The Idea

I do a lot of trip planning, so I don’t remember what I looked up in late December to get to this blog post, about a yoga and meditation retreat. Reading about it, I thought the place sounded unusual: I found the authors’ recollections amusing and the whole idea hokey – so I mentioned it to B, hoping for a laugh. Instead, he really got into the idea. I suppose I should have anticipated that: he is much more open-minded than I am, and he’s into unique things. I am much more skeptical about anything in that category of life. Sure, physical and mental health affect each other, but that does not mean I’m going to chant anything. As B got more excited about it, I started the booking process, almost in disbelief. I had somehow become the originator of an idea I was still mocking a bit in my own head. But why not? So, I checked the reviews, booked us for a five day retreat, and off we went.

The Arrival

We caught a van to the grounds, along with another US couple our age, two women from Australia (one in her mid-20s, the other decidedly younger), a man from Scandinavia in his later 30s, and the retreat guide – a woman from Italy. When we arrived, we sat on cushions around two low tables, drinking lemongrass leaves and eating mango and banana chips. The other twenty people attending included two German couples (one in their mid-20s, the other in their late 30s), two single guys in their 30s, a few British women in their early 30s, a handful of women under 22 (from the Netherlands, Israel, etc.), and a few more Aussies. Everyone seemed quite friendly and delightfully heterogeneous.

The program director, a 30-year old man from Scotland, gave us a tour of the grounds. This included a quiet room for reading, reflection, and coloring; a game room with a pool table; a tree house; a pool with sun basking chairs; a private yoga practice room; a massage room; a trampoline and tight rope line; a library; a kitchen; and several types of housing.

The Housing

Our shelter was a hut on the far edge of the property, surrounded by four others just like it. It was a basic wooden structure on short stilts, with a small ‘porch’ out front. That front area had a seat and a hammock. The hut itself had a window and doors that kept nothing and no one out. We locked the door with a luggage lock, for minimal deterrence – on the staff’s recommendation, but who were we kidding? Inside the hut was a tall shelving unit, on which mosquitoes would swarm around any clothing set there, and a queen bed with a surrounding net. By the door, there were also an electrical outlet, a ceiling fan, and a light. A bit sparse, but the simplicity of the structure bothered me not at all. However, the army of bugs I heard buzzing around me at any given moment was problematic. I would wake up and try not to count my new bites, and I tried to only go inside the hut to sleep.

(The hut’s location also meant that we couldn’t really hear the gong that called everyone to wake up. Our first morning was a bit of a cluster. Oops.)

The two bathrooms were in the main house. There were some outdoor showers as well, though the curtains for those blew a lot in the wind, so it was kind of like exhibitionist showering. None of the showers had hot water, which wasn’t pleasant, but it was manageable; I took to showering during the day, when it was warm, to ease the sting. It was a few people too many to be sharing the facilities, but everyone was pretty considerate, so it worked out.

Also amusing were the local geese, a small family of which lived near our hut. They were quite aggressive, especially when defending their egg-laying goose, and they rushed us a few times, like very determined linemen. I actually had to hiss, stick my arms out, and stamp my feet to pause them in their head-first attack.

The Neighborhood

But the ultimate housing problem had nothing to do with our hut, the bathrooms, or the wildlife. It was the time of year: wedding season. A Cambodian wedding is held outdoors, in a large makeshift tent, usually decorated pink. Each tent has many long dining tables, and space for musicians – along with four to six giant speakers stacked on top of each other to help amplify them. This results in a decibel level that can be heard for miles, with or without ear plugs. Did I mention that these weddings go from about 12 to 30 hours? So, they start out with some American music in the afternoon: Santana is particularly popular. Then, they move to Cambodian singing, and the beat goes on. Between 2 and 4 am, the music seems to get quieter! You can sleep for a little bit! However, without fail, something special happens around 4:30 am that requires a volume increase of notable proportions. At first, I thought I was waking up at that time every day to torture myself, but even the retreat’s owner mentioned it.

The Food

Friendly people, insomnia, and mosquitoes were not the only hallmarks of the retreat: the food was too. Everything there was vegan, and very fresh and delicious! They could start an entire marketing effort to get foodies to attend: discover amazing food crafted by an as-yet-unknown chef – oh and do some yoga while you’re discovering.

I’ve mentioned some of the dishes they prepared, but the setup was also good: each meal consisted of some type of salad, some type of main, rice, and various sauces to put on any combination of those things. Dining modularity, so to speak. This ended up being particularly good because I had an inexplicable low-grade stomach ache throughout the retreat. Since I routinely eat nothing but rice, nuts, and vegetables, I assume that the problem was due to the lower-quality drinking water in that region – especially since it began the day before the retreat, our first full day in that area. Despite this, the cuisine was a hit with me: even plain rice with some sauce was delicious. The rice was from the local fields, and I saw them cook all of our meals right before we ate them. At the end of the program, they sent us a cookbook of the recipes, and I will be trying my hand at several dishes once we return.

The People

Throughout the stay, we were encouraged to socialize. This is different from other retreats in this part of the world, which often involve five to ten days of complete silence. I think this made the experience significantly more enjoyable for B, as he thrives on this kind of interaction. Though I don’t have the same craving, once there, I found myself having interesting conversations about everything from Cambodian genocide or outward bound teen programs to career fatigue or familial reactions to life choices. The particular people who chose to come were all quite interesting. Some were younger, reflecting back to me ideas I had held in my early 20s. Others were in a similar place to the one I’m in now, making decisions to which many peers back home can’t relate. This was another reason to have come – aside from the yoga and meditation: to have good discussions and to feel belonging.

The Yoga

I know, I know: when will I actually get to the yoga? Yoga classes were first thing in the morning (7 am), before lunch (11 am) most days, and then before dinner (4 pm). Though attendance was optional in the blog post that motivated our reservation, it was firmly mandatory in our session. As a result, there was definitely an element of willpower being taught at the retreat. Not surprisingly, the prospect of exercise on a completely empty stomach after no sleep is enough to turn me into a complete grouch. You’ll be gratified to learn that no yoga teachers or bystanders were harmed in my wrath, but it was a close call.

We did sun salutations; a lot of sun salutations. It was fine, if not particularly inspiring for me personally – though that’s likely because of how amazing my classes in Hell’s Kitchen were. However, doing so much yoga in a row with an attentive assistant instructor meant that I found out something I do a lot: tense my shoulders, as if I’m trying to attach them to my ears. After the first two days of adjustments, my shoulder blades felt perma-sore. I also got a lot of value from a break-it-down workshop they held: the instructors told us the intended position of each body part in each primary pose. I’ve never before been to a class that explained what was intended to align where; usually, you just try to catch glimpses of the teacher as you contort yourself from wherever you are in the room.

We were also introduced to two new forms of yoga:

• Yoga Nidra: This consists of trying to reach the state you’re in right before you fall asleep. As you can imagine, there was some napping in this class.
• Yoga Kundilini: This seemed like belly dancing, with a yoga flavor. There was a storyline for it that reminded me of Aladdin.

The Meditation

Following each yoga class was a meditation session, in which the goal was to sit motionless with eyes closed, thinking about nothing, for increasingly longer periods. The first challenge to achieving this was my leg’s tendency to fall asleep after fifteen minutes of cross-legged pillow sitting. The next one was stopping my brain. Over the course of a half dozen attempts, B and many others achieved unique states of experience that helped cement the importance of the practice. Unfortunately, no such thing happened to me.

In general, the idea of allocating time to trying to turn off the mind seems like a smart one. I often have moments when I can feel the strain in trying to switch between too many tasks or remember too many things. It’s gotten worse as I’ve gotten older: I’ve found myself try to cook while presenting ideas on a work conference call, sneaking bites between words, and simultaneously planning out which road I’ll have to take to make it to volunteering on time. So, it feels like I should meditate, like my mind has earned it. But I sit down to do it, and the best I can manage is limiting my thoughts to one slow idea at a time. I know, I know: I should practice.

What I struggled with most was the idea. Because nothing was happening for me (except pins and needles), I was looking for information on what I should be doing. Should I aggressively reject each new thought that popped into my head? If so, wasn’t that a form of thought? Moreover, what different teachers said seemed to clash. One suggested we fight any desire to move, flexing our willpower to focus on complete stillness of the body. Another recognized that complete motionlessness could require such will that it would make thoughtlessness impossible: he suggested mindful movement to scratch itches or adjust posture. Though I preferred the second approach conceptually, I couldn’t understand how mindful itching was any different from regular itching. As ridiculous as it sounds, B and I had a very in-depth conversation about this.

The Other Classes

There were other group activities too:

• A class on verbal and non-verbal communication: It wasn’t much new information for me, because of my professional experience, but it was presented well.
• A class on chanting: ‘Class’ is a bit of a misnomer, since we just all chanted together. I felt strange about so-fervently repeating words I didn’t understand in front of a Buddhist altar, so I mostly sat quietly until we started chanting Row, Row, Row Your Boat. (Not joking.)
• A class on bowing: This was even more of a problem for me, because my religion is pretty anti-bowing, due to its ties to idolatry. The concept was a good one, intended to turn the practice of gratitude into a physical act. I discreetly opted out of this portion of the class.
• A make-meditation-a-practice class: This was intended to teach how to focus your sight and your mind, to prepare you for meditation practice at home. A very good idea to give attendees the tools to make change in a different environment.
• A make-yoga-a-practice class: Here, we talked about the specifics of when, where, and how we would extend our yoga habit beyond the retreat. Same as above: a smart class to have.
• Post-dinner magic show, movie, and Mafia game [all on different nights]: After all my middle-of-the-night wedding music enjoyment, I was too exhausted to be any fun for any of these. The fact that I was nowhere near alone on that was only partially comforting.

The Rest of the Time

In between classes, there was free time to nap, read, chat, and anything else that struck your fancy. One of the nicest parts was just the feeling that we owned that time. Other than hand washing some clothing, doing one work thing, and calling home on New Year’s, there wasn’t anything I had to do. So, I found myself having fallen asleep in a hammock for the first time. Or I found myself staring at leaves above my head for twenty minutes straight. It felt nice, which is an especially weird thing to hear from someone who’s just spent half a year setting her own schedule. I am quite the harsh taskmaster, it turns out. (Who’s surprised, exactly?)

New Year’s Eve

B had been particularly captivated by the opportunity to spend New Year’s Eve in a unique way. After dinner on that night, we were served dessert – a heretofore unseen class of food. Then, a Cambodian band came from the village to play local music for us. (I tried not to cringe at the irony of staying up on purpose to listen, in light of my recent insomnia.) They had an instrument I hadn’t seen, which looked like a fiddle without a body and sounded like a more plaintive violin. One man played that, while two played different types of drums, two played other forms of percussion, one sang, and a few more sat clapping with them for company.

The retreat owner and manager had arranged for the band to play during and after dinner, but this meant that for the first hour+, everyone was chowing down, and no one was listening. B, ever empathetic and aware, went and ate his meal directly opposite their perch, clapping enthusiastically after each song. It was completely the right thing to do: inspiring for all of us, gratifying for the musicians, and very decent.

Overall

All things considered, I’m glad we went. The lack of sleep, minor corporeal concerns, and occasional hokeyness were overshadowed by the chance to rest, the delicious food, the lack of muscle stiffness (I’m old), the new ideas, and the interesting people. But maybe we’ll wait a year or so until the next retreat.