Forest Bathing with a Salty Twist
Nature's capacity to calm and destress is real, whether you are sailing among Greek islands, hiking through a forest or sitting quietly in your backyard.
“Forest bathing” – based on a Japanese practice called shinrin-yoku – encourages people to immerse themselves in nature to reap both physical and mental benefits. The idea is that spending mindful, tech-free time in natural habitats is good for you. Reduced stress, better sleep, creative inspiration and an immunity boost are among its supposed benefits.
Some may find the concept a bit out there. As a lifelong skeptic of all things woo-woo, my WTF smirk about practices such as forest bathing is difficult to control. That being said, I admit that hiking in the mountains surrounded by mighty fir trees or kayaking through Florida’s mangrove tunnels tends to improve my mood. But, still? Forest bathing? C’mon, folks.
Cramming in the Miles
I tend to be a chronic overplanner hellbent on squeezing every possible opportunity out of a trip. A recent visit to Croatia and Greece is a good example:
After two days of walking miles and miles through Zagreb, the capital of Croatia, and checking off all the key city sights, my husband Frank and I rented a car and drove to Plitvice Lakes National Park. I found wandering among Plitvice’s enchanting waterfalls and turquoise blue lakes a magical experience. So did the many, many, many tour bus visitors we encountered.
We then drove across the Velebit Mountains to the Dalmatian Coast. Our several day trip heading south from Zadar to Split included spectacular Adriatic Sea vistas along with copious parking challenges, especially in the ancient port cities.
Our arrival in Athens began with a total transportation snafu at the airport. I think we finally walked through the rental apartment door at 3 am. The next day, unsurprisingly, the crowds in Athens were thick and sweaty, making our time at the Parthenon an exercise in how to avoid getting in the way of other people’s photos.
Another car rental allowed us to escape the city and drive through central Greece along winding mountain roads with drivers who view speed limits as mere suggestions. The multi-day drive included stops in Delphi, Meteora and Metsovo before hightailing it back to Athens for yet another flight – this time to Santorini. The island should be renamed Holy Crowds!
From Santorini, we booked cheap seats for the three-hour trip to the island of Paros. Those cheap seats were on the deck where the smell of diesel fuel exhaust swirled around us like noxious perfume.
Croatia and mainland Greece was amazing and I’d return in a heartbeat, but to say we were a bit tired and cranky by this point would be an understatement.
The Grand Finale
The final part of our Croatia and Greece journey was a five-day, four-night private sailing charter through the Small Cyclades.
The Small, or Lesser, Cyclades is a collection of Greek islands located inside the archipelago of the Cyclades. Four small inhabited islands in this group – Iraklia, Schinoussa, Koufonissi and Donoussa – check off most all you might expect of a Greek isle. Crystal clear, azure-colored water. Goats and olive trees. Enchanting, whitewashed houses. Narrow, winding streets cobblestoned in marble and dripping with colorful bougainvillea blooms. Small, picturesque ports where wooden fishing boats bob in the sun. Best of all, you don’t have ginormous cruise ships dropping anchor and letting loose hundreds of passengers to choke the sidewalks as they search for souvenir t-shirts and the perfect photo angle. (I’m looking at you, Santorini.)
Our sailing excursion — an anniversary present to each other — began when we crossed a narrow wooden gangplank to board the Andreas, a 40-foot sailboat. Adonis, the owner of Greek Water Yachts and our skipper for the next few days, explained that he’d been sailing this part of the Aegean Sea since he was a small boy. He claimed to know the exact location of the very best private coves that could only be reached by a boat such as the Andreas. He was not kidding.
It was in one of those isolated coves on the coast of Schinoussa where nature called my bluff and made me into a forest bathing convert.
Twenty-four hours at anchor. No TV. No radio. No mobile phone. I sat on the deck. Stared at the people-less vista. Skinny-dipped in the cold water and basked in the sun atop enormous hot stones along the shore. I listened to the hypnotic drone of cicadas and the clanging bells of island goats.
Slowly, the growing tension and crankiness of the previous two weeks melted away. Better yet, the craziness of the previous 12 months – a year in which Frank and I officially retired from our jobs, prepped and sold a house in one state, moved back to a house in another state, managed major home renovations, worried about elderly parents – seemed a distant memory. My always-jiggling foot came to a standstill in that remote Aegean Sea anchorage.
What I Know for Sure
I don’t have any professional expertise about what it takes to truly relax. This is a state that evades me despite the stack of meditation books beside my bed. What I do know, though, is that nature never fails me. Mother Earth is the elixir that calms my mind and soothes my soul.
Today, I make a concerted effort to pay closer attention to what is surrounding me when hiking a trail, paddling a kayak or simply sitting on a beach and watching the sun sink beyond the horizon. I listen to the birds, watch the waves, admire trailside trickle waterfalls, scan the forest floor for chipmunks.
After we reluctantly left behind the Andreas, Andonis and the Small Cyclades, my new-found serenity stuck around for a while. I dreamt often of the time spent on that sailboat only to wake disappointed when I realized I was on solid land.
Sadly, the foot jiggle and clenched jaw have returned. Apparently, five days on a sailboat doesn’t lead to everlasting Zen. So tomorrow I’m going for a walk – a long walk – to find a bench where I can sit and stare at the ducks paddling randomly across a lake. My neighborhood park may not be as breathtaking as the Aegean Sea, but it is my nature. And I know what it can do.
“In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks.” — John Muir