I was raised by black-sand beaches and kāmahi forests so, perhaps, it is unsurprising that, with a year’s distance in which to reflect, I think study tours are so precious and enduring because they are meditations on landscapes. We were guided by bodies of water – following the course of the Rhône River and the edge of the Mediterranean coast, and moving across the Strait of Gibraltar – and, along the way, encountered the varied and complex ways landscapes exist, and their meanings and relationships to architecture.

When reflecting on landscapes and the places we visited, I often think of Pont du Gard – a Roman aqueduct crossing the Gardon River in France: an impossible bridge, responsible for carrying water for kilometres It is a three-tiered structure, composed of a series of arches and, despite its restrained appearance, it is an otherworldly experience. Sun, wind and water assert themselves here, and the immenseness of the landscape is equalled only by the scale of the monument: 50,000 tonnes of limestone, stretching from one valley wall to the other. ‘Man-made’ and ‘natural’ environments converge here and, in so doing, make legible the space of a landscape. A valley becomes a room, a river, a path. A carpet of grass, bending and swaying, is animated by wind and light. There is power here, the surreal and super-real coalescing.