Kind of had a strange experience the other day. G and I were invited to dinner with this super rich Sri Lankan gentlemen. What with G's government job, I'm always a wee bit suspicious of unsolicited invites by host nationals. I mean, I understand them seeking us out for my sparkling smile and witty repartee but this guy could buy his way into anything, why us?
Anyway, I decided not to pee my pants about it and gorged myself on his smuggled prosciutto ham. There was a cheese plate with gooey, runny, smelly, mottled fromages, I couldn't even politely take any. I guess I just don't get cheese, unless it is wrapped in individual servings.
As the evening progressed he mentioned that he did yoga and had an instructor and would I like to go with him later this week, "yeah sure...what the hay?" I didn't think he meant it. Au contraire mon frere, I find myself Tuesday after work outside his gates waiting to go to yoga. It all seemed very surreal and I amused myself with kidnapping scenarios (too much "Homeland") as we drove into the outer regions of the city. Once there, my host decided not to do the class but to watch...eeeoooowww. It felt a little pervy but I figured that I was just flattering myself and turned my attention over to the teacher.
Now this guy is an Iyengar-trained instructor which means that the terrors of Abu Ghraib were a walk in the park! (Too soon?) I was hamstrung, hung from the ceiling, twisted this way and that. Know what? I LOVED IT!! I could not believe how great it was and I was grinning like an idiot the entire time. What does this say about me? Yikes!
|How could someone so sweet-looking invent such torture?|
So now that Guru is in Italy this week, I'll have to live on the memories 'til next Saturday when I go to his Yoga Institute. Wish me luck!