Walking out of the airport the heat and humidity shower over me, greeting me with some tropical love of last days of the rainy season.
An hour to pass while we wait for a fellow yogini to arrive, what could be better that getting some local flavor. The fish taco place is right across the peeling yellow paint of the metal bridge. The place is like a garage with doors fully open and a wide open welcoming, accompanied by some friendly waiters.
The restaurant is dark even though there are no doors, the old paint on the walls covered with lots of black and white photos of proud fishermen with swordfish as their prize, a TV showing a soccer match with all the waiters looking up at the little figures running around on a semi green grass, after the black and white ball. Time is slower here, and no one seems to be in a rush, but neither are we, so we enjoy the new atmosphere. The waiters were very aware of whatever need we might have, which later, we would find more of, at Haramara. I had a feeling that they really cared, took their position of being in service with utmost respect. When teaching a yoga class I always enter with the same intention. Like an eagle from above, seeing who might need help, what verbal cue may I offer to hint the person in the back to adjust slightly, what gentle touch can I offer to better the experience of the student.
Wiping off constant sweat, I finish the last bite of the finely grilled fish in its wonderful subtle spice sauce.
Returning to the airport, yogini girl’s flight is delayed another hour or so, so we head to the bar to get our first cerveza in Mexico. Well, in reality it was the only one I had, but more than anything it gave a feeling of celebration. At times it is not about what I do, but the intention and how often I do it that springs a sense of celebration. Even the most amazing thing done all the time, over and over again, can lose its charm. Here comes the practice of celebrating the mundane, the every day life, as if anything we do is sacred, a ceremony, as if every time is the first time.
The mini van that took us an hour drive north to Haramara was an American SUV with powerful air conditioning and a mighty driver. It will be a whole week till we step again into the space of controlled weather. Traffic slows down as the bridge we need to cross has collapsed into the river, surrendering to the power of the heavy rains coming down just shortly before our arrival. We shared lanes with the newer bridge, and felt what it was like in the days when there was only one bridge. It is amazing how hard it is to go backwards, to lose comforts that are already gained. If I never had running water, and all I knew was going to the well outside to fetch it, than that would be my life, but if for some months I have the luxury of a tap in my home, then returning to what I had for a much longer time frame would be a total hardship. Same with having a better freeway, and then having it collapse. Nothing lasts forever.
The adventurous driver took us through the shoulders, around road barriers and an inch from a bus, testing the conditioning we have of what proper driving might be. The last bit of road was where the SUV needed to prove itself over mud and some very uneven terrain. When leaving Haramara we would not even recognize the road, as it will be so dry and smooth.
Haramara is built in such a way that that the jungle still gets to rule. Casitas (little bungalows or huts) are planted here in there within the jungle. Since they have large open facades, they are placed away from each other allowing for privacy.
The Jungle at the end of the rainy season intensifies the experience of nature; thousands of colorful crabs would run off the trails as we passed by, flying creators that looked like they came right out of Star Wars would hover in front of me, sending me telepathic messages, neon green grasshoppers resting by my mat, amazing butterflies accompanying me through my walks, and the sounds of fantastic singing birds filling the air as we meditated.
Haramara is built on the mountain slope with the yoga pavilion sitting high up overlooking the jungle and ocean, the beach, dramatic and powerful, with beautiful rocks, and expressive waves.
We started every morning at 7am, dark outside with a weaning moon. Candles lit the pavilion as meditated. During our practice the rising light began to shine and reveal the beauty of the jungle and ocean. Do the trees care if it is dark outside?
Longer yoga practices on retreats are such a delight. I find the 100 minute classes work so much better for me that 90. I could even be greedy and ask for 105.
I surrendered some of my control to Lauren that taught some classes and Kristen that offered us luscious Thai Yoga Massage sessions. It felt good to be a student while a teacher.
The dining room like all the structures combined natural elements with a clean design and a local feel. A large palm leaf roof covered the dining area; a wooden and marble floor support the tables made of wood and leather. Kerosene lamps lit everywhere as the sun was setting between the palm trees over the ocean.
Specialty tortilla chips and jicama juliennes were tools to lift amazing dips. Every night a different bright color would arrive. At first I heard ketchup and mustard from some guests, but soon we found out that it was beets and carrots. The food was creative and delicious, and the best part of it all was getting to know the people. It is such a unique way to learn about different people, their life and heritage, their views and stories. Before long we have created our own stories and toward the end of the week we have had our own past and inside jokes.
The week went by very quickly, leaving a paradise behind, a feeling of love and bliss from the practices and new found friends, bringing a better us to share with the world.
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