Manja Aalderink
Thing, Thing, Thing… Three times we hear the gong and we put our hands together in front of the chest. With the Japanese word for a reverent salute, gas sho, we bend over a little. The lesson has begun.
The nine of us are sitting in a beautiful light room, where self-drawn mandalas decorate the roof and where it always smells of incense. I had cycled past the yoga center many times because it is next to the supermarket, but I did not dare to take a class before. See you this morning.
I was quite a bit nervous. What if I don't understand anything? What if Italian yoga is very different from yoga in the Netherlands? Of course not all that bad, but I always have to get over it. Things that are simple in the Netherlands (buying a bus ticket, calling your internet provider, taking a trial yoga class) cost me a little more effort here. But when I try it, it is of course extra fun if it does work.
There I was, between the Italian ladies and a gentleman on a towel. Warm up first, to warm up. We twirl quietly with our necks, il package, and then the wrists and ankles: i wristi e le caviglie. So far so good! But then the real work begins.
We bend over with our hands and feet on the floor and hips up, like a dog stretching. Piegare le ginocchia. I have to bend something, but was that my elbows or my knees? I look around and soon come to the conclusion that it was my knees. Good for my Italian vocabulary, that yoga!
When we get our tallonia When I have to lift it, I look at what Paola is doing next to me and then I immediately see that they are your heels. Paola is a granny who has a heavy Veronese dialect speaks, jokes all the time about how old and shrunken she is, and usually doesn't pay attention at all. So sometimes Paola and I are still with our feet in the air, while the rest have been holding their big toes for a long time and are rolling back and forth. Oops!
The biggest challenge comes at the end, when everyone lies still on their backs and relaxes each body part one at a time. There is, of course, nothing to cheat. Fortunately, it is not so noticeable if you do not know what you are doing. For example, I have no idea where my jaw sit. Or what about you calves? I make it a game to guess what it could be and then relax that body part enormously, even though it probably doesn't make sense.
Halfway through the lesson we go outside for some exercises in the garden. It's only nine-thirty, but the summer heat is already in full swing, so even as we stand up straight in mountain pose, I can already feel a few beads of sweat on my forehead. A moment later I am standing with my legs wide, one hand on the ground and one in the air, the triangle.
I look at the blue sky, at the only cloud floating by and the birds flying above the city. I smell the cypresses and hear the cicadas. Yes, yoga in Italy is different than in the Netherlands. Good thing, too.
Comments