Rural Iran has startlingly beautiful landscapes that are largely unexplored by outsiders

I was tired. Exhausted. Ready to flop. I'd arrived in Zarabad, a sweet secluded village north of Tehran, with sleep rather than sightseeing on my mind. But in Iran, a land of soft light, poetic description and elegaic landscapes, the offer of a dusk stroll is hard to resist.

"Zarabad means 'built by the Gods,'" said Cyrus, our guide's uncle, as we meandered through winding streets into countryside flecked with walnut trees, streams, cherry orchards and rice fields; its bucolic serenity juxtaposed with a reminder of more brutal times, a cemetery filled with the graves of young men killed in the eight-year Iran-Iraq war.

It wasn't the day's first taste of bloody history. We'd earlier driven through the Alamut valley, former home of the Hashshashin, who in the Middle Ages ritually plotted the deaths of their enemies ? the origin of the word assassin and the genesis of the dark art. We'd broken our journey to hike in searing heat into the hills that protectively swaddled the ruins of the sect's castle.

Small wonder that by that evening, I wasn't just tired, I was hungry. Food came first, dished up in our Zarabad guesthouse by Afsar Hayati, a motherly widow. It was my first meal in rural Iran and it was magnificent: ghormeh sabzi, a green herb stew, mixing sorrel, parsley, spinach and rice, with barberries, grilled chicken and kidney beans, flatbread and sheep's butter, all washed down with tea. It left me satiated, drowsy and sleeping like the dead.

I was travelling with Wild Frontiers, one of the few tour operators to regularly venture into rural Iran as well as its cities. Our group would travel south from Tehran ? bar this detour north ? in a rough circle covering some 3,000km.

It's a trip where memorable sights emerge early and exit late. So next morning I crept out to watch the sun rise over the Alborz mountains. Our hostess was already awake. Yesterday, she'd doused us all with esfand, herbal incense said to purify and ward off bad spirits, now she offered spoonfuls of homemade sour cherry jam. It was the aperitif for a breakfast of flatbread, boiled eggs, tea and preserves ? the perfect re-fuel after we'd trooped down to the public bath, past the onion-domed mosque to freshen up for our continuing journey.

Now travelling south, we skirted the harsh, inhospitable Dasht-e Kavir desert that covers much of central and southeast Iran. It's no Sahara ? more grey wasteland with occasional licks of white salt ? but like the vast north African sands, it swirls with magical myths and is said to be rife with demons. My favourite is the evil-sounding ghul, a monster with a penchant for ambushing unsuspecting travellers and feeding on their flesh. Today he appeared to be full. We sped through unscathed to Kashan, an oasis town on the desert's edge.

There we took a stroll in the Fin gardens, built in the 16th century as a summer retreat for the charismatic despot, Shah Abbas. They teemed with cypress and fruit trees, pools and pretty fountains ? and teenage girls on a school outing. A sea of black, figure-hugging tunics, headscarves, flashing eyes and high spirits, they danced around us. "Where are you from?" they asked. " Do you like our country? Welcome to Iran". We all hugged, posed for photographs, and parted, enchanted and faintly euphoric at the encounter ? international diplomatic tension belonged to another world.

It's such moments ? the rule, rather than the exception ? that make travel to the Islamic republic such a delight.

Well, that and the snacks. On the bus, we drank tea from a gigantic flask, a ritual that's also an excuse to graze on Iranian confectionary: sohan, a brittle caramel, gaz, a chewy nougat, faludeh, transparent spaghetti made from starch and rose water, and pashmak, cotton candy resembling horsehair.

Three hundred kilometres and several hundred calories south of Kashan, in Yazd, we restocked at the famous Haj Khalifeh shop ? an Iranian Selfridges for sweets and biscuits ? where our order was packaged in a dainty, ribbon-tied box by a solemn assistant.

This ancient desert town, a maze of sun-baked buildings and ancient wind towers, is home to Iran's largest community of Zoroastrians ? followers of a faith dating back to the sixth century. On a dusty trek up to the Towers of Silence we learnt how, traditionally a priest would lay out the bodies of the dead on the open-air towers, to be picked clean by vultures ? a ritual similar to that of the Tibetan sky burial. "The practice stopped 50 years ago," said Mehrdad. "The vultures kept dropping bones in populated areas." Now the remains are buried in cement-lined graves to prevent what they see as contamination of the earth.

Later, outside the Friday mosque with its high tiled entrance and twin minarets, we stumbled upon a film crew recording a religious drama for Iranian television. I told the young director, Arash, that back in London I'd watched Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi's animated film about growing up under the revolution. "We can't watch it," he said flatly, "it's banned here." Then his face lit up as he reeled off his favourite films: Godfather, Scarface, Once Upon a Time in America. "They're all banned, too, but we get them through the black market."

A couple of restorative nights in Yazd's plush Laleh hotel and we returned to the countryside. Next stop: Bazm, a hamlet in the foothills of the Zagros mountains. Another night, another culture: our hosts Abbas and Afar were Qashqai, a nomadic tribe that migrates between summer pastures in the Zagros and winters in lowlands near the Persian Gulf.

The couple, who aren't fans of the nomadic lifestyle, offered us the run of their guesthouse. Glossy magazines might call its style eclectic. Rooms are lined with ruby red woollen rugs weaved by the Qashqai, its two bathrooms have western loos and showers, while goats and chickens live in a garden pen surrounded by a tangle of grapevines, apple and cherry trees.

Beyond the compound, life rolled along unhurriedly: old women led donkeys down dirt roads, a shepherd herded his flock, and some of our gang headed off for hikes in the hills. I chose to play hide-and-seek with our hosts' daughters, Nilufer, nine, and Zahra, six, and then joined them to collect wildflowers in a nearby meadow.

That evening we drank malty, non-alcholic beer ? bizarrely it left us feeling quite giddy ? and feasted on Afsar's home cooking: rice with barberries, lamb, noodle soup, fesenjan, a mix of walnuts and pomegranates, along with chicken, carrot salad and fresh, moist flatbread. We reluctantly said our goodbyes the next morning, and scrambled onto the bus with a mission. To track down some Qashqai nomads.

Like most of life's best pleasures, it wasn't instant gratification. We eventually spotted two tents in a stunning valley framed by mountain peaks. An extended family of Qashqai lived in the camp, the women distinctive in their colourful headscarves, shirts and skirts over black leggings. Shyly, they welcomed us into their goatskin tent for sweetened tea and almonds. We gave them a box of sweets and sprawled on the woven rugs and cushions around a central fire pit.

The Qashqai traditionally spend their days tending to livestock. "It's we women who do the herding, milking of goats, and baking of bread," said Shamsie, a mother of 11 children. "When I was a child there were 100 families in this valley, now there are just two."

Many Qashqi have resettled in Shiraz, a buoyant, relaxed city about four hours' drive to the southwest, the birthplace of Hafez, the revered Persian poet. Born in the 14th century, he wrote about love, wine, women and spirituality, giving rise to a form of fortune-telling that is still hugely popular: you ask a question, open a page of his verse at random, and receive guidance through his words.

I visited Hafez's tomb in the Musalla gardens at sunset, when all of Shiraz appeared to be milling about among the cypress trees and roses. In the open-air pavilion housing his tomb, I joined the young women who sit clutching books of his poetry. One, seeing me peer over her shoulder, kindly handed me her volume.

As custom dictates I took a moment to formulate a silent wish ? a rather sheepish one revolving around the latest love object ? shut my eyes and chose a page. My new friend recited its poem to me in Farsi, softly and with great feeling. "What does it mean?" I asked, eagerly. "It's love, it's good," she replied sweetly, with a feminine empathy that ? more than any pronouncement Hafez made on my affaire de coeur ? stayed with me for days.

While my future love life sounded promising, you can't take anything for granted. So next afternoon, in Soormeh, a tiny beauty salon, I got a makeover courtesy of Farah, Mazia, Marzijah, Foruzan, Gooli, Sanaz, and Mina ? a big team even by the standards of 10 Years Younger. To my surprise, all were bareheaded in skinny jeans, T-shirts and revealing tank tops ? except for 22-year-old make-up artist Mina, who sported a bizarre white veil and so much slap she resembled a geisha. "In private, we're free to dress and express ourselves as we like," she said with a shrug, smothering me in foundation and blusher. "There are no restrictions."

Persians love picnics as much as they do poetry, and for a final dose of nature before Esfahan ? that elegant, much chronicled city on the banks of the Zayandeh river ? we spent a soporific, sun-filled day at the Margun waterfall, Iran's largest that topples over a fantastic canyon, deep in the forest. At the falls, the locals picnicked in style, unfurling Persian rugs and laying out great pots of homemade stew.

Beneath us, four men on a ledge knelt and prayed before tucking in. We ate our own lunch of cucumber, tomatoes, dates, boiled eggs, goat's cheese and watermelon perched on boulders, as shafts of sunlight pierced the forest. "The trees, they are like music," said our guide suddenly. I gazed upward at the groves swaying gently in the wind, and nodded: the simile seemed entirely fitting, and typical of this country, far from short on lyricism.

Getting there

BMI (+44 (0)870 6070 555, flybmi.com) flies Heathrow-Tehran from £364.50 rtn inc tax. Wild Frontiers' (+44 (0)20-7736 3968, wildfrontiers.co.uk) 16-day Land of the Peacock Throne tour costs £2,295pp, including accommodation and all meals, guides and transport, but excluding flights. The next trips depart 8 May and 2 Oct 2010. Wild Frontiers also run 10-day walking tours (departing 22 May and 24 Sept), from £1,595, land only.

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New exhibition spaces and edgy hangouts have created a fresh modern art scene in Moscow; a perfect canvas for the city's upcoming Biennale of international work

Britain and Russia have a symbiotic art relationship that stretches back centuries. Catherine the Great, one of history's greatest art collectors, caused splutters of outrage in England in 1779 when she snapped up a rare collection of old masters from Houghton Hall in Norfolk, home of Britain's first prime minister, Sir Robert Walpole.

Today, it's oil-gorged oligarchs such as Roman Abramovich who are buoying up the ailing international art market with purchases at auction in London, New York and Paris. The anglophile owner of Chelsea football club set records last year when he acquired Francis Bacon's Triptych for £53 million and a work by Lucian Freud for £20m.

It's not all east buys west either: a new generation of provocative Russian artists, such as Gosha Ostretsov and Pavel Pepperstein, has piqued the interest of British collectors with shows in London.

In the Russian capital the post-Soviet art scene is developing into a major international force. Three huge and vibrant new exhibition spaces have opened in Moscow in the last two years, one of them masterminded by Abramovich's socialite girlfriend, Dasha Zhukova. Edgy, arty hangouts are popping up too.

Now the city is gearing up for its third Biennale of contemporary art, from 24 September to 25 October (3rd.moscowbiennale.ru), as curators promise up to 80 works by artists from 25 different countries.

Here are the top spots where you can catch Moscow's new art elite.

The Garage Centre for Contemporary Culture

Who says Russia's oligarchs can't tell a Hirst from a Hockney? Roman Abramovich is an avid art collector who has helped to create the glitziest contemporary art venue in Moscow.

The centre is housed in the former Bakhmetevsky bus garage, a masterpiece of constructivism built by architect Konstantin Melnikov in 1929 to house a fleet of Leyland buses bought from Britain.

The renovated building opened last September, and in March this year the garage staged Russia's biggest ever exhibition of foreign contemporary art, including works by Jeff Koons and Cindy Sherman. Last June it showed Zeppelin models by Mexican artist Hector Zamora, whose mock airship wedged between two buildings gave an outlandish tinge to the start of this year's Vienna Biennale.

The centre has an excellent cafe and bookshop, and also runs free art workshops for kids every weekend.

? Ulitsa Obraztsova, 19A (07 495 645 0520, garageccc.com). Metro: Novoslobodskaya.

Winzavod

This sprawling former wine factory with cavernous cellars is shaping up as a new mecca for Russian contemporary art. Four major galleries - XL, Aidan, Regina, and M&J Guelman - moved here when it opened two years ago. A smell of wine residue still hangs in the air and the walls are bare brick and chipped tiles, but the sheer scale of this space (20,000 sq m) is awe-inspiring. Oleg Kulik's opening exhibition for the 2007 Biennale, I Believe, A Project of Artistic Optimism, brought together 51 artists in what he called "these beautiful catacombs that resemble some kind of ancient construction from a lost epoch."

The XL and Guelman galleries were two of the forerunners of Russia's contemporary art scene in the early 1990s. Marat Guelman is Russia's most famous gallery owner, as well as a sometime spin doctor - a potent mix that has provoked rage as well as respect. In 2006, a group of 10 young ultra-nationalists burst into Guelman gallery, kicked him in the face and tore down work by Georgian artist Alexander Djikia (the Kremlin had whipped up anti-Georgian hysteria after a political spat). Yet the gallery has soldiered on, always trying to push the boundaries; in particular with the irrepressible Siberian collective, the Blue Noses, who have seen several works impounded by customs officers for allegedly insulting prime minister Vladimir Putin.

? 4th Syromyatnichesky Pereulok 1/6 (+7 495 917 4646, winzavod.com). Metro: Kurskaya.

National Centre for Contemporary Art

Opened in late 2005 after Moscow's first Biennale, this is an ingenious conversion of a workshop in a former theatre lamp factory near the city zoo. The dilapidated building was braced with steel bands like a rectangular barrel. And, rather than build a third floor, which they feared the walls could not withhold, the construction team suspended a top-lit exhibition hall and auditorium from overhead trusses. All this on a budget of £3m. The finished result has been likened to an airship nestled above one's head, fastened to a cat's cradle of hawsers and beams, and is worth a look regardless of the centre's other attractions: exhibitions, seminars, workshops and a growing permanent collection.

? Ulitsa Zoologicheskaya 13, (+7 495 254 8492, ncca.ru). Metro: Barrikadnaya.

Baibakov Art Projects

Following the trend for industrial spaces, Maria Baibakova - the 23-year-old daughter of metals magnate Oleg Baibakov - opened this gallery last year in 2,800 sq m of halls at the former Red October Chocolate Factory near the Kremlin. A group of leading young British artists was the first to exhibit. Belgian painter Luc Tuymans, acclaimed as one of the most significant contemporary painters around by Tate Modern, will show Against The Day, his first major exhibition in Russia, from 26 September to 29 November as part of the Biennale.

? Bersenevskaya Naberezhnaya 6, (+7 499 230 3930, baibakovartprojects.com). Metro: Kropotkinskaya.

FAQ Cafe & Creative Studio

A warren of tiny rooms in a basement just off Tverskaya near the central telegraph office, this idiosyncratic cafe is a honeypot for writers, journalists and artists. Chinese-Armenian owner David Yan - one of Russia's leading IT entrepreneurs - organises regular sessions of jazz, body art, street performances, film showings and other kheppeningi (happenings). FAQ's rooms are themed, so choose according to your mood: the living room, the library, the nursery or bedroom. FAQ has a dedicated crowd - regulars even have a special box for keeping a pair of slippers to shuffle around in - but they're a friendly lot, so you should be able to talk your way in, even without a membership card.

? Gazetny Pereulok 9 (+7 495 629 0827, faq-cafe.ru). Metro: Okhotny Ryad.

Proyekt OGI

A bookshop, club and occasional gallery combined, OGI is one of Moscow's favourite hangouts for creative types, or those posing as such. It opened in 1999 and was the venue for the first gigs of the legendary Russian group, Leningrad, who were later banned from performing in the capital because of their obscene lyrics. Now this bohemian dive has a mellower feel - customers muse over OGI-published poetry books - with the odd flash of raucousness on the weekends. The door policy is liberal - a welcome change from the strict "fays kontrol" at some of Moscow's elite nightspots. The club is open 24 hours and the food is cheap as chips but beware - the place can get rammed and smoky, even midweek.

? Potapovsky Pereulok 8/12 (+7 495 627 5366, proektogi.ru). Metro: Chistiye Prudy.

Kitaysky Lyotchik

"Chinese Pilot", a restaurant and club, draws a young artsy crowd, attracted by its reasonably-priced food, laissez faire attitude and decent live music. It's not the classiest joint - in fact this is about as far as you can get from the glam of pafosny oligarch hangouts, but if you're up for a few vodkas with raw herring and some dancefloor fun, then this is the place. Lyotchik prides itself on its diversity of performers, from French chanson to Petersburg hooligans. Paperny Tam, the house band, are a must see.

? Lubyansky Proyezd 25/12, (+7 495 623 2896, jao-da.ru). Metro: Kitay-Gorod.

Dom

Expect the unexpected at this decade-old venue, with avant garde theatre and cinema alongside live music and occasional exhibitions.

? Bolshoy Ovchinnikovsky Pereulok 24 (+7 495 953 7236, dom.com.ru). Metro: Novokuznetskaya.

Expedia (0871 226 0808, expedia.co.uk) offers flight-plus-hotel packages to Moscow: three nights B&B at the Peter 1st Hotel from £384pp, or three nights room-only at the Golden Apple Boutique Hotel (goldenapple.ru) from £447, both with with bmi flights from Heathrow.

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