Qeshm is not like Hormuz. It's much bigger. You could almost call it industrial. Almost is the operative word here. Like in Hormuz, women walk around wearing traditional masks as part of their hijab and are dressed as colourful as in India. It's the outward differences that make it possible for me to forget the mainland.

The wind is blowing in our faces. Hormuz harbour is brimming with life. Once again, J. has made friends with a young Iranian.

Hitchhiking is easy and adventurous. We continue telling our fake origin stories we tested in Alamut, but I can't avoid feeling like we are exploiting the people.

Shiraz was special and yet very typical. Basically, a single room for the price of a hostel bed. I spent a good week, slept long and did only the bare necessities.

Once the roof was loaded, the backpacks tied and all men were on board, we closed the curtains, turned up the music, and the party began.

I have to get out of here, or I'm going to explode. I can no longer travel to the more religious eastern part to get a visa for Pakistan, although both consulates have denied me any chance of success.

From the desert, I had to return to Tehran to meet up with J., my travel partner for Pakistan. We had to apply for the appropriate visa. We both didn't like the capital for different reasons, so we decided to hitchhike to Alamut Valley, breathe mountain air and try if we loved travelling together or not.

In Yazd, I was pretty exhausted, and my nerves lay bare. If I could have beamed myself out of Iran, I would have done it then and there.

I would not have survived my time in Iran without the knowledge that there is a world where women like me exist. Iran is very beautiful but for women it's hard.

Isfahan is rightly one of the principal attractions of Iran and vital to me, not because of the magnificent palaces, the beautiful fire temple or the prominent mosques, but because I got to know M. & M.