samira squeeze in the front. We set off. Abol is having problems finding the gear stick and is subject to gales of abuse and laughter from his fellow passengers in the front.

Somehow we make it to the restaurant. This is a trendy affair in one of the most upmarket streets of northern Tehran. We are shown to our table by well turned-out staff. The seating is in a secluded terrace. Other customers seem very well dressed. Before long everyone appears to know everyone. So northern Tehran, despite it's gigantic size, is after all a small village. Colin and I are somewhat underwhelmed by the food. The kind of home cooking we have been treated to in the last few days is really difficult to top. Nonetheless we tuck in.  

Dinner over, we are asked if we would like some dessert. I ask if we could go somewhere where we could get some real Persian Ice Cream.  This suggestion is greeted by all round enthusiasm. Back into Abol's toy car. Fifteen minutes later we are standing outside of Tehran's oldest ice cream parlours, licking the most heavenly food substance know to man. I have been dreaming about doing this since 1974 when I left Tehran as a hopeful young student....

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