Fast forward some 2500 years post-Cyrus, and hardly anyone praises Iran for its tolerant policies. “Iran? Are you mad?” asked some of my friends before I set off, listing mullahs, beards and stonings among other reasons to reconsider my trip. But I see none of this during my travels - only an abundance of smart women, warmth and hospitality and culture. Of course, Islam is everywhere here, too. And when we are not on the train we are forever standing in mosques or famous tombs, tying the headscarves under our chins over and over because the wind wants to blow them away. We turn our eyes upward to admire ceilings that look like the fan of a peacock, dazzling and delicate and gorgeous. We learn to find characters hiding in patterns and spot voids in palace walls where there were once depictions of loving couples. We are moving through historical Persia, the remains of a time when no one called this region Iran. We look back on great empires, rulers and achievements - everything the people were proud of then, they are still proud of today.

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