To Shiraz

In love's great ocean, whose calm shelter's shore

Must he forever leave, whose soul is bound

In farthest quest, life's wonders to explore.

For years, I have been inspired by these lines by Hafiz, Persia's greatest poet; certainly my own life has been a never-ending quest, life's wonders to explore. And here I am, at last, on my way to to Shiraz, in Iran, the city of Hafiz who lived, loved, died and is buried here.

It is high summer, and hot. I'm on the road from Chalus, in North Iran, to Tehran. My friend Mahboub is driving, and it is 9am as we leave the Caspian coast and approach the mountain ranges that form a barrier between the green and humid north and the drier region to the south - those seemingly endless ochre plains that stretch all the way down to the blue Persian Gulf.

This road is known for three things. For its appalling accident rate - just two lanes, one in each direction. For its extraordinary mountain and ravine landscapes, which change around every bend. And for its "singing tunnel" not far before you pass the huge dam near Karaj that helps provide Tehran with its water supply. Youthful travellers passing through this tunnel open windows and cry out in unison in the darkness, eeeeeehhhhhh! It has become a fun tradition.

The Iranian government has decided, however, to do something about the road toll, and you can see, now, to your right as you pass through the mountains, gangs of workers (imported from China) creating what will be a wide super highway. When it's completed, the three hour journey will be reduced to one hour and will be much safer.

The route south changes from green to brown

Whatever the present dangers, however, it is a dazzling driving experience. Not far out of Chalus, we see, growing from the mountain side, out of an almost perpendicular rock face, camphorwood evergreens. For most of the journey, a river runs alongside the road, deep in a ravine. The mountains are a constant presence, changing form, texture and colour around every bend in the road.

We stop at an open mountain bluff to buy uncooked walnuts grown here and later, look for some shade to have a cup of tea. It's not green and cool any more; the clouds have disappeared, the green has gone, the sun is high in a blue sky, and the rocky peaks that surround us change as we pass by from rose pink through gritty grey to dusty parchment. Just outside Karaj, a secondary road swings off to ski slopes which are carpeted in deep snow in winter, attracting affluent ski buffs from the upmarket houses and apartments in North Tehran. It has been, every inch of the way, a fascinating ride.

Stopover for fresh walnuts

Eight lane highway from Tehran to Isfahan, Persepolis and Shiraz

We switch now to another highway stretching south. Big green roadsigns are in English and Farsi throughout Iran, which helps the visitor. Later that day, after driving over 300km through monotonous rural landscapes, passing fields of sunflowers, melon stalls, lonely mosques, herds of goats, ancient mud-walledcaravansaries and solitary mountains casting huge shadows, we reach the city of Isfahan.

En route in the heat: sunflowers, grapes and goats

Isfahan (also spelled Esfehan) is Iran's third largest city, and was, for a time (between 1050 and 1722) the capital of Persia. It is famed for its Islamic architecture with many beautiful boulevards, covered bridges, palaces, mosques, and minarets. As the Persians used to say, and maybe still do, Esfahān nesf-e jahān ast (Isfahan is half of the world).

It is night now, and time to take a look at the famous bridge, not far from our hotel, golden against the dark sky thanks to excellent floodlighting. Locals tend to gather and promenade here and we encounter, in the shadows under one of the arches, a group of students playing and singing - an impromptu concert for passers-by. This bridge was built to provide access from one side of the Zayande River to the other, but water was damaging the foundations, so it now stands high and dry.

Isfahan: the bridge at night and shaded gardens next morning

Next morning, it's time to look around. We wander through beautiful gardens, past splashing fountains, to Chehel Sotoun, a pavilion in the middle of a park at the far end of a long reflecting pool. Built by Shah Abbas II to be used for his entertainment and receptions, twenty slender wooden columns support its handsome mirrored entrance, and the interior overwhelms as a dark rose-coloured dream, with paintings in the Persian miniature style depicting historic scenes - receptions, banquets, battles, victories, defeats and more. These vivid fragments of Persian history are complemented with more aesthetic floral compositions which celebrate the joys of life and love. A small kiosk close to the pavilion entrance sells video and book souvenirs of this astonishing gallery of art, and, close by, archaeologists dig for lost treasures, believed buried in the ground long ago, during military attacks by unfriendly forces.

Chehel Sotoun, at night; wall painting detail

We are here on Friday, and as we walk now into the huge Naghsh-e Jahan Square, we listen to the loud-speakered call to prayer as it echos off the walls of the covered bazaar which surrounds us on all sides. Black-robed women scurry towards the mosque and a group of young basij arrive on motor bikes. Everywhere we look, people are responding to the call. The square, as long as a polo field (which it once was) is filled with worshippers making their way to pray. We stand in the shadow of the Ali Qapu Palace and look up. Here, on the upper galleries, Shah Abbas and his entourage would sit and watch the polo players as they thundered over what was once grass, far below.

Isfahan: Naghsh-e Jahan Square; the Shah's palace

It's time now to get out of the hot sun and explore the Grand Bazaar, which dates to the 11th century and totally surrounds the square. Inside, shops extend in all directions and it is delightfully cool. Large circular openings in the ceiling allow hot air to escape and provide ventilation. If you are visiting, be sure to look for sweet shops (Iranian candies are delectable), vendors of carpets and copperware and also for the workshop of a gentle, silver-haired craftsman who paints miniatures on camel bone. They are reasonably priced and his workmanship is exquisite.

Miniaturist at work and his painting on pearl shell

Isfahan's covered bazaar: rugs, carpets and camel bags

Eight km west of the city centre, the Atashgah is a Sassanid-era archaeological complex located on a cream-coloured hill of the same name which rises about 210m above the surrounding plain. Up top lie the remains of Zoroastrian fire-temples. Other buildings include what may have been storage rooms and living quarters for priests and affluent pilgrims. Radiocarbon dating suggests that the construction was pre-6th century in an Isfahan before Islam.

Visitors, including young children, are scampering up to the top with mountain-goat agility and I decide to give it a try. I am fearful of heights but think, they're not having any problems, why should I? I get three quarter ways up, look down and freeze on the spot. Mahboub, my buddy, takes my camera to the summit for the pictures I should have taken. I finally make it back down to the ground, feeling rather foolish

Isfahan: the Atashgah - slippery slopes and fire temples

The road to the tomb

Early next morning, we set off due south, stopping en route at the tomb of Cyrus and close by, the ancient ruins of Persepolis. Cyrus was King of Persia, reigning from 559 to 530 BC. A Zoroastrian in religious belief, he founded the Persian Empire which embraced all previous civilised states of the ancient Near East, expanding to include most of Southwest Asia and much of Central Asia, from Egypt in the west to the Indus River in the east. It was the largest empire the world had yet seen. Cyrus liberated Hebrew exiles from bondage in Babylon and is admired for his contribution to human rights, politics, and military strategy by both Eastern and Western civilisations.

Cyrus the Great; his tomb at Pasargadae

The details of Cyrus's death vary but his last resting place is beyond question, and I am here now, mid-morning on a scorching day, admiring the simplicity and, yes, grandeur of the sandstone memorial at Pasargadae, just off the north-south highway. It is, understandably, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. When Alexander the Great invaded Persia, he made a point of stopping here to ransack the tomb, leaving the king's body but taking the gold which enclosed and protected it. So Cyrus sleeps on, relatively peacefully, except for tourists. In 1971, the Pahlavi Shah celebrated the 2500th anniversary of the founding of the Persian monarchy by Cyrus, with a lot of fanfare. His excesses were much criticised within the country and led to his ultimate downfall.

Not far from Cyrus' tomb, and just 70 km from the city of Shiraz, Persepolis was capital of the Persian Empire during the Achaemenid dynasty (ca. 550-330 BCE) and is today a World Heritage Site. Mahboub and I drive there now, down a long corridor of evergreens planted for the anniversary celebration. The area was investigated during the 1930s by French archaeologist André Godard. What remains of the city are striking; the military quarters, the treasury, and royal residences offer the visitor treasures including the Great Stairway, the Gate of Nations (Xerxes the Great), the Apadana Palace of Darius, the Hall of a Hundred Columns, the Tripylon Hall and Tachara Palace of Darius, the Hadish Palace of Xerxes, the palace of Artaxerxes III, the Royal Stables and the Chariot House. It is late afternoon but the sun is still very hot as we walk around, examining splendid bas reliefs, cuneiform engravings and great carved bulls and lions among the lengthening shadows. I'm happy to see the Faravahar symbol of Persia, those outspread wings carved in the golden stone on the palace of Xerxes. Alexander the Great came here with his troops in the year 330 BC, and his arrival was followed by looting and destruction.

Persepolis: Faravahar symbol

Persepolis: nobles and warriors in golden stone

Sadly, some Islamic fundamentalists in contemporary Iran have had the same idea, viewing Persepolis a symbol of the country's idolatrous past. In 1979, after the fall of the Shah, Ayatollah Khomeini's right-hand man, Ayatollah Sadegh Khalkhali, tried to demolish Persepolis by bringing bulldozers to the site. Fortunately, he was stopped by the provisional government, and today Persepolis has become a defining feature of Iran's cultural heritage, and is a major source of income from tourism.

We drive now the short distance to Shiraz, through gathering darkness, and enter the city past the Qur'an Gate. Shiraz is circled by mountains and has been a regional trade centre for more than a thousand years. The city was the capital of Persia during the Zand dynasty from 1750 until 1781 and is known as the city of poets, wine, flowers and nightingales.

The best-known of those poets, Hafiz, was born here in 1315 and from a very early age proved to be precociously literate. At a young boy he successfully memorised the Koran, which is why he later called himself Hafiz - the word is used for someone who learns the holy book by heart. At the same time, the young poet was introduced to great Sufi writers like Rumi and Saadi; these were to become major influences and the poems of Hafiz would have a profound effect on Persian life and culture.

It could be said that Hafiz was a mystic in love with love. In his maturity, he wrote hundreds of poems which expressed an ecstatic longing for union with the divine. His poetry made him famous but not always with the ruling Muslim orthodoxy. Twentieth century translators, like Gertrude Bell, introduced him to Western readers. Hafiz died aged 69 and his much-revered and visited mausoleum is located in the Musalla Gardens of Shiraz (referred to as Hāfezieh).

A Shazari greets us at the bazaar

Shiraz: the citadel of Karim Khan

Our time here is limited, but we do get to visit the famed Shiraz bazaar and many of its sublime gardens (Eram Garden is quite special). But most of our time is spent in the handsome stone citadel, the Arg of Karim Khan, built in 1766-7 during the Zand dynasty and located at Shohada Square in the centre of the city. Until recently it was used as a prison, but today it is a museum operated by Iran's Cultural Heritage Organisation.

There's much to see behind those 3m thick stone walls. In a huge courtyard, hundreds of citrus trees soak up the sun. Inside, I spend a lot of time in a photo gallery, and then go to the quarters of Karim Khan himself. Paintings on the walls and ceilings have been carefully restored, and the bathing area is wonderfully indulgent and handsomely decorated as befits a royal residence. The finest architects and artists laboured here and it shows.

Patterns of old Persia inside the king's domain

It's time to go, but first we return to the citadel's museum and stand and admire wax figures in a tableau representing Karim Khan and his court. Light flooding in from a stained glass window behind us warms our backs and turns us all the colours of the rainbow. I can't think of a better way to say Khoda Hafez (Farewell) to this prince of cities in the heart of modern Iran.

Karim's court in wax; magic rainbows as we say Goodbye

New Zealand's Taupo Trail

...silica terraces gleam wedding-cake white against azure water pools and close by,

boiling water explodes into the air, releasing clouds of steam that drift up into the sky

I am in Wanganui, a mid-autumn day, the sky is blue and the wide river shimmers in the early morning sun as it flows past the city and down to the sea. My friend and guide Edvaldo and I are about to head for Lake Taupo, four hours northeast in what seems to be the geographic centre of New Zealand's North Island. We are en route along the Taupo Trail — my label, not NZ Tourism's — starting here on the west coast and ending on another coast, to the north, facing the Bay of Plenty. It promises to be a green delight all along the way.

New Zealand's North Island landscape draws visitors from everywhere

The first thing I notice as we drive through rolling hills and lush pastureland is what I now think of, looking back, as "the hedge effect". I saw this from a distance, flying down here from Auckland yesterday, but up close it is an absolute delight — the kind of neatness I saw years ago in Switzerland - with fields divided by hedges as diverse as a narrow row of tall evergreens or a long line of pampas grass, whose feathery plumes wave to us as the car rolls by. It's an endlessly shifting scene that seems designed and landscaped to impress. And this ordered neatness doesn't end with these handsome dividing barriers. Bales of hay are placed in neatly ordered rows; sheep are dazzling white against green fields (compared to the grubby grey sheep one sees in Australia) and groups of Holstein cattle create stunning black and white tableaux against the hills and pastures that flash by on either side of the road, until we arrive in Taupo.

Green, green, green: en route from Wanganui to Lake Taupo

This is my first visit to New Zealand, and I'm as interested in its history as I am in its visual impact. I know, for example, that the ancestors of the Maori people were Polynesian, arriving in Aotearoa, the "land of the long white cloud" by boat, probably around 1350 AD but a lot of this history is still the subject for debate. These Polynesian settlers arrived to discover the Moa, a large flightless bird, which is now extinct. The word Maori in its first usage meant the original people; when white European pakeha settlers arrived, it became an adjective to describe the people and their culture.

There is a museum here in Taupo, next to the Information Centre, which is the perfect place to get to know the region and its history. Afterwards, I visit Wairakei Terraces, not far from town, which offers the visitor not just extraordinary thermal sights but also an opportunity to experience Maori custom and culture, participate in a traditional welcome, explore a Maori village and watch carvers, weavers and tattooists at work, enjoy traditional Maori cuisine and listen to Maori song, dance and haka.

Wairakei Terraces - heat under your feet, steam rising to the sky

The geothermal activity here, most extensive in the country, is mind- blowing; silica terraces gleam wedding-cake white against azure water pools ranging from warm to hot and close by, boiling water explodes into the air, releasing clouds of steam that drift up into the sky. It's a stunning sight, and this "heat beneath your feet" is linked to the adjacent Wairakei Geothermal power plant which very cleverly generates electricity from the continuous supply of super heated energy drawn from deep inside the earthʼs core. Take a tour if you have time.

Craters of the Moon is a one-hour walk that's wheelchair accessible

Close by, the Craters of the Moon walk (about a hour over a slightly raised timber walkway which means it is wheelchair-accessible) takes you to a different thermal experience — less dramatic, perhaps, but no less impressive. It's a relatively easy walk to view bubbling craters, mud pools and steam vents. Along the way, you'll see ground-hugging plants that have adapted to thrive in the hot, steamy conditions. The walk is open 364 days a year.

Back in Taupo, we drive past a wide expanse of dark blue water that's white-capped now; a strong breeze whips up the action, disturbing even the golfers who stand at lakeside trying to lob golf balls onto a floating pontoon "green" — a seemingly lunatic occupation even in placid weather. But they appear to be having fun. This huge trout-filled lake (surface area 616 sq km) is the largest in New Zealand; it was created over 25,000 years ago after a massive volcanic eruption and there have been eruptions since, one of which, in the year 180, gave Roman and Chinese citizens some spectacular sunsets. The volcano is currently considered dormant, not extinct.

There are lots of walkers getting exercise today; the lakeshore makes a fine promenade. I take time to explore the town, which is neat and clean — why should I be surprised? — and very upmarket, with lots of stylish boutiques and eateries (wonderful kebabs here!) Taupo attracts over a million tourists a year from all over the country — and all over the world— so I see lots of motels, hotels and guest houses. The area has a temperate climate, with day temperatures ranging from 24°C in January to 15°C in July.

I head for the Hilton Lake Taupo which sits astride a hill overlooking the water and the mountains in the distance, several of which are snow-covered. This is the region's only 5-star hotel, and the view from my room offers me all I could wish for and more. Facilities here include tennis, pool, spa pool, sauna, steam room and a fitness centre; when it's time to eat, Bistro Lago is the place to be. It's all very luxe and the town is a walkable distance away, if you're feeling energetic. Later, I'll stay at the Auckland Hilton, which echoes the Taupo style in a more dramatic way as it juts 300m out into the harbour from Princes Wharf, like a ship setting out to sea. Close to city shopping and ferry terminals to surrounding islands and bays, this contemporary boutique hotel offers what the Hilton brand offers to visitors in most parts of the world— attention to detail and a sense of "coming home". Who could ask for anything more? (And, before I forget, the best taxi driver in New Zealand services Auckland Airport. His name is Joseph. His number is 021 056 8025).

Hilton Lake Taupo (above) and Hilton Auckland: great water views

Just behind Taupo township, Huka (foam in Maori) Falls thunders out of the Waikato River and is one of the most visited and photographed attractions in New Zealand; water volume is often enough to fill two Olympic swimming pools per second! There are viewing platforms so you can experience the full watery drama of the falls.

We head northeast now, via Rotorua, to Whakatane, which is sometimes known as the birthplace of Aotearoa; it was here that the great Polynesian navigator Toi te Huatahi first landed. Rotorua is, of course, a well-known geothermal region, but what I have seen in Taupo — all that bubbling, gurgling, steaming and boiling — is enough for this visit.

So we drive on, as the afternoon shadows lengthen, through pine forests and rolling green countryside, past lakes, past a tall Maori "lucky" tree, past little farms with feijoa fruit for sale to Whakatane, a peaceful fishing port looking out onto the Bay of Plenty.

The road from Taupo to Whakatane

Feijoa: a sweet 'n sour fruit that grows abundantly here

The remains of the first Maori pa — or settlement — can be found on the highest point of the Whakatane Heads; it is known as Wairaka Marae —marae being a Maori sacred place. Two centuries after Toi te Huatahi came here, another great Polynesian fleet arrived bringing with it the kumara plant (orange sweet potato) which became the staple diet of the Maori throughout New Zealand, and today is a popular vegetable.

With magnificant beaches and bays, Whakatane enjoys a reputation as one of the three sunniest spots in the country. Many of the activities for the visitors centre on the water. Yet the town also gives ready access to other unique attractions in the area. From Whakatane, visitors can take a scenic flight over volcanic White Island, or experience the haunting beauty of the Urewera National Park, the largest protected native forest in New Zealand's North Island.

The sun is setting now, as we arrive at one of several pier-based fish restaurants — simple, practical, accessible and inexpensive. The one we choose is called Wally's On The Wharf (Wally being a friendly cockatoo who sits outside in a cage.) The fresh catch is marked on a blackboard. I choose snapper and it comes with a generous portion of fries; the fish was fresh from the sea, probably caught a few hours ago. It's delicious. Boats moored close by rock gently as we sit and munch, some canoeists paddle by, the water turns gold as the sun sinks on the horizon. It is, truly, the perfect way to end a journey along the Taupo Trail.

Check for fresh fish eateries down on the pier at Whakatane