June 17....Yoga on Turks & Caicos
Lest anyone think I've not been writing every day, let me assure one and all that, though I may not have posted it on the blog until now (June 21), I am writing, something, every day here in the balmy Turks & Caicos Islands, where I find myself one of 24 family members communing in honor of my dear mother-in-law's 75th birthday.
I wrote this longhand this week because there appears to be a dirth of internet services. Let me amend that. Internet service exists but only for a fee and the willingness to wait one's turn. (A) I don't like to wait, and (B) I don't like to pay a fee for a service that should be provided gratis with our $600/night accommodations.
And speaking of fees, I did willingly fork over $20 for a one-hour yoga class, because all this lolling around on the beach and at the bar and at the pool for hours on end has made me feel blah, listless, and when you include all the free desserts and beverages available at one's whim, I also feel saftig and just a little bit guilty about not giving my body a little exercise.
Unfortunately for my body, the yoga instructor turned out to be a drillmaster by the name of Natasha, hailing from Russia, a woman with a tiny waist and a tiny taut little physique, except for a completely man-made rack of bosom that threatened to tip her over. I'm not sure which part was more annoying--the fact that the whole point of yoga--the balance, the spirituality, the relaxation, the wholesomeness--seemed to elude the buxom Natasha, or the way she condescendingly lectured us every time we glanced at her when she barked out an instruction.
Well, I'm sorry Natasha, but back where I come from, yoga does not include a "corpse" position, but then I didn't get my yoga chops behind the iron curtain either.
And I'm not joking when I tell you the other lady in the class (there were only two of us--now I know why) stood up in the middle and said she was leaving, explaining that she had come to the class to feel good, and was receiving nothing but pain and intensity. At which point the drillmaster actually insisted that she stay. I half expected the KGB to storm the place and send the pitiful subject to the gulag.
But there you have it. I'm here, I'm indulging myself, but I'm still writing.
I wrote this longhand this week because there appears to be a dirth of internet services. Let me amend that. Internet service exists but only for a fee and the willingness to wait one's turn. (A) I don't like to wait, and (B) I don't like to pay a fee for a service that should be provided gratis with our $600/night accommodations.
And speaking of fees, I did willingly fork over $20 for a one-hour yoga class, because all this lolling around on the beach and at the bar and at the pool for hours on end has made me feel blah, listless, and when you include all the free desserts and beverages available at one's whim, I also feel saftig and just a little bit guilty about not giving my body a little exercise.
Unfortunately for my body, the yoga instructor turned out to be a drillmaster by the name of Natasha, hailing from Russia, a woman with a tiny waist and a tiny taut little physique, except for a completely man-made rack of bosom that threatened to tip her over. I'm not sure which part was more annoying--the fact that the whole point of yoga--the balance, the spirituality, the relaxation, the wholesomeness--seemed to elude the buxom Natasha, or the way she condescendingly lectured us every time we glanced at her when she barked out an instruction.
Well, I'm sorry Natasha, but back where I come from, yoga does not include a "corpse" position, but then I didn't get my yoga chops behind the iron curtain either.
And I'm not joking when I tell you the other lady in the class (there were only two of us--now I know why) stood up in the middle and said she was leaving, explaining that she had come to the class to feel good, and was receiving nothing but pain and intensity. At which point the drillmaster actually insisted that she stay. I half expected the KGB to storm the place and send the pitiful subject to the gulag.
But there you have it. I'm here, I'm indulging myself, but I'm still writing.
posted by calabresewoman | 3:53 PM
1 Comments:
So that's where the dear Natasha went after she lasted at my gym a few weeks..I had a run in with her for her attitude and said it was her or me!!Yes, smacks of KGB and you made me laugh..I am surprised she is still here.
Guess you are now back home but I am living in Turks and Caicos with a husband who said this morning "I am bored with the weather!"We love life here really, but sometimes have an urge to put on socks!
Have a happy summer
Jan
Post a Comment
<< Home