namaste

Yesterday I set one goal for myself: find a yoga studio. My body was stiff, my neck and back unhappy, my overall self a little unbalanced. So after some online research, I decided a studio just three blocks away looked like it might do the trick.

I entered an old, narrow building, four or five stories high, tucked inbetween a brightly lit, modern looking gym and a health food cafe that serves (gasp!) salads. I was welcomed by many smiling faces and kisses to my cheeks (everyone greets everyone with kisses here... and yogis´ ´love for every being´ mantra definitely shines in this area), and decided to attend a class at 8pm.

I climed up two stories to a small room overlooking the street. The floor was covered in a squishy blue mat (no need for personal yoga mats here), high glass doors opened to a balcony, the ceiling was a mix of exposed brick, rafters, tiles and stained glass, and a photograph of a happy old yoga man was tacked front and center.

It was a different sort of yoga than I´m used to - it didn´t flow like Vinyasa - but it stretched what needed to be stretched and gave me an hour of sanctuary from the city. The instructor decided to do a Michael Jackson tribute day, which made me laugh. Yoga and M.J. aren´t exactly synonymous in my book, but it worked. And, I even did my first headstand, something I´d never even attempted before. It was an exciting moment indeed.

And then the relaxation at the end... a soft floor beneath me, a dark and quiet room, my body tingling from the attention it had received, slow Spanish words instructing me to relax every last part of my body, from my eyebrows to my ankles.

I think my little Buenos Aires yoga studio and I are going to get along quite well.