Sitting outside the shala (Yoga studio) with 15 other students. We are the second shift, the 8:00 am one. Next week we will be the third one as more students arrive.
The Yoga community increases here from December 15th, because of the holidays, but also because there is a migration of students that arrive from Mysore (The main Ashtanga shala) as they close till January 7th).
The morning drive on the scooter is beautiful, driving little streets between villages and palm trees, rice paddies, ponds reflecting the sunrise, cows, goats, dogs that chase with a loud bark and other students hurrying to get their spot.
“One more”, calls Ralf from inside. First come first practice. I enter, set my mat at the empty slot between 2 others that have started in the first shift and silently chant the invocation.
Students of all levels are practicing here, some indeed have super flexible bodies, some beautiful practices, but mostly, all are very dedicated.
It is a classic Goan house, hard dark maroon tiles, balconies (where we do the finishing poses in fresh air), hidden in lush nature of coconut and papaya trees, singing birds and crying crows, a blind dog and a dirt path lined with Honda scooters and the occasional Enfield (a classy British motorcycle with a sweet rolling engine sound).
Ralf has been living in Goa too many years to count. A German that looks more like a Hindu Sadhu, and Marci an American that joined him on this Journey much later.
They both are gifted teachers, and have taken me to places I never thought possible.
After practice is breaky time, as my dear friend Fiona would say. Sometimes it’s with other practitioners at a fun café (usually run by westerners that settled here), and other times, wanting some silence, I go home, cut a papaya and savor every bite. Fresh curd, a banana, at times a watermelon or some muesli, all are favorites.
Days go by here without any apparent destination. Writing, going to the Internet spot, meeting friends, going to a market or the beach, reading a lot and of course, eating. Eating indeed occupies so much time. Deciding where to go, ordering, the long wait for the food to arrive, and then the blissful chewing…
Just read an article that a college chef wrote about the long hours he works and not having really time to eat. Grabbing something while standing, chewing fast and getting ready for the next task. We say “the shoe maker walks barefoot”, but here indeed the cook does not go hungry. Much time and dedication are devoted to food.
Haruki Murakami’s “Kafka on the shore” is a highly recommended book I just finished reading (thank you Zohar). Any of his books really, but this one especially.
A journey of a 15 year old, that is like no other, honest, sensitive, crazy, fun, sexy…
Paul Auster’s “Leviathan” is another one I recently enjoyed, by the same author that wrote “smoke”, known as the movie with Harvey Keitel. This sends me back to life in America with lots of NY stories.
Last recommendation for this time is Lian Hearn’s great Japanese novel "Across the nightingale floor, first of a trilogy called “Tales of the Otori”. Couldn’t put it down. Indeed I am a big fan of all old tales about Japan, honor, love, rituals, and especially a certain way of thinking and acting. Placing all these in Japanese scenery, with some Ninja like powers, and I am happy.
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