One of my favorite hobbies in Madrid is simple: I walk in Parque del Buen Retiro, or El Retiro, the city’s most iconic and historically significant green space. In a capital known for its grand avenues, museums, plazas and restless energy, Retiro is where the city exhales. Spanning around 350 acres, this UNESCO World Heritage Site is often called Madrid’s lush “lung,” and rightly so. It gives ordinary people what every great city should provide: shade, silence, beauty, clean air and a daily encounter with nature.

A walk through Retiro is never just exercise. It is a lesson in how a city can protect biodiversity while also serving public life. Families row boats across the park’s famous lake. Elderly residents sit beneath trees that have witnessed generations pass by. Children chase pigeons near fountains. Artists perform, readers linger, and exhibitions at the Palacio de Cristal remind visitors that culture and nature need not be separated.

This is where the Philippines has much to learn.

The Philippines is one of the world’s richest countries in terms of biodiversity. Its forests, seas, mangroves and mountains contain life found nowhere else on Earth. Yet in many Philippine cities, nature is treated as decoration rather than infrastructure. Trees are cut for road widening. Parks are sacrificed for malls, parking lots and condominiums. Rivers become dumping grounds. Green spaces are often small, neglected, inaccessible or treated as luxury amenities instead of public necessities.

Retiro shows another possibility. It proves that a park can be more than a patch of grass. It can be a civic institution. It can be a classroom, a refuge, a climate shield and a cultural stage. Madrid’s residents do not need to leave the city to feel the presence of trees, birds, water and open sky. Nature is woven into their everyday routine.

Philippine cities urgently need that same imagination. Metro Manila, Cebu, Davao and other urban centres should not view biodiversity as something that exists only in faraway mountains or protected islands. Biodiversity must also live in city planning. Native trees should line streets. Parks should be connected by green corridors. Rivers and esteros should be restored, not hidden.

Mangroves should be defended as natural flood barriers. Public spaces should be designed not only for traffic and commerce, but also for birds, insects, children, pedestrians and the elderly.

There is also a democratic lesson in Retiro. A great park belongs to everyone. You do not need a reservation, membership or entrance fee to enjoy the dignity of shade. In countries where inequality is visible even in the landscape, public green space is a form of justice. It gives those without private gardens a place to breathe.

The Philippines cannot simply copy Madrid. Its climate, culture and ecological wealth are different. But it can learn from the principle behind Retiro: nature must be protected at the heart of urban life, not pushed to the margins.

A country blessed with extraordinary biodiversity should produce cities that celebrate and protect life. It should not wait for floods, heat waves and pollution crises before realizing that trees are not obstacles to development. They are development.

Every time I walk through El Retiro, I am reminded that a city’s greatness is measured not only by its buildings, roads or economic growth, but by the spaces where people and nature can meet in peace. The Philippines, with all its natural gifts, deserves cities with lungs of their own.