All language subtitles for Monty Dons Paradise Gardens 1of2 BBC 1080i HDTV EN Sub MVGroup_Subtitles01.ENG

The desert is beautiful,

but it is a harsh
and relentless place,

and the people that live here,
above all, dream of an oasis,

green and with abundant water.

And that water is not just
to make the crops grow

with fruits and grains,
but it is life itself.

We speak of our gardens being
a little piece of paradise,

but for desert people, a garden -

green and filled with water -
is heaven on earth.

It is paradise.

I'm setting out to explore
these Islamic paradise gardens

that are born from the desert.

I shall visit gardens
as symbols of power,

gardens that are set
around magnificent tombs,

as well as those made
purely for delight.

I'll be discovering
secret gardens in Morocco...

Ooh, this is very different.
Very different indeed.

..be dazzled by Turkish tulips.

I've never seen anything like it,

and I'm really not sure
how to react.

I will travel to Iran to visit
the gardens of ancient Persia,

and uncover the origins
of a style of garden

that swept right across the world.

I've long been fascinated
by paradise gardens,

but confess that my knowledge
of them is very limited.

So, in this series,
I'm setting out to discover

as much as I can about their history
and what makes them so special.

The Koran, the holy book of Islam,

has many descriptions
of wonderful gardens

filled with fragrant flowers, fruit,
and, above all, water.

And so I'm beginning my journey
in Andalusia, in Southern Spain.

For centuries,
Spain has been inextricably bound

with European culture...

..but it also has a long
and rich Islamic history.

I'm starting here, at the Alhambra,

and this spread out below me
is the great palace

with a whole series of gardens,

all of them made during
the Islamic rule of Spain,

which lasted for over 800 years.

In fact, Southern Spain was Islamic

for almost as long
as it's been Christian,

and under the Moors,
it was known as Al-Andalus.

The Alhambra can seem
an unlikely garden -

it looks like a fortress, a palace -

but the gardens are an integral
and key element of the place,

and they can't be separated from it.

The Alhambra,
which means red fort in Arabic,

is, in fact, a series
of connecting palaces and gardens

that have been added to
over the centuries.

Sitting across a small valley,

and above the main complex
of buildings,

is the summer palace
of the Generalife.

It dates back to the 13th century,
and its 800-year-old inner courtyard

has become one of the most
iconic gardens in the world.

This courtyard of the Generalife

is the jewel in the crown
of the Alhambra,

and millions have come here
and been captivated by it.

It does feel like
a piece of paradise.

But the elements that make it up -
the sunken beds, the water,

the planting - have meaning,
and I want to uncover that meaning.

The Alhambra was conquered
by the Christians

at the end of the 15th century.

The Moors were driven out,

and the palace occupied
by Castilian monarchs.

But the Islamic elements
that made this

one of the great paradise gardens
are still clearly visible.

I've visited the Alhambra
a number of times.

To help me understand more about
the essential building blocks

of a paradise garden,
I'm meeting up with Jesus Moraime,

who's an expert on the Alhambra.

He takes me first
to the Courtyard of the Myrtles.

What were the key features
of these Islamic gardens?

What did they have to have?

Well, water is the main feature
for every Islamic garden.

Water will form
the garden everywhere.

Here, we are in a courtyard garden,
and the water,

we have this huge water tank
that acts as a mirror,

reflecting the stars and
also reflecting the architecture.

Now, it was a mirror,

but also it was talking about
the power of the sultan.

In northern Europe,
we walked in our gardens.

Gardens were somewhere
where you walk. Mm-hm.

How would they have used them?
Yeah. Well, the galleries...

As you see, there are galleries
on both sides of the courtyard.

The galleries were also
a main element in Islamic gardens.

Galleries, pavilions,
arbours, shaded places

to look onto the garden from there.

The importance of water
is echoed in the adjoining palace,

the Courtyard of the Lions,

which was the heart
of the sultan's private dwellings.

Tell me what we're looking at here,
and the significance of it.

We have, again, the water as
a main element forming the garden.

So, we have a main basin...
Yes. ..in marble.

That is a very huge piece
that is supposed to be put here

before the construction
of the rest of the palace,

because we cannot put in
through any of the doors.

So, the basin was first,
and they built the palace around it?

Yeah. Of course, yeah.

And when they built the palace,

they filled it with references
to the desert.

So, the 124 stone columns around
the outside of the open courtyard

are suggestive of palm trees
fringing an oasis.

This central court is divided
into four equal sections.

How important is that division
into four?

Well, this is one of
the main typology of the gardens -

an Islamic garden.

Talking about the four elements,
the four seasons of the year,

in some ways,
a representation of paradise.

The four quadrants are separated
by stone-lined water channels,

each symbolic of the rivers
of Paradise

as described in the Koran.

The Koran makes those rivers
a bit magical,

and one of the rivers was milk,
another was of honey,

another was of water,
and another was of wine.

So, wow, it was really a paradise.

Although the Court of Lions is now
floored entirely in white marble,

originally,
each of the four quarters

would have been filled with plants.

With flowers,
very colourful and scented.

As all the decoration, all of these
are made as decorations...

So, the plaster would
all have been painted?

Yeah, it was all painted.

So, the water,
the division into four parts,

flowering meadows, and colour.

Yeah. Stunning. Amazing!

Despite over 500 years
of Christian occupation,

the footprint of Islam
can still clearly be seen

in the gardens of the Alhambra.

From Granada,
I'm now going west to Seville,

which is another Andalusian city
with an enduring Islamic heritage.

And of all the gifts
the Arabs brought to Europe,

one is more closely associated
with Seville than anywhere else,

and that is the orange.

We think of oranges as being
archetypally Spanish,

but they were brought to Spain,

along with a mass of other fruits,
by the Arabs,

because fruitfulness was one of
the key features of their gardens.

There are said to be over
40,000 orange trees in Seville,

and when they're in flower,
the fragrance is stunning.

Certainly this particular garden,
right in the centre of the city,

is full of them.

The Real Alcazar is the oldest
royal palace still in use in Europe.

It was originally built by the Moors
in the 10th century,

but was rebuilt in the 1360s
by King Pedro the Cruel,

who, despite earning his title
by being despotic and unpredictable,

was devoutly Catholic.

And his palace retained,
or reinstated,

much of the original
Islamic architecture

and detail of the earlier building.

And the result is a classic example
of the Mudejar style -

a symbiosis of Islam
and Christianity.

A feature of the Alcazar,
which I've not seen anywhere else,

is the way that citrus
is used en masse.

So, you've got citrus grown
up against walls clipped tight,

citrus grown as clipped hedges,

and the net effect of that
is cool green,

providing shade and calm

beneath what can be
an unbearably hot sun.

The bitter orange, Citrus aurantium,

was brought to Spain by the Moors
around the 10th century.

It's too tart to enjoy raw,

but it was prized by them
for its highly fragrant oil,

and is still one of the principal
ingredients in many modern perfumes.

The love of citrus
is evident in the way

that some of the palace buildings
were used.

The Courtyard of the Maidens
was designed

as a place to entertain guests,

who would be greeted by
the heady scent of orange blossom.

It is in this courtyard that
you really see the Islamic influence

on the way that
the citrus are grown,

because the trees are planted
in deeply sunken beds,

so I'm standing here
looking down on them.

The fragrance is reaching me direct.

And the fruit,
as they ripen and appear,

are there for me
just to reach out and pluck.

So, the whole experience
is immersive,

it's direct, it's immediate,

and that is one of
the really important essences

of the paradise garden.

It was to be another 500 years
before our familiar sweet orange,

Citrus sinensis, arrived in Spain.

But the bitter species
proved perfect

for making a particular kind of jam.

There is a direct family connection
with these oranges from Seville,

because
my great-great-great-grandmother,

Annie Keiller, from Dundee,

bought a load of Seville oranges
that were in ship,

which were going to rot,
and she made them into marmalade.

And from that,
the Keiller marmalade business grew,

which went on to make
really quite a substantial fortune,

none of which, I hasten to add,
has reached me.

But it was all based
on oranges from here,

introduced by the Arabs.

As well as oranges,
the Arabs introduced a wide variety

of plants and fruits to Spain,

including date palms, pomegranates,

rosemary and bay,

and all of these came
from the Islamic East.

Now, many of these plants
are mentioned in the Koran,

and Emma Clark is an expert
on Islamic gardens,

so I talked to her at the Alcazar
about the influence of Islam

and the Koran
on garden design and planting.

What is often mentioned
in the Koranic descriptions

is fruits of all kind.

Fruits and herbs -
everything with a scent.

Scent is incredibly important.

Well, one of the things -
you walk into this garden here,

and, immediately,
the fragrance is astonishing.

Was that always an important part
of the garden?

Yes, I would say always.

This idea of the zahir
and the batin,

which is the outward and the inward.

You open the doors
of this high wall,

and, inside, you're hit by
this beautiful bath of scent,

and water and greenery. You know,
that's what you're longing for

when you've been tramping
across the desert.

What is meant by a paradise garden,
in terms of Islam?

It's a symbol, or a representation,

of the archetypal
eternal heavenly garden.

It's attempting to give you a taste
of this beautiful paradise

that you may, inshallah, go to.

Repetition of geometric shapes
in all paradise gardens

helps to emphasise
this heavenly link.

Quite often, in an Islamic garden,
you will have circular fountains.

A circle is always
a symbol of heaven.

The square is always
a symbol of Earth.

Right. So,
this beautiful conjunction

often takes place in a garden
to remind ourselves

this is a meeting place
between heaven and Earth.

The paradise garden
is mentioned many, many times

throughout the Koran.

Jannat-ul-Firdous -
gardens of paradise.

But the chapter where
the descriptions are fullest

and most beautiful are in
what's called Surat ar-Rahman,

Chapter of the All Merciful -
chapter 55.

And the phrase most often used
throughout the Koran,

"Jannat tajri min
tahtiha al-anhar" -

"Gardens underneath which
rivers flow."

Clearly, water's important.
What's the symbolism of it?

Many-layered symbolism in water.
OK. We have to have water to live.

It is the most important element
in an Islamic garden

because, of course, the Islamic
garden was born in a hot climate.

When rain came, it was a blessing,
it was a mercy from heaven.

But on another level also,
it's symbolic of the soul.

It seems to me you're saying
you cannot have

an Islamic paradise garden
without water.

No. It's an essential.

What's the significance of four?

The Islamic garden
is divided into four.

Why? It's the "charbagh",
which means four gardens in Persian,

and there are also
the four rivers of Paradise.

It's an order and a proportion

and a harmony
which underlies everything.

That is taking gardening to a level
which the average person

probably doesn't touch upon.

PEACOCK SHRIEKS

But it is clear the gardens
of the Alhambra and the Alcazar

represent an enriching blend
of cultures, religions and styles,

with the influence of Islam
still powerfully present.

It's not just gardens
and architecture that combines.

Anybody who visits Spain
thinks of paella

as the classic Spanish dish,

but it was the Arabs
that introduced rice to the country.

But the relationship between
the Spanish and the Moors

wasn't always harmonious.

On the 2nd of January 1492,
the Alhambra fell to the Christians,

and Moorish rule in Spain
came to an end.

Within ten years,
most of the huge Muslim population

were expelled across
the Straits of Gibraltar,

back to Morocco.

I think that is where
I need to go next.

I now want to learn more
about the origins

of these Spanish gardens,

so I'm travelling across the desert
and back in time

to a garden in Marrakech
that is 1,000 years old.

It gets blisteringly,
unimaginably hot here,

and on top of that, you've got winds
that whip up sandstorms.

I think they have less than
two weeks' rain in the entire year,

so you can hardly think of a less
promising place to make a garden.

But garden, they do.

Marrakech was founded in 1062
by the Almoravid dynasty

that went on to take over
much of Spain

from the original Umayyad Arabs,
who were also from Morocco.

And from its inception,

Marrakech was known
as a city of gardens.

Marrakech has now become
a busy holiday destination,

but I want to revisit a garden
that's huge, ancient,

and ignored by most tourists.

I've brought you here to the Agdal,
near the city centre.

It's a royal palace, and it was
restored and repaired a little bit

in the 19th century, but almost
everything you're going to see

is pretty much as it was when
it was built in the 12th century.

The Agdal was made about 100 years
after the creation of Marrakech

by the Almohads, who conquered
the whole of North Africa,

from Egypt to the Atlantic.

And the name Agdal
comes from the Berber language,

and means a walled meadow.

And believe me,
this meadow is enormous.

I last came here ten years ago...

..and it doesn't seem
to have changed much,

but then it doesn't seem to have
changed much in the last 900 years.

And the first impression
always for the visitor

is that it really doesn't seem
like a garden at all.

But it is, and in many ways,
it's very similar

to the gardens that
I've been visiting in Spain.

The key elements of water
and fruit and the layout

share all those characteristics
of much smaller gardens.

It's just, here,
the scale is increased hugely.

The Agdal extends
to around 400 hectares.

But despite its size,
it is completely enclosed by a wall,

which is about 15km long.

The Moroccan royal family
still own and use the gardens,

but when they're away, it is open
to the public two days a week.

Mm.

Of course, the orchards here contain
the same familiar fruit trees

that are central
to all paradise gardens.

You've got citrus,
pomegranate, date,

fig and olive.

And the whole point
about these trees

is that the shade is cool
and delicious under the hot sun,

the fruit is nourishing
and refreshing,

and that applies
however big the garden is.

It is still paradise,
which, after all, is limitless.

As with all paradise gardens,
water is the key element.

For all the cultivation,

the underlying spirit of the desert
is never far away,

and the water here
is piped all the way

from the distant Atlas Mountains.

This is an extraordinary
feat of engineering

that is over 900 years old,

and this basin was Marrakesh's
main supply of water

right up to the 20th century.

The reservoir is over
200 metres square

and can hold up to 200,000
cubic metres of water,

which is more than 80
Olympic swimming pools.

I spoke to the local historian
Jaafar Kansoussi,

who explained
the basin's significance.

There are around 3,000km of
these pipes in the Marrakech region.

The irrigation system -
was it an innovation at the time?

And systems like this allowed
Islamic engineers to create oases

at convenient spots
along their caravan routes.

The garden was used by the sultan
to assemble his army,

who would camp under the trees.

And the basin was also useful
in this desert region

to teach his troops to swim.

In fact, in 1873,
one king, Mohammed IV,

drowned here when his boat capsized.

But the only swimmers
in the basin nowadays

are some very hungry carp.

The Agdal Gardens deliver
their vision of paradise

on a truly vast scale,

and I'm beginning to realise
that the gardens of Islam

have more diversity
than I had previously thought.

So, I'm heading back now
to the chaotic city streets

to find more variations of gardens
that mirror paradise.

Despite much modernisation
in Marrakech

over the last decade or so,

the heart of the old city,
known as the Medina,

is still a tangle of streets crammed
with a crazy, untrammelled energy.

All the gardens I've seen so far
have been palatial and huge,

but behind this door,
off a busy street,

is a garden which is very different.

The exterior of Islamic houses

are always deliberately modest
and inward-looking,

so all displays of finery
and ostentation are hidden

from the public gaze.

This is a garden that has
none of the sort of spacious,

balanced elegance
that we've seen so far.

It's as though all the plants
have been oversized,

and in order to make them fit,
they've been crammed into the garden

like too many flowers in a vase.

The Palais Lamrani is now a hotel,

but was formerly a large house,
built about 100 years ago,

by a family of Moroccan officials,

on the site of
a much older building.

And like all Moroccan riads,

everything is based around
its central courtyard.

And what you have is a real sense
of a green haven

in the middle of, at times,
what are chaotic streets.

There are all
the essential elements here

of the traditional charbagh,
or four-quartered garden.

There is water bubbling
from a central fountain,

lots of shade, and abundant green.

The planting
in this enclosed city space

includes a luxurious jumble
of citrus and bananas

beneath enormous palms,
soaring up to the Moroccan sky.

But there is one
very earthly element

that tethers and unites
all this voluptuous planting.

The paths, the floors,
the walls, the pillars

are all clad in tiles,

and they subvert
this sense of disorder

and of over-spilling
foliage anarchy.

They restore order.

They are rhythmic and balanced
and geometrical,

and those things
are absolutely essential

to paradise gardens.

These brightly coloured
tiles and mosaics,

with their geometrical progression
and symmetry,

embody the Islamic idea
of mathematical order

underlying all creation.

These tiles,
which are ubiquitous in Morocco,

are still produced in
small workshops all over Marrakech,

and I'm taken to visit one
just outside the Medina

by Aziz, a local guide.

Every piece of these mosaics
is chipped by hand? Just by hands.

So, because each piece
is cut by hand,

each piece is unique...

Yeah, exactly. ..and alive
with the skill of the maker.

Definitely, definitely.

The process of making them has been
unchanged since the 8th century.

It always starts with a design
drawn on paper.

The individual, hand-carved pieces
are then assembled facedown...

..and a layer of plaster
is applied to the underside.

Once set, a finished tile
is revealed.

It must take millions of these,
if you look around Marrakech.

Oh, definitely, definitely.

For example,
this is 400 per square metre.

400 pieces.

Because these are all handmade,
no two will be exactly alike.

How does that fit in
with the Islamic idea

that there must be some imperfection
in man's work,

because only God
can create perfection?

Yeah, exactly.
So, there's always something, like,

you know, deliberately left.

This is a kind of example
of an imperfection. You can see.

So, the join is not
like this one here.

We say that's salt in the pot.

It doesn't belong to us
to make something perfect.

Allah is perfect.

So far, the gardens
that I've visited

have all been historical,
albeit still living and growing.

But contemporary paradise gardens
are still being created,

and there is one,
only completed a year or so ago,

that I want to visit
before I leave Morocco.

This is extraordinary.

Extraordinary sense of calm
in the middle of this...

..teeming place. But not just that,

because all the things
you would expect - the water,

the sound of it bubbling
in the basin, birds -

they're familiar.
They're charbagh. We've seen that.

We've seen that in Spain
and would expect it.

But what I hadn't expected
is the planting.

The planting is
breathtakingly simple...

..and it's based upon
the Persian idea

of a fragrant meadow.

It's called bustan.

And so the grasses are everywhere.

This is a stipa - Stipa tenuissima -
which, in my garden,

and, I suspect, yours, just flops
in a delightfully soft way.

But here, it's clipped
and it's growing upright,

because baking hot sun,
you've got sand -

it's much sturdier.

And then dotted in amongst them,

you've got this cape garlic -
tulbaghia -

and then the odd lavender -
lavender palmatum -

but just every now and then,

as though they're just naturally
growing in the meadow,

yet within this courtyard.

And that's both brilliant, I think -

it's fantastically
inspired planting -

but completely embracing the idea
of a paradise garden.

Le Jardin Secret, the Secret Garden,
was once an important palace,

but by the mid-1930s,
it had fallen into disrepair

and was abandoned. But in 2008,

the plan to restore it
as a public space began,

and eight years later, the garden,

designed by the English
garden designer Tom Stuart-Smith,

and built by local
Moroccan craftsmen, was opened.

The traditional sunken beds
are edged by clipped hedges.

Now, the eye - the Western eye -

immediately thinks of box
or whatever.

But this, the charbagh
and the hedges, are fragrant.

This is clipped rosemary.

And it feels slightly oily
to touch and...

HE SNIFFS
..is beautifully richly scented.

And you can see,
when the sun hits that,

the whole garden will be filled
with its fragrance.

The head gardener is Rashid.

Now, Rashid, there was a huge amount
of work creating the garden,

but what is involved
in maintaining it?

I love the way that
the steeper grasses have been cut.

How often do you do this?
Do you keep them cut,

or is it a seasonal thing?

What is your favourite aspect
of the garden?

What do you enjoy most about it?

This contemporary take
on the traditional Islamic garden

is, in fact, only one half
of the Jardin Secret.

A doorway in one corner connects
to another separate area,

and one that brings
a modern Christian twist

to the nations of a paradise garden.

Now, Lauro, whoo!
This is very different.

Very different indeed.

The Exotic Garden was also designed
by Tom Stuart-Smith.

And the man who conceived
and financed

the whole ambitious project
is the Italian

and long-time Marrakech resident
Lauro Milan.

Tell me about this space.
What was it like when you came here?

When I started, this land
was with small houses, no garden.

The surrounding walls existed,
and no buildings, practically -

historical buildings.

The only historical part was
these two basins with this channel.

This is historically...
So, this is original?

This is original, yes,
and I kept it.

And then, you see it different,
as you say,

because you see that we just were
in the Islamic garden -

geometric, pure -

and here, the choice was
to have an Eden garden

with plants of all over the world.

So, a Garden of Eden?
Garden of Eden.

Here, a Garden of Eden.
There, an Islamic garden.

It's a special garden because it's
something that you don't expect.

You walk outside
in these small, narrow streets,

full of people, noise,

and you arrive here
and it's really peaceful.

Colours - every season, different.
Nice plants.

There is a spiritual part,

a level that is difficult
to explain in English for me.

I like the way that a garden
done as the Garden of Eden

counterbalances the more
conventional paradise garden

with its Islamic influences.

So, this part is filled with plants
from all over the world,

the underlying idea being that it's
all God's creations pulled together,

whereas the Islamic garden is purer

and truer to its source
and its roots,

and yet the two are connected.

And so this is a development,
an enlargement

on the conventions
of a paradise garden.

I think this is
a really interesting juxtaposition

between the very modern
and the very traditional.

This is a really inspiring garden,

because as well as
enlarging one's experience

of the paradise garden
in its familiar form,

it does add layers of modernity,

and a sense of building something
for a future

rather than looking at its origins
in the past.

And it's also sown a seed
that is nagging away at me,

and it's that Persian,
fragrant meadow.

The gardens of Persia,
now modern Iran,

are essential to our story

because gardens have been
a fundamental part

of the culture here
for over 2,000 years.

When the Arabs invaded Persia
in the 7th century,

they discovered a level
of horticultural sophistication

that far surpassed
anything they had seen before,

and it inspired
and shaped the gardens

right across the Islamic world
ever after.

Put simply, Iran is the home
of the paradise garden.

You really cannot understand
Islamic gardens

unless you know about
Persian gardens.

The Persian influence was huge.

The golden age of Persian gardens
came in the Safavid dynasty

that lasted for over 200 years
from its inception in 1501.

The Safavid shahs oversaw an empire

that controlled
much of the Middle East,

and restored the economic might
of Persia.

So, I'm starting my visit to Iran
in the city of Isfahan,

which was the capital of one of
that dynasty's greatest rulers.

When Shah Abbas moved the centre
of his government to Isfahan,

he set about creating one of
the great cities of the world,

and it is based around
this huge square.

Naqsh-e Jahan Square is essentially
an enormous garden

with an open space in the middle,
which, in fact,

was used for playing polo,
and there were bazaars,

trees growing at either end,

and where now there are roadways,
were large canals surrounding it.

The square is one of the largest
in the world,

and Shah Abbas used it to unite

the central components
of Persian culture.

So, you have the mercantile presence
here in the bazaar

still very much as it was -

people making things,
selling things -

the same skills that have come down
through the centuries.

You have him looking down
from his dais,

the centre and representation
of all-powerful government.

And the third element,
which, in its own way,

was just as important, was that
of the mosque and religion.

The Mosque of Sheikh Lotfollah
was the private place of worship

for the shah's household,

and is named after the father
of one of his wives.

This is amazing.

I've never seen such tile work.
It's exquisite.

Calligraphic inscriptions
from the Koran,

embellished by
intricate floral motifs,

glow and dance
in the last shafts of light...

..while outside, in the square,
the autumnal evening falls fast.

The next morning, I visit the first
of these great Safavid gardens,

which is in the centre of the city,

not far from
the Naqsh-e Jahan Square.

It is called Chehel Sotoun.

Built in the middle
of the 17th century

as part of this great expansion
of Isfahan,

Chehel Sotoun was always,
from its inception,

intended as a pleasure garden -

a place where parties
and receptions were held.

It was never a domestic palace.

One must imagine it in its heyday,

with water flowing
and fruit trees surrounding it,

and somewhere where
you could sit in the cool,

enjoying all the earthly delights,

and yet in tune with
the spiritual ideals of paradise.

It would have
really impressed visitors.

It wasn't just about the retreats
and pleasures of paradise.

It was also to show the power
of the people who made it.

The building was always intended
to dazzle its guests,

and the walls and ceilings
were covered

with hugely expensive mirrors
made in Venice.

The name means 40 Columns,

because the 20 columns
in the front of the palace

are reflected in the pool below.

It was a place of magic and delight,
and as recently as 1933,

the travel writer Robert Byron
described it as

"spread with carpets,
lit with pyramids of lamps."

Professor Javad Rahmati is an expert
on the gardens of Isfahan.

Let's put this garden into context.

Why was this garden built, and when?

The palace has pools
at its front and back,

and at one time, both were used
for swimming and water games,

but are now reservoirs
for irrigation.

The planting - what sort of plants
might one have expected to see?

I like the idea of the gardens
being opened to the public

to celebrate a great victory.

It's this idea of sharing
the splendour of a garden,

and it shows that the building,
in all its magnificence -

the water, the gardens - were one.

They were all part of the same idea
of paradise on Earth.

Next door is a public garden
that embodies the shape and symbols

of paradise even in the construction
of its central pavilion.

It is known as the Hasht Behesht,
which means Eight Paradises,

and was built around 1670
by Shah Suleiman.

It was in the centre of the much
larger Garden of the Nightingale,

and is now the sole survivor
of the dozens of palaces

that once lined Isfahan's
central Chahar Bagh avenue.

The Palace of Hasht Behesht
is important structurally

because it's built on two floors,
each with four rooms,

one in each corner,

making a total of eight rooms,
which is a holy number.

And, of course, the division
of four on each floor

is related to the quadrants
of the garden, the charbagh.

And so, therefore,
the structure of the garden,

the structure of the building
are umbilically connected

both visually and symbolically.

There are descriptions
of the pavilions

filled with glorious carpets

and framing views of the garden
that was set with pools,

fountains and broadwalks
lined with trees,

leading down to a square or maidan.

Like Chehel Sotoun,

it was intended primarily
for courtly entertainments

and reflected the fashion
for conducting both pleasure

and business outdoors.

And as you look round the garden,

that desire to live life in the open
still seems strong.

I talked to Hussein,
a local resident, about this.

How important are gardens
in Iranian life?

I have to tell you, garden is the
most important part of Iranian life.

Really? Wherever they see a green,
river or water,

they put their carpet down,
they sit, they make tea,

and they enjoy the time.

In many places, you know,
like in the gardens and parks,

the people are sitting with their
family, chatting and, you know...

This shows how people
are attached to nature

and how people love
to make the gardens.

So, that's why,
during the whole history of Iran,

the garden becomes very important
for their daily lives.

What you're saying is
that's always been the case,

and it goes right back... Yeah.

..right, right back... Right back.
..in history. Yeah.

There is one particular plant
in this garden

that took me right back to the very
English landscape of my childhood.

I haven't held a leaf of this type
in my hands for over 40 years

because it's an elm leaf,

and practically all the elms
in the British Isles

were wiped out in 1975 and 1976
by Dutch elm disease.

But elms were planted here from
the very beginning of Hasht Behesht,

and they remain.

And what that gives you

is a real feel for
what the garden was like

300, 400 years ago.

And it is a complete flashback
into my childhood

to walk beneath an avenue of elms -
a lovely thing.

The golden age of Safavid gardens
in 17th-century Isfahan,

most of which are now lost,

indicate just how important gardens
were to the Persian civilisation.

But the origins
of the paradise garden

lie still deeper in the past.

So, now I'm travelling south
through the desert landscape

to an ancient archaeological site

that holds the key
to their creation.

In the 6th century BC,
Cyrus the Great,

founder of an empire that stretched
from Europe to the Indus Valley,

built his capital here in Pasargadae
on the site of his greatest victory.

Cyrus reigned over a period
of affluence and luxury,

and there is hard evidence

that gardens were
an important expression of this.

Very little
of Cyrus's palace remains,

but you have to imagine,

on the plain below
this hilltop fort,

a glorious, magnificent palace.

And in the 1960s,
excavation showed that,

at its heart, was a garden.

This garden was defined
by over a kilometre

of stone-lined channels
that were interspersed

with rectangular basins,
all fed by a central pond,

and the garden itself was divided
into four equal sections.

This was the charbagh -
the four-quartered Persian garden.

At this pre-Islamic time,

the four quarters represented
the essential elements

of the ancient Persian
Zoroastrian religion,

namely fire, water, earth and air.

Now, this was 1,000 years
before the Arab invasion,

but it became the foundation
for all future Islamic gardens.

This is the oldest surviving
paradise garden in the world,

its submerged limestone rills

marking out its delineations
of delight.

So far, only a small section of
these channels have been restored.

There's another kilometre to do.

But it does seem staggering

that when Britain was
in the Bronze Ages,

before the Roman Empire,

this great garden was
the centrepiece of the palace.

Walking through the 2,500-year-old
remains of Cyrus's garden

made me realise to what extent
he had created a blueprint

for all future paradise gardens.

And my next destination
is perhaps the best-known

Persian paradise garden of all.

Kashan is an oasis town
three hours' north of Isfahan,

and it's the burial site
of the great Shah Abbas.

The town is renowned for
its carpets, silks and gardens,

and one garden in particular,

and it is this that I've come
to see - Bagh-e Fin.

Bagh-e Fin draws the crowds
like no other garden in Iran,

because not only is it
the oldest surviving garden,

but also it is
the idealised paradise garden.

A garden has existed
on this site since 1504,

but in the late 16th century,
Shah Abbas added the pavilion,

and he used it as
a temporary centre of government

to stay when travelling
through his domain,

and it has remained a symbol
of high Persian culture ever since.

It has water flowing abundantly
in beautiful channels

lined with turquoise tiles

and studded like diamonds
with fountains.

It has variable trees,
giving you shade.

There are gardens
spreading out to either side

that were filled with
fruit and flowers.

These huge cypresses that flank
all the paths are 400 years old,

which means that they were planted

when the garden was in
its 17th-century heyday.

The apparent abundance of water
is not an easy thing to supply

in this arid desert region.

It relies on a piece of brilliant
Persian hydro-engineering.

It's an ancient system called qanat,

and it takes water from
the mountains and brings it down

in underground channels,
which keeps it cool.

Small shafts are sunk
at intervals along the way,

and gravity pushes water up
to irrigate gardens and fields

while the rest of the stream
continues its journey underground.

This ingenious qanat system
has been successfully bringing water

to the parched land of Iran
for around 1,000 years.

My visit to Bagh-e Fin
has added essential context

to what I've learned
about Persian paradise gardens

and their huge influence,

not least on the language
we use to describe them.

The English word paradise

actually comes from
an old Persian word pairidaeza,

which described an enclosed space
or a garden.

So, when we describe
a paradise garden,

we're really referring
to two things.

One is the ancient Persian gardens,

and two, this idea of a garden
having all the elements of paradise

and being a reflection of
what awaits us in the world beyond.

Sadly, my all-too-brief trip
to Iran is almost up.

But before I leave,
there is one last piece

of the Persian jigsaw puzzle
that I want to see.

Shiraz is one of
the great cities of culture,

famous for its wine, its poetry,
its nightingales, and its gardens.

In the 13th century, Shiraz became
a major centre for the arts.

Iran's two most famous poets,
Hafez and Saadi,

are both buried here,
and in modern Iran,

their tombs have become
the city's cultural mascots.

And at one time, there were
many wonderful gardens here,

but the one that is best preserved
and the most famous,

one of the great gardens,
is Bagh-e Eram.

It takes its name
from a fabled Arabian garden

cited in the Koran as Eram,
which means heaven.

In spring,
roses dominate the garden.

These are one of
the national flowers of Iran,

and Persian roses
are the forefathers

of many of our own garden varieties.

I asked a local guide, Amin
Riasati, to tell me more about them.

So, I know that roses, of course,
are so important to the place.

Is that still the case?
Do people still grow lots of roses?

Yes. People here love roses,
and they still grow roses.

Even here, in this garden,
we have an area with roses.

How does the garden,
and gardens in general,

locally, relate to culture?
Because I always think of Shiraz

as somewhere where poetry
is really important. Yeah, yeah.

Do they link up? Yes.

When we look at Persian poets,
especially Hafez,

he talked a lot about
the beautiful gardens of Shiraz,

and he says himself
that he spent a lot of time

in one of the famous gardens
of Shiraz.

Do people in the 21st century

in Shiraz still read those poems?
Definitely.

So, the culture of poetry
and the culture of enjoying gardens

is still alive? Exactly.

Is this garden based upon
a traditional garden?

Still, we can see some
traditional elements in this garden,

such as the cypress trees,

such as the pavilion
that we have here.

But after the 1960s,

the University of Shiraz
took this garden.

They changed it
to a botanical garden.

So, I can say that, now, it's a mix.

Are there any plants that you feel
are particular to Shiraz?

Yes. The sour orange trees
that we have in Shiraz,

that we call naranj.

The oranges are very sour

to the extent that
we usually don't eat them.

We just squeeze them on food.

But in April, they give a very,
very lovely, beautiful blossom,

that the whole city smells fabulous
because of those blossoms.

It's the reason they call Shiraz
the paradise of Iran.

As this is a botanical garden,

there are a wide mix of plants
from around the world

that are all completely at home
in this climate,

like marigolds and chillies, and,
unlike the traditional charbaghs,

mean that the garden blooms freely
throughout the summer.

It's time to leave Bagh-e Eram,
and, in fact, Iran itself,

and it's been
a frustratingly brief visit.

But it's good to finish here,

because Bagh-e Eram
combines all the elements.

You have the traditional charbagh
with its four quarters.

You have the waterways, paths,
tall, shady trees, roses,

which are so important to this city.

Now, the influence
of Persian gardens

spreads right across
the world of Islam,

but there is one area
that I have yet to see,

and that is to the east,
which is where I'm going next.

So far, I have visited gardens
in Spain, Morocco and Iran,

but next time, my journey
will take me to India, Turkey,

and back to the British Isles.

I'll visit one of the greatest
paradise gardens of them all -

Taj Mahal,

and in Istanbul, I will be amazed

at the obsession for tulips
and brilliant colour,

and return to discover the influence
of paradise gardens back home.

Yeah. Gosh!