From Sardinia to the Dry Forests of Peru: A Journey of Green Mindfulness, Forest Bathing and Human Connection

The research explored the benefits of Green Mindfulness and Forest Bathing, two powerful, nature-based mindfulness practices. These approaches fuse deep presence with nature immersion to improve mental, physical, and social health. They help reduce stress, awaken environmental consciousness, and deepen our connection to the ecosystems we inhabit.

In a world spinning faster every day, these practices offer something deeply radical: slowness, attention, and care.

The Dry Forest region of northern Peru and southern Ecuador is a place of quiet miracles and deep contradictions. With its semi-arid tropical climate and sharply divided wet and dry seasons, life there hangs in a delicate balance. The forest survives on the edge, shaped by the unpredictability of El Niño and long months without rain. It is one of the most endangered ecosystems on Earth—yet it still breathes, still holds life, and still offers shade and medicine and memory.

As someone living in Sardinia, I was struck by the familiarities—dry landscapes, biodiversity shaped by struggle, and the strong cultural ties between people and their environment. But in Piura, the contrast was also humbling. Sardinia, for all its challenges, feels abundant when compared to the extreme aridity of the Tumbes forest. There, the dryness is not just seasonal—it is existential. Water becomes not just precious, but sacred.

In the Sierra de Amotape near El Chaylo, where the forest clings to survival, I found myself reevaluating everything I thought I knew about nature, and need. In those parched landscapes—where trees wait silently for rain, and every drop of water feels like a blessing—I was profoundly transformed. I began to see water not as a resource, but as a sacred thread of life, too often taken for granted.

These forests taught me that resilience has a texture—it is coarse, cracked, and sun-bleached. And yet it persists. Just like the people who live among them, tending to their lands with devotion and quiet endurance.

In El Chaylo, I witnessed something deeply moving: the tireless, often invisible work of environmental guardianship carried out by AIDER and SERNANP. These two organizations work hand in hand to protect what remains of the dry forest, despite immense challenges. Their approach is not extractive or top-down—it is rooted in community collaboration, education, and presence.

AIDER, with its long-standing commitment to environmental education and conservation, has built trust with local schools and families. Their nature walks and “forest bathing” experiences are not tourist attractions—they are rites of reconnection, especially for children who may never have seen the forest through mindful eyes. In El Chaylo, I saw how these simple yet powerful practices—walking in silence, touching the trees, listening with intention—were integrated into school outings, offering children the rare opportunity to fall in love with their own land.

SERNANP, as the national agency responsible for protected areas, works closely with local communities to form brigades of forest guardians, many of whom come from the very villages threatened by environmental degradation. During one of our Focus Groups, we joined such a group during their working hours—patrolling the forest, watching for signs of illegal logging, and tending to native seedlings with reverent care.

What stood out most to me was the pride in their eyes. These were not just jobs. They were acts of cultural preservation and ecological love. Together, AIDER and SERNANP are not only protecting the forest—they are helping communities remember that they belong to it.

Together with AIDER and SERNANP, we conducted five Focus Groups and two interviews with school children, teachers, and environmental guardians.

But numbers don’t tell the whole story.

I still carry the voice of the elder in El Chaylo who told us, “When I was a child, the trees spoke louder. Now, they whisper.”

His words weren’t just poetic. They were grief.

In Los Encuentros de Pilares, a young girl asked me if trees can feel when we touch them gently. Her question wasn’t about biology—it was about empathy.

One child, after his first forest bathing session, grinned and said: “I feel like my brain just took a shower.”

In these moments, I saw the science become spirit. The data came alive.

Even in this short time—just 17 days—the seeds we planted began to grow:

• Positive psychological and ecological impact: Children, teachers, and communities reported increased calm, curiosity, and environmental awareness.

• Collaboration: A cooperation agreement was signed between the University of Cagliari and AIDER.

• Future tools: We began developing a Citizen Science App in Spanish, to support long-term engagement.

• Academic impact: An abstract will be submitted to the European Congress of Psychology 2025, and scientific articles are underway.

But beyond the outcomes, I carry something less measurable, and more meaningful: shared humanity. The warm welcome, the curious questions, the silence in the forest, the laughter over dusty trails. These were the true findings.

This wasn’t the project I had planned.

It was something deeper.

A journey into the soul of two places—Sardinia and Peru—that speak the same language of resilience, reverence, and renewal.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s also a reminder that even when life doesn’t go as expected, it still brings us exactly where we need to be.