BBC Correspondents (Lise Doucet, Sarah Smith, John Donison, Sean Coughlan, Shotik Biswas) (6:41)

Sarah Smith next. What does it take to plan such a state visit? The choreography involved will have been tightly planned, from the ceremonial welcome at the White House to the tea parties with sumptuous sandwiches. Donald Trump's admiration for the traditions of the royal family was on full display as he praised the King as an elegant man on whom he said his mother once had a crush. Sean Coughlan has travelled with the King on previous tours and reflects on what made this one different.

Sarah Smith / Sean Coughlan (7:14)

This really did feel like watching a moment of history. King Charles stood up to address both houses of Congress in the centrepiece of his state visit to the United States, only the second time a British monarch had done so. He looked around the famous chamber crammed with US lawmakers. His wife, Queen Camilla, was looking encouragingly at him, sitting only a few yards away. This was the biggest diplomatic challenge of his life, and you could feel him winning over the room as it swung noisily behind him. In the end, the gathered lawmakers gave him 12 standing ovations. It was a speech that achieved the delicate balancing act of keeping friendly relations with President Trump, but at the same time, standing up to him like a boxer in a blue pinstripe suit. The King landed his punches. Don't abandon NATO. Fight for Ukraine. The US needs to speak and act responsibly. He was delivering punches, but in a velvet glove. But I was struck by something that I saw later the same day, on the way to the state dinner. We'd heard how well the King's clarion call for democratic values had been received. Then I saw on a wall inside the White House, a big picture of President Trump with President Putin of Russia. It seemed a strange thing to have on show for guests. Then another of Trump with President Xi of China. What did that say about President Trump's worldview? State visits like this are unusual events, and this one more than most. They're a form of political theatre. There are gifts, parades, marching bands, flypasts, a lavish banquet, of course, and photo opportunities that are more wooden than a showroom of Shaker furniture. Even the sandwiches on these trips can be symbolic. Beef sandwiches were being handed round at the Embassy garden party because this was the first tariff free British beef following a trade deal. And so a sign of cooperation. For correspondence covering state visits, there are long hours spent in queues for security while trying to file stories. It means you need two key a strong bladder and WI fi. The security for this visit was particularly intense following the gun attack last weekend. That meant a highly visible, heavily armed police presence. It looked like they were going to war rather than protecting a dinner party. He also felt there was security about what was said, particularly by President Trump. It felt as though the engagements had been carefully designed to give the President as few opportunities as possible to think aloud. There were not going to be any press conferences. There were not going to be any awkward questions, though the President did raise diplomatic eyebrows when he claimed the King would have backed his approach to Iran getting nuclear weapons. Notably, Jeffrey Epstein's name was never mentioned, much to the disappointment of survivors of his abuse, who had made repeated requests to meet the King. Sources at Buckingham palace said it wasn't possible, as it could jeopardise legal proceedings and stop justice for victims. But Queen Camilla did meet campaigners against domestic abuse during the visit. Another strange feature of state visits is that the general public are very rarely allowed in. The events take place in a sealed area within a security bubble, with invited guests and the media there to share the pictures. It was only on the fourth and final day of the US visit that the King and Queen met any regular Americans. They rolled into the lush Virginian countryside to a place called Front Royal, chosen as a slice of small town America. The last big thing to happen here, it seemed, was Bing Crosby singing at a fundraiser in 1948. There were shops with Names like Loose Cow Mercantile and Weasel Creek Outfitters. On the way, we'd pass a sign for Dismal Swamp. They would put the political situation behind us. By then, in the Appalachian sunshine, the king and queen watched a parade along Main Street. There were marching bands and cheerleaders and slow moving classic cars. Bluegrass music played as the royal couple shook hands with locals lining the barriers. The king particularly seems to enjoy these relaxed chats with people. It must have been a relief after the high stakes diplomacy of Washington. So amid the rolling hills of the Shenandoah Valley, the king shook a final few hands and took a last look around. If not a wagon disappearing into the sunset, he disappeared into a convoy of oversized black cars. The state visit has been considered by many a success, a reset button for transatlantic relations. King Charles, the comeback kid has received much applause. It was a job well done. And then he was gone.

BBC Correspondents (Lise Doucet, Sarah Smith, John Donison, Sean Coughlan, Shotik Biswas) (12:04)

Sean Coughlan Next to Tehran, where inflation had soared to 50% shortly before the ceasefire with Israel and the US came into force, Iranians continue to struggle with rising prices of staples such as rice, eggs and cheese, as the standoff in the Strait of Hormuz continues to disrupt trade. With the prospect of new peace talks proving elusive, Lise Doucet reflects on her recent encounters while visiting Tehran, where she was reporting on condition that none of her material is used on the BBC's Persian service. These restrictions apply to all international media organizations operating in Iran.

Podcast Narrator/Advertiser (12:47)

There are some conversations you never forget. This one was a long time ago. In 1989, on my first visit to Iran, a journalist I was travelling with asked a member of the Islamic Revolutionary Guards, how do you decide what is allowed and what is not? His answer was swift and succinct. Whatever makes you tingle, it's not allowed. The tingle. Iranians have always shown such ingenuity in keeping the tingle in their lives. Years ago, when TV satellite dishes were banned, Iranians built smaller ones they could conceal. Women created special hairstyles to outsmart the compulsory hijab. And the story Western journalists often liked to cover, if they could, were the parties in wealthy north Tehran, where there was dancing and musicians, short skirts and alcohol behind closed doors. And every so often, raids by the morality police. And every spring, like clockwork, there was a security sweep on the streets, stopping women whose headscarves were slipping from their heads. This was, of course, just one part of society. The story from more conservative south Tehran, in other cities and rural towns, was one where pleasure rested in piety. It had its own kind of tingle. I thought about those years gone by on this springtime visit to Tehran, there's no need any more to go behind closed doors to see the very different faces of this city. I saw gaggles of young women and men in baggy jeans and short cropped hair, body piercings and tattoos. They shared the streets with women who brush past with black head to toe cloaks. Stylish cafes are dotted across Tehran, bursting with customers enjoying lattes with fancy milk swirls and crispy grilled sandwiches. At least for those who can still afford it. Women of all ages are now baring their heads. It's been that way since the Women Life freedom protests of 20, 22 and 23. It's finished. One woman with long black hair exclaimed with a laugh, but a scarf was still draped across her shoulders, just in case. It was always said that one of the last aspects of the Islamic Republic to go would be the dress code for women. An Iranian friend offered his explanation. The authorities realized that women could show their hair and their order wouldn't come tumbling down. Women friends in Iran have always said to me, don't just focus on our headscarves. How we live our lives matters much more. And now there is so much more to worry about. In the wake of two wars over a year, including one now barely kept at bay by a fragile ceasefire and the lingering legacy, the anger and pain of January's uprising and a crackdown which killed many thousands, there are still mass arrests and executions, many accused of spying for the enemy. Israel and America, the countries Iran's leaders blame for the protests. It's how they justify a near complete Internet blackout, although it's now easing slightly and selectively. Even the government's communications minister called for it to be lifted, saying the livelihoods of some 10 million people depended on being connected. Prices are rising, jobs are disappearing, people are desperate, an elderly woman told us as she stopped us on the street. They don't know what to do, where to go, how to buy, what they need. An architect strolling past lamented. It's the 21st century and I can't even go on the Internet to translate words I need to use in my work. He held a small glass bottle in his hand. Wild garlic butter, he explained. I made it myself. In tough times, we embrace small treats to boost our morale, tiny tingles, if you like. It was striking to hear in the midst of such stress, some people still calling for more war. In one of the squares where patriotic songs blare, where government loyalists now gather nightly, one man told us there had to be more war to defeat America and Israel a short drive away. In another square where one man played love songs on his guitar, someone else said he wanted more war to bring down the regime. Iranians future is being decided in faraway capitals and in the upper echelons of a system now dominated by hardliners with clear red lines about what is allowed and what is not. When it comes to issues such as the future of Iran's nuclear program and the fate of the strategic Strait of Hormuz, there is a tingle in Tehran, but not the kind that Guard invoked so long ago. For some, it's nervousness, even fear. For some it's anticipation tinged with hope. For everyone, it's that emotion of not knowing what comes next as they live one day to the next. No war for now, but no peace either.

BBC Correspondents (Lise Doucet, Sarah Smith, John Donison, Sean Coughlan, Shotik Biswas) (17:58)

Lis Doucette

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BBC Correspondents (Lise Doucet, Sarah Smith, John Donison, Sean Coughlan, Shotik Biswas) (18:35)

Next Municipal elections were held last weekend in the occupied west bank and in the city of Deir el Bala in central Gaza. Hamas was officially excluded from participating in Saturday's election as the Palestinian Authority required parties and candidates to to recognize the state of Israel and express support for a two state solution, something Hamas refuses to do. Hamas said that holding the election was still a positive step and called for presidential and legislative elections to follow. John Donison has been in Ramallah.

Matt Shea (19:12)

If liberty can blossom in the rocky soil of the west bank and Gaza, it will inspire millions of men and women around the globe who are equally weary of poverty and oppression, equally entitled to the benefits of democratic government. The words of a US President not Donald J. Trump, but George W. Bush. W was speaking back in the early 2000s, when the push for democracy in the Middle east was front and center of US post 911 policy. The occupied Palestinian territories were to be the proving ground for this push, but the experiment did not go to plan Palestinian parliamentary elections. Bush's pet project took place in Gaza and the occupied West bank in January 2006 to great fanfare. The problem was the winner. Hamas, the Islamist group considered a terrorist organization by many governments, blindsided the international community by coming out on top. The west boycotted the result Israel tightened its blockade of Gaza and the vote led to a violent struggle between Hamas and its rival Fatah, a rift from which Palestinian politics has never recovered. So last weekend's local elections were, at least for some, an important moment. There were, however, several issues. Firstly, in Gaza, only people in one town were able to vote. Dere Bala was deemed the only place relatively undamaged and where enough of the population hadn't been displaced by the war to make the poll worthwhile. Secondly, only one of the main Palestinian political parties, Fatah, put up candidates, Hamas, its great rival, was not allowed to stand following a decision by the Palestinian Authority. The elephant in the room was that if the Islamist group was on the ballot, there would be every chance it could win again. Hamas's popularity has fallen in Gaza because of the war, which some people there partially blame on the group. But it has surged in the west bank, where there is widespread disillusionment with the Palestinian Authority. Run by President Mahmoud Abbas and his Fatah party. The PA is seen by many Palestinians as corrupt. It's accused of failing to improve the economic lives of ordinary people or end Israel's decades long occupation. Indeed, most Palestinians you speak to are unimpressed by their politicians, to say the least. Predictably, turnout in these elections was low, just over 20% in Gaza. In the west bank it was higher at just over 50%. At the polling station we visited near Ramallah, we found a trickle of voters rather than a tide. But we saw enthusiasm. People proudly showing me a purple inked thumb to show they had posted their ballot. It's a proud day that we have a chance to vote, even if we're still under Israeli occupation, Hanadi, a young Palestinian American woman, told me. This is a way to show the outside world that we still live our lives. Like many people, Hanadi was voting on local issues rather than geopolitics. Everyone wants clean schools, clean streets and a better economy, muna Inab, an election observer, explained. As we talked, I realized that I recognized Muna. I'd interviewed her some 16 years ago when I was based in the West Bank. Back then she was decked out in a full Formula One outfit as part of a Palestinian all women motor racing team, the Speed Sisters. We laughed as I remembered going green as I sat in the passenger seat as she ragged me around the streets of Nablus. The in in a souped up BMW, spinning donut after donut. I don't do that anymore, she smiled. Now I have my kids to feed and for most Palestinians, money is short. The PA, which employs well over 100,000 people, has not been able to pay salaries in full for over two years. For many years, Israel has been partially withholding tax revenues from the pa, putting a financial squeeze on the authority. It was somewhat jarring for me then to see the PA's election committee handing out expensive goody bags to journalists. It was a laptop bag with a charge pack, cables and notepads. And while I found electoral enthusiasm at the polling station, there was little in the restaurant where we went for lunch. Over lamb chops, I got talking to Hafith Jabbar, another Palestinian American who was sitting there with two friends. None of them had voted. What's the point? Hafiz asked. It won't change anything. It's all corrupt. Many Palestinians in the west bank will tell you life has never been as hard for them as it is now. With Gaza in ruins and with Israel's control of the west bank as restrictive as ever amid rising settler violence two decades after the first parliamentary elections, you won't find any Palestinians who believe liberty has blossomed here.

BBC Correspondents (Lise Doucet, Sarah Smith, John Donison, Sean Coughlan, Shotik Biswas) (24:16)

John Donison and finally, we're in the Indian state of West Bengal, where a fierce state election battle is underway. Prime Minister Narendra Modi's BJP has mounted an aggressive push to unseat the chief minister, Momitar Banerjee, whose Trinamool Congress Party is seeking a fourth consecutive term. And the region's culinary tradition has become a surprising hot button issue.

Shotik Biswas (24:42)

Shotik Biswas On a sticky morning in the eastern Indian city of Kolkata, Kaustav Bakchi moves from door to door in crisp white and red traditional attire, a fish in hand. He's the candidate for Narendra Modi's bjp, and he's banking on the prop to do the quiet work of persuasion. There are no speeches about policy, just a visual cue. I am one of you. A few kilometers away, in Kolkata's port area, another BJP candidate, Rakesh Singh, stages a similar spectacle. Flanked by party workers, he hoists a fish repeatedly as he moves through the early morning crowds, taking on the city's mayor in what is one of the state's most high profile contests. In Bengal, fish is more than food. It is the lifeblood of the cuisine, ritual in everyday life, a marker of both identity and belonging to across West Bengal. It's become a political symbol too, with candidates brandishing fish to quell a very specific anxiety. Food has always had political resonance in India, and Prime Minister Modi's Hindu nationalist BJP is often associated with a more assertive and sometimes moralized vegetarianism periodic restrictions on meat sales in some BJP rule states and crackdowns linked to cow protection have helped cement that perception. Even though India remains overwhelmingly non vegetarian in the West Bengal election, BJP candidates have taken to waving fish at rallies to counter criticism from political rivals that the ruling party wants to control what locals want to eat. The BJP will not allow you to eat fish, nor will they allow you to eat meat or eggs, the state's chief minister, Mamata Banerjee, warned at a campaign meeting recently. She and her Tirnamul Congress Party are seeking a fourth consecutive term in office. Bengal lives on fish and rice. You're telling Bengal people you can't have fish, you can't have meat, you can't have eggs. What will they eat then? The PJP has pushed back just as sharply, seeking to neutralize the charge while turning the attack around. Smriti Irani, a BJP leader campaigning in Bengal, called the claim a lie. She said Bengal and fish and rice are a part of its culture which will never end. Between this cultural anxiety and economic critique, fish has become more than a staple. It's now a shorthand for everything the rivals say is at stake. In Bengal, fish has always carried meaning far beyond the plate, and its political afterlife seems almost inevitable. It represents geography, river systems like the Ganges river versus the Padma River. It represents history, a legacy of partition of India separating East and West Bengal. It represents class, who can afford the prized varieties, who prepares them and who has the cultural know how to do so. Even Bengal's fiercest football rivalry carries fish. Fans of East Bengal Football Club, many with roots in what is now Bangladesh, are stereotypically partial to Hilsa Mohan Bagan super giant. Supporters, on the other hand, are said to favor prawns. It's really a playful shorthand for deeper histories of migration, class and taste for historian Jayanta Sengupta. Fish, he says, is inseparable from Bengali cuisine, shaped by geography and its long role as affordable source of protein. Last week, the BJP state president, Sameh Bhattacharyak, offered journalists in Kolkata an invitation for results day on the 4th of May. He said the party would welcome them with fried fish in an election shape by identity, livelihoods and a fair amount of playful baiting. Fish may not decide the result, but it has already framed the contest, revealing how instinctively culture and politics bleed into each other on the campaign trail in India.

BBC Correspondents (Lise Doucet, Sarah Smith, John Donison, Sean Coughlan, Shotik Biswas) (28:46)

Shot it, Biswas, and that's all for today, but you can hear more dispatches on the from our own correspondent podcast on BBC Sounds. We'll be back again next Saturday morning. Do join us.

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