Iran

Only the sound of trolley wheels can be heard as we walk along the corridors that link Tehran’s IKA airport arrivals section to passport control. The queue isn’t long, which is a relief, because it’s after 2 a.m. and my terrible flight with the low-cost Turkish airline has left me very stiff. I give a jaunty hello to the officer who checks my passport. He greets me back, albeit with less enthusiasm. But he doesn’t welcome me back to Iran.