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On arrival in Tehran and having copied other passengers in donning their headscarves on the plane, we met Banefsheh Farahani

who was to be our guide for the trip. From Tehran, Banefshef had a PhD in Tourism Studies from Malaysia, taught courses part-time as well as her guide work. had a wonderful temperament and a sense of humour that never faltered. She quickly got the measure of each of us and was an indispensable part of our enjoyment of the trip.

The exchange bureau at the airport had been recommended for money changing so off we trooped. In exchange for our euros we were given wadded bricks of rials – which is the currency – but of course people operate in something called tomans – which isn’t the currency. Or not really. Welcome to Iran (pronounced Eeron, with the accent on the first syllable.)

This was only the start. Ninety percent of the energy of five expensively educated women on day 1 was poured into a remarkably incompetent attempt to figure out the currency: how many rials in a euro or vice versa as the case might be. (Tomans were a long way off.) We tried all sorts of strategies but to our shame this continued throughout our whole trip. ‘Is it the blue note or the green one?’ was a regular question from one or other of us. We might as well have adopted a friend’s suggestion that we establish the price of a camel and calculate accordingly – cheaper or dearer. We went from calculating that our lunch cost €65 to figuring (and this after detailed and laborious consideration, intense argumentation, consultation of Internet data and use of calculators) that it cost €6. Controversy ended with us offering an array of notes to our waiter and urging him to take his pick. Purchases were made, calculated and recalculated to little avail. Banafsheh looked on, unconcerned, saying it typically takes three days to figure out the currency. Basically everything was very cheap: that information was enough to free us from any spending inhibition.

It is worth confessing at this stage that Irish people have a shopping disease. Taking us round a bazaar was the proverbial herding of cats. ‘Where is Susie?’ was the clarion call though Susie was by no means the only one to wander off or dally in the stalls. Carpets, miniatures, copper pots, rose petals, spices, silk scarves, tiles, material, mirrors, rings, necklaces and tat of all kinds had magnetic appeal. Valerie alone showed restraint – as well as patience and tolerance for our (one and only) weakness.