The old man paused for breath beneath a walnut tree. A part-time philosopher, he was called Rahmatollah (“Offer of the Gods”). He had wobbly knees and clutched a walking stick but his mind showed no sign of slowing down.

He sat in the shade quoting the 13th-century Iranian poet Saadi Shirazi and musing over his 80 or so years living in the sleepy mountain village of Abyaneh, 210 miles south of the capital Tehran. “I used to walk in these peaks as a boy, searching for wolves and hunting ibexes. Back then, Abyaneh was a very different place,” he said, almost mournfully.

Once a thriving agricultural community, Abyaneh was home to thousands and blessed with an almost semi-autonomous existence. Isolated until the 17th century, it remained free of interference by Afghans, Turks and Indians. With the next village 12 miles away, locals even formed their own dialect.

The mudbrick houses of Abyaneh Credit: © ASK Images / Alamy Stock Photo/ASK Images / Alamy Stock Photo

Today barely 80 residents remain, living in red mudbrick houses. Bizarrely, though, Abyaneh is located close to the epicentre of the country’s biggest problems, a lonely spot in the desert that has seen it exiled from the international community.

“No photographs,” warned my guide Majid as we drove past the mysterious Natanz nuclear facility, all high fences and armed patrols.

But change is coming. Sanctions imposed over Iran’s controversial nuclear programme are being lifted and the Islamic Republic is once again open for business. Last year saw the Foreign Office ease travel restrictions and reopen the British embassy in the capital after it was famously stormed in 2011. As a result, airlines and tour operators are hastily re-establishing their presence. On September 1, British Airways will recommence direct flights to Tehran from London Heathrow. It is welcome news to the 77 million population of this nation plagued by preconceptions as a land of fundamentalists and terrorists.

Tehran – where British Airways will fly to directly, from September 1 Credit: Copyright 2015 Emanuele Mazzoni/Emanuele Mazzoni

Majid has been showing off his homeland to curious visitors for the past 15 years. “Iran is a deeply misunderstood country,” he said, sitting cross-legged on a Persian rug and sipping a cup of saffron chai in a teahouse high in the quiet hillsides north of Tehran. Beyond the walls, mules ferried sacks of pomegranates along deserted trails.

There, like almost everywhere in Iran, the locals greeted us with a touching mix of curiosity and delight. Some stared unsubtly while others whispered with urgency. Some came rushing over with questions and, more often than not, offers of tea, fruit or homecooked meals.

Hopes are high that Iran has finally turned a corner and a new era beckons. Rahmatollah was characteristically coy about it all. “The future? Only God knows but good things are coming,” he said, gazing out over Mount Karkas.

Mount Karkas, in the north of Iran Credit: © Florian Neukirchen / Alamy Stock Photo/Florian Neukirchen / Alamy Stock Photo

Many miles to the south, the city of Yazd was doing a roaring trade. The pavements were heaving with shoppers browsing the father-and-son kerbside stalls selling fruit, sweet-smelling rose water and Persian rugs. The busiest place, however, seemed to be Haj Khalifeh Ali Rahbar, a confectionery store started by two brothers more than 60 years ago. The place was stacked with all manner of sugar-dusted treats with exotic names such as noqhl, loze nargil and qotab.

And while it cannot trade on a world-famous name like other Iranian heavyweights such as Shiraz and Isfahan, Yazd proved to be one of the most enlightening stops on our two-week tour, thanks mostly to the famed Towers of Silence. These large manmade monuments in the desert on the outskirts of town are where Zoroastrians leave their dead to be consumed by vultures.

We broke up the long journey to Shiraz beside a roadside pistachio farm. The small shrubs, all neatly planted in regimented rows that swept up the hillside, were decorated with ripening shells like faded rubies dangling from the tip.

The owner – a farmer on a motorbike – soon materialised. I half expected him to start shouting, ordering us off his land and away from his precious pistachios but this was Iran. Instead, he greeted us like long-lost family and proceeded to pick handfuls of his prized produce for us to sample.

“Iranian people do not hate the West,” Mr Abedi explained. “They celebrate everything it has brought them but propaganda has given the wrong impression of us.” Credit: Nicola Messana - Fotolia

But the most memorable individual we met was Abbas Barzegar, the Richard Branson of Iran who lives in the absurdly beautiful Bavanat Valley. In a previous life, Abbas was a humble man working on a farm. “I had no money, no cows, nothing. I thought God had deserted me. Now I have a magical business, a garden, a family, even a donkey,” he beamed.

So, what brought about this change in fortune? Two German backpackers. Lost and with nowhere to stay, they were offered a spare room in Abbas’s house and an idea was born. With the help of a $600,000 grant from former president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, he built his own guesthouse, which now has 33 rustic rooms, a small museum and even a petting zoo. Success, however, may have gone to his head.

Over a breakfast prepared by his demure wife and served by his daughters, he spoke of his dreams of owning his own valley and populating it with his own tribe who would all wear the same clothes and be ruled over by his infant son. Several of us exchanged knowing glances in between mouthfuls of homemade cheese and walnut bread.

Iran’s strained relationship with the West plays out regularly in the headlines but there is very little, if any, hostility to be felt from people on the ground

Of course, we didn’t come all this way to listen to these ramblings. We came for the Bavanat Valley, one of Iran’s most naturally blessed locations: a wide chasm bookmarked by crumbled peaks and scattered with drooping sunflowers, gushing streams and dusty walking trails.

A boy of no more than 13 emerged from within a haze of dust kicked up by the dozens of goats he was trying to herd. He was having limited success, his desperate pleas lost among the plumes of sand swirling around him.

Having a much more leisurely day were the Abedi family. Like the rest of the 14,000 nomads who spend six months of the year in the Bavanat Valley (wintering on the warm shores of the Persian Gulf), they were busy tending to their cattle and drinking tea outside their large tents. Tea was extended to us and we sat on rugs placed on grass and talked about our respective lands. Mr Abedi turned his attention to the US citizen in our party. “Why does America hate us so much?”

Iran’s strained relationship with the West plays out regularly in the headlines but there is very little, if any, hostility to be felt from people on the ground. “The Iranian people do not hate the West,” Mr Abedi explained. “They celebrate everything it has brought them but propaganda has given the wrong impression of us.”

The future and present-day Iran may be the biggest talking points but the country’s past is never far from the agenda. Its complex history dates back centuries to the first human settlements around 4000 BC. In the years that followed, Persia was conquered and ruled by some of history’s biggest figures. Cyrus the Great laid the foundations of the Persian Empire in the sixth century BC.

Its most impressive achievement, arguably, is Persepolis, the mighty capital of the empire built by Darius the Great. More than 150 years in the making, this ancient city has attracted subjects from far and wide to pay homage to their rulers. They didn’t come empty-handed, bringing offerings of gold, spices and baby giraffes from their exotic lands including Arabia and India.

"The Persian Empire's most impressive achievement, arguably, is Persepolis, the mighty capital" Credit: emk(c)2012/Milos Kubus

It was undoubtedly a place of great splendour but a drunken attack launched by Alexander the Great one fateful night saw Persepolis burn to the ground. That, along with centuries of abandonment (the city wasn’t rediscovered until 1620), took its toll. But the ruins that stand today boast splendour of a different kind.

Aside from Persepolis, the tour’s most anticipated stop came at the end. Legends surround the fabled city of Isfahan, former capital of Persia, and its grandeur remains. Just as it did in the days of Shah Abbas the Great in the 17th century, life in Isfahan revolves around Meidan Emam, one of the largest public squares in the world. “Only Tiananmen is bigger,” said Majid with pride. Once, kings would sit on balconies overlooking the square and watch polo matches played out against a backdrop of mighty mosques and madrassas.

Today, Meidan Emam remains a place of euphoria and entertainment. Shoppers milled around the arcades and vanished into crowded bazaars. Courting couples picnicked on the grass while families rode horses and carts around the perimeter.

"Just as it did in the 17th century, life in Isfahan revolves around Meidan Emam, one of the largest public squares in the world" Credit: JPAaron - Fotolia

But at its heart, Meidan Emam remains a place rooted in religion and tradition. People come to worship at the Shah Mosque, under its vast dome adorned with half a million tiles. A man in a scruffy tracksuit emerged from the crowd and proceeded to take centre stage. He stood directly in the middle of the hall and started to sing the call to prayer. Every murmur fell silent as his voice gained momentum, each note sliding down the glazed walls like honey.

A wave of goosebumps swept along my arms and everyone in sight was rendered speechless. It was a delicate and soulful display that took us all by surprise. Very much like Iran itself.

Nick Boulos travelled with Wild Frontiers (020 7736 3968; wildfrontierstravel.com). For more details, see telegraph.co.uk/iranreview.