I'm back...

Today it is back to yoga. I took the afternoon Chi Chung yoga class. I had never heard of it and won’t pretend to understand it any better after a one hour and forty five minute class, but I was told that it is a kind of cross between Tai Chi and Hatha Yoga. The instructor, a thin athletically built American guy probably in his late thirties, told us that he likes Chi Chung because it includes a focus on releasing any bad tension that might build up during yoga poses. I think he gave me his Sanskrit name when I asked because I couldn’t even begin to pronounce it nor can I remotely remember it now. I should have taken that as a cue to just how yogi this yoga class would be.

For starters, he took off his shirt. He was in pretty good shape so I really didn’t mind and hardly thought twice about it probably because I am getting used to seeing all manner of shirtless men in the various beach and diving destinations I have visited across Indonesia in the past two months. Then began the series of body sways to loosen energy in various parts of the body. Fine. I could use some loosening up. Afterwards came the five minutes of skeleton shaking. We stood with feet hips width apart and bent our legs, closed our eyes, and tried to shake our entire body including limbs and head as someone would shake those skeletons kept on display in Biology classrooms or at doctor’s offices. It felt good, I will admit. And it was not half so bad since everyone else had their eyes closed too. Then it got weird.

We warmed our palms up by vigorously rubbing them together and then started stroking ourselves. First we stroked each arm, then each leg, then our chests. Hold it! My eyes snapped open and I watched as the instructor almost passionately rubbed his own pecks in a circular motion. He said, “Women should rub their breasts everyday. It is very important.” I couldn’t force myself to look at the other classmates for it was all I could do not to laugh. So, to go along with it, I circularly rubbed just below my collarbones. That was as far as I could go. I suddenly had the very real suspicion that I was on an episode of “Punked” or some other candid camera reality program. I went along with the ‘aura rubbing’ that followed (running our hands the lengths of our bodies with our hands an inch above our skin to smooth our auras that lay just above the surface of our skin), but half expected to find a film crew outside of the classroom as we exited. No such luck…or misfortune. Only in Ubud, I guess.

I feel I have been away from blogging for so long that I don’t really know where to pick up again. So, I guess I will pick up right before my husband left to return to The Netherlands. He is going to love that I am blogging about this, but I did get his permission first. We spent the one night and two days prior to my husband’s flight home in Sanur, Bali. It is another neighborhood of Kuta, Bali that lies in southern part of the island about twenty minutes from the international airport. To our relief, it is nothing like the neighborhood of Kuta referred to as Kuta. I know it is confusing, but think of Kuta as a kind of city with neighborhoods. One of Kuta’s neighborhoods is called Sanur and one of it’s neighborhoods is just called Kuta.

According to Lonely Planet, Sanur’s nickname is Snore because it draws pensioners (retired folk) and families with kids. That was fine with us. We had both had our fill of loud and slightly trashy Kuta. Decades ago Sanur built a 5km (2.5 mile) cobble stoned walkway along its man made sand beaches. It is open only to pedestrians and, unfortunately, bicyclists. With restaurants and hotels crammed along the walkway and greenery creeping along both sides, it is hardly wide enough for two way pedestrian traffic more less the holiday makers ambling slowly along on bicycles. With the great views of the water front and the ocean breeze, though, it is much better than the busy, narrow main strip of Kuta.

After we found our obligatory Balinese print in a carved wooden frame as our souvenir of the country, we went for lunch and my husband mentioned that it might be fun to get reflexology foot massages. I was completely surprised he’d be interested in the idea and since I was planning to get one myself when I returned to Ubud, I immediately took him up on the idea. My husband, like most men I imagine, is not a spa or massage person, but for some reason he was curious to try getting reflexology, a foot massage that focuses on massaging different parts of the feet in an attempt to also relieve tension in other parts of the body that are said to be interconnected neurally. We each got a one hour foot massage alongside four teenage Australian girls that had come to the salon for the full treatment – foot massages, manicures, and pedicures.

In typical fashion, the petite Balinese woman massaging my husband’s feet and calves was overtly flirtatious. It was so overt to me at least that it was not threatening as much as entertaining. Maybe because of the masseuse’s attention or maybe because of the callouses riddling my husband feet as he professed, he let himself get talked into a pedicure. And since I would be waiting around for him anyone, I also acquiesced and decided to get one too. I have pictures to prove it although I did not take pictures of the mound of dead skin they took off my husband’s feet. The poor woman! She got what she wished for, though, I guess. Despite my egging on, my husband refused to get his nails painted with even clear nail polish. In an uncharacteristically girly move, I decided to go with a shimmery pink polish. I am glad I did. It brings a smile to my face every time I look down at my toes while walking or while in a yoga pose as I remember my husband getting a foot massage and pedicure.