JET IN GRANOLA PARADISE

After texting my friends that I’d be off the radar for about a week, I received a text from my mother: phone off? You won’t really need much yoga then. And then it dawned on me: what the F am I doing as a 24 year old on a Thai island at a yoga retreat all by myself? I don’t have a burn out nor do I’ve got to go into rehab. I looked around and saw many 40 something year olds. Kind of granola. Some women had braids like Heidi, which I like, because it made me think of New York Fashion Week. NY had Heidis everywhere.

But why did I have to turn off my phone here rather than, for instance, during a week in Barcelona? Together with a friend, go dancing, drink alcohol, and flirt. I think I’d probably also have had the ‘getaway’ effect. Okay, perhaps I wouldn’t have been able to catch up on sleep, but I would’ve had a divine holiday.

I looked around and saw many 40 something year olds. Kind of GRANOLA.

My first yoga session began. I unrolled my yoga mat on the beach with twenty other people (who probably also just turned off their phones). I started in a lotus position and folded my hands.

‘Deep inhale, and then exhale’ the 28-year-old instructor told us, her hair short and her harem pants purple. ‘Mmmmmmmm’, everyone hummed suddenly. I had to control my laughter. This had never been part of my yoga class in Amsterdam. I was so happy I was without girlfriends here. I wouldn’t have been able to take this seriously. I hummed along softly. Eight times in a row. I looked at the girl next to me with squinted eyes (she’s from Manchester and the only one my age) to catch her glance. She didn’t look back.

The instructor continued: ‘Please forgive. Forgive the wrong things you’ve done and forgive the people who have done something wrong.’

I immediately teared up. I’m quite emotional. I already cry when I watch an episode of Extreme Home Make Over.

I recomposed myself quickly and continued with the exercises. After the class, Manchester sat next to me. ‘Thank god for the sun today, the last days the weather was shit. And come on, I want to be totally bronzed at my Christmas dinner. And by the way, for the nice guys you’re at the wrong address.’

Okay, I’m to-tal-ly at the right address, I thought. Not necessarily because there aren’t any nice men, but because there’s someone who also doesn’t take this too seriously.

‘And hello, to shutdown your phone is crazy. Because it has to be? Or do you yourself think it’s better? For what? And why?’ She continued sternly.

She was right. I turned on my phone and, pop, on my screen appeared the message: GOT YOU! You’re sneak peeking. They know me much too well…

But why did I have to turn off my phone here rather than, for INSTANCE, a week in Barcelona?

Young coconut water was served. A small Thais waitress’s laugh felt safe. Behind her another small masseuse followed, dressed in a wrap dress à la Diane von Furstenberg, but then made from linen and coloured olive green. She knelt behind me and her hands touched my neck. She began to massage gently. First my shoulders then my back.

‘Lay down miss, please.’ With little pinches she massaged my calves. She pushed my legs in a frog position and gently pushed my knees down. After my legs, she again massaged my neck, my earlobes and tickled my head. That was the best part. I heard a bit of giggling when she felt my extensions, and before I knew it I had a turban of braided hair on my head.

‘Thank your body that you breathe, thank your body that you have a heart. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been here,’ she whispered in my ear. I again teared up. I felt really at home. Just for a week, though. Then I’d like to go back to life’s hullabaloo.