A Spanish Yoga Bonus
Okay, so I wrote this email to a girlfriend tonight and after reading it, forwarding to my sister, and re-reading it, we came to the conclusion that this was too classic to not be shared Along the same lines of my Bikram yoga post of 2008. So please, please, please enjoy laughing at my expense. I needed to put a big long, wordy post up here anyways. I think everyone is getting lazy with all those colorful photos I've been posting..... :) Enjoy!
Oh girlie, I'm back, stretched, sore and hysterically laughing at my ridiculous self. So, normally I leave for yoga at 6:30pm. It's a 7pm class, and it's about a 3/4 mile walk to get there dodging people on the busiest streets of the city, so I usually arrive with 10-15 minutes to spare so I can put my things in my locker, find a cozy spot for me and my mat, and get my meditation on before I start contorting myself in cruel and unusual ways.
Well... obviously the "no pasa nada" Spanish culture is rubbing off on me because I somehow thought I would have plenty of time leaving at 6:15pm tonight instead of my usual 6:30pm to stop at the post office beforehand. The post office chica. The post office. About a mile in the other direction. Since when does a trip to the post office take 15 minutes in any country, not to mention the time to physically WALK there when you have NO CAR.
So needless to say I left my flat, started walking down the street, glanced at my hilarious excuse for a cell phone/watch and had the first inkling that "hmmmm, this may not be enough time." Well, I didn't even want to go to yoga today in the first place (what with the painful freaking cramps and all), but I'll be damned if I got my butt off the couch and out of the piso and now I'm not going. I was going to make it on time!
So I start to realize that I'm going to have to pick up the pace if I'm going to make it even remotely close to on time. And might I add that they don't let you in class late. There is a whole meditation series and chanting of some 'oms' for the first 15 minutes, and if you arrive late they won't let you in until after the 'oms'. Well, I'm 'om'-dependent dammit. I can't do yoga now without 'om'-ing. So I HAD to be there at 7pm. So I walk as fast as can technically still be called a walk. Think of those professional speed walkers you see on late-night ESPN-3....arms pumping, heel-toe action, buns clinched.
So I make it to the post office at 6:35pm, sweat now visibly forming on my forehead and upper lip, gorgeous I know. There is a machine for you to grab a ticket, but the options are A, B, and C and the descriptions are in Catalan. Freaking Catalan. Who knew I needed to speak Catalan? I thought I was doing so good coming here knowing SPANISH! So I bypass the machine and walk up to a random table in the middle of the palatial post office (which I think is also some landmark old building) to talk to the woman there. I, of course, do not know the word for stamp, so I have to make an asshole of myself saying in Spanish the English equivalent of "I want to buy the things that you need in order to send these post cards to another place," Yes, basically like that board game we all played before I left ....let's see how ridiculous this American can sound trying to buy stamps without using the word stamp.
Luckily the universe took pity on my ailing uterus and the woman immediately produced said items (still don't know the damn word in Spanish) and started ripping off the required number needed. Oh, and did I mention that I was mailing postcards for my girlfriend who visited? We had waited until too late to do it on Friday and she was leaving Saturday morning, so I said "no pasa nada guapa, I'll just do it for you on Monday when the post office reopens." Well, Monday rolled around and I of course forgot to do it, even though I was out and about for yoga that day, so now it's after 6pm on Tuesday and I'm feeling super guilty, so I couldn't really just scrap the post office trip and head to yoga.
So I buy the stamps and immediately find a bench to sit on to start affixing them to the cards. And yes, they are of course the lick kind. So not only do I have to painstakingly punch the perforations apart, but I now have to lick them. And two per card to boot. 78 cents plus 2 cents. Joder. 6:42pm
I get them licked, applied and ready to mail and there are four choices for mail boxes: two in Catalan that I have no clue, another one that says "ciudad" (city) and one that says "otros destinos" (other destinations)...Other destinations it is! No clue if America is an "other destination" but I'll take my chances at this point.
So I literally BOUND down the stairs...a word I don't think I truly appreciated the definition of until today....and headed around the building toward the general direction of town where my studio is. I decide I should probably take the back roads through the Barri Gotic and head off now almost at a full jog (in an overcoat, with my GIANT handbag, wearing Vans slip-ons). Well, the Barri Gotic is infamous for its slanting streets and just when I think I'm getting somewhere....alas, I'm deposited in the cathedral plaza NEAR MY APARTMENT. Complete freaking circle. Yep. The only thing I can do at this point is laugh. So now I'm a sweating, laughing, running, American in an overcoat. Can anyone say One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest? I'm sure I looked nutso.
I finally found a road I knew, probably the long way, but hell, who cares at this point, right? And guapa, somehow, miraculously, I swear time was stopped, because I made it to yoga at 6:56pm. I was physically DRIPPING with sweat from head to toe. Like a man. I had to climb the two flights of stairs to the studio, rip off my jacket and purse, throw everything in a locker, and squeeze into the last available spot in the studio. By the time class started I was lying in my own pooling sweat, legs twitching and thinking "how in the HELL am I going to make it through 90 minutes of yoga?!" For the rest of class my body made that ripping sound when I peeled it off my sticky mat.
Completely classic. And no one was there to witness it but me. Oh how I wished I was a reality TV star right then so someone, anyone, could have shared in the hilarity of those 45 minutes.
Needless to say I almost suffered a stroke in class. Hardest. Class. Ever.
Just another day in the life of Kayla in Spain. Madre mia.
Hope your meeting was riveting. I was pretty much sprinting the entire time you were in it. :)