For the love of trees
In 1982, the Japanese government introduced a health initiative called shinrin-yoku — which translates as forest bathing. The practice involves being among trees and soaking up nature: listening to the birds, watching the leaves rustle in the wind and breathing in the forest air. It’s not about hiking or having a destination and it’s certainly not about counting steps on a fitbit. Since the 1980s, shinrin-yoku has become an essential part of preventative medicine in Japan and it’s no surprise, scientific research has shown that half an hour in a forest can lower your blood pressure, reduce stress and boost your immune system.
I mention this, partly because I was writing about it last week for work and partly because, my God did I have a much needed forest bath this weekend!
From our flat in San Sebastian, I have no view of a tree and I can barely see the sky unless I press my face against the window at an uncomfortable angle. I have potted up some cheery red geraniums for the balcony, but they don’t attract in the birdlife or show me the passage of seasons in quite the way a garden does. We are lucky in London. Not just those of us with gardens, but you’re hard pressed to walk far without stumbling upon a park of some form or another. I miss that here in a way that my body was starting to miss too. I had aches in my shoulders, I’d caught a stomach bug from J and my mood last week was bleak and negative. But then came the weekend.
First came Wow Park. A short hop across the border to France took us to what is best described as softplay meets Go Ape meets a water park — but without the water. Tall structures of rope bridges climb up to tiny tree houses from where you can launch yourself into a vinyl chute to get back down to earth. A large net strung between trees and containing three huge balls made a great bouncy version of human pinball. Elsewhere padded hamster wheels had the children entertained for hours. While my personal favourite was the ‘luge’ — in a rubber ring down a wooden track.
It was fun and it was in a botanical garden surrounded by forest, what’s not to love? We were with our new friends Ainhoa and Gaizka on an outing for their daughter’s birthday. They’ve taken us under their wing, which is perfect, as they’re good company, and are bringing up their three daughters to speak English, making them automatically H and J’s best friends.
As the children ran around the different attractions, us adults sat under the trees and observed how differently different cultures do picnics. While Steve and I had turned up with a few baguette sandwiches, a pack of crisps and some apricots (admittedly a poor picnic even by UK standards), the Basque contingent had rice with tomato sauce, chicken bits kept hot in a thermal container, a freshly cooked tortilla, half a kilo of cheese, two types of cold meat, several baguettes and a jar of anchovies plus white bread and chocolate for the children’s afternoon snack — a snack so important, it even has its own word in Spanish, la merienda.
As if one day out a weekend wasn’t enough to restore my mood, the next day we took a bus along the coast to the nearby port of Pasaia for a festival of tall ships. The night before, Morcheeba had played, but now the stage was bouncing under the rapid kicks of a traditional Basque dancing competition, the male in a smock and a red beret and the female in cross gartered stockings and a white bonnet. The music came from a small band of drums and pipes — some players playing both, one hand on each. The tall ships were festooned with flags. Along the quay outside the boat museum, where they are building a replica of a Basque whaling ship, there was a carpenter making ship pulleys on a foot powered lathe and blacksmiths pounding iron into large nails.
The port is an interesting mix of a large industrial working port with huge cranes and cargo ships that narrows into a channel as it flows to the sea. Each side of the channel has its own identity, one is Pasaia Donibane and the other Pasaia San Pedro, a small ferry and a fierce rivalry connect the two. Donibane is really just one street of tall colourful houses with wooden balconies, all there is space for between the sea and the green hills behind.
As we wandered to the end of the quay, steps took us up to the top of the cliffs. There was a map and a signpost showing that Donostia was eight or so kilometres away. “Let’s walk home,” said J.
It was fabulous. A sunny afternoon, turquoise sea off to our right, open hillsides and dappled woodland to walk through. It wasn’t strictly shinrin-yoku — I had a destination in mind, and spent more time making up terrible jokes about sandwiches than watching the leaves rustling — but still I soaked up that nature with every fibre of my being and arrived at the end of my weekend utterly restored.
