Upholding a Moor Family Tradition

I woke up early this morning to skype with Billy and grab a decent breakfast downstairs: coffee, muesli, yogurt, and baguette with butter and honey.  Not bad! 

First order of business was to get some stronger coffee.  Then, buy some postcards.  Then, it was off to yoga.  Today, our instructor started the class in English and then asked me after the first posture of the standing series if she could teach in French for the sake of the French-speaking debutantes.  I, of course, nodded my head yes and we went along without another bump in the road.  I saw some minute progress in the back bends, but my triangle pose was really weak on the left side.  Again, a kink that will work itself out along the course of my ten days here.  After a nice shower, I started home, stopping into Sephora to shamelessly use all their testers (Sneaky or resourceful?  You choose!).  Maybe my lipstick was a little too pink because my remaining walk home resulted in blatant stares from strangers and a random guy (he must've been 20!) inviting me to a par-TEE.  I responded with awkward silence.

A restaurant in the neighborhood called Au Chien Qui Fume (At The Smoking Dog) caught my eye with a front window display of fresh seafood.  I thought, "What the heck!  It's Christmas Eve after all."  I sat down and enthusiastically ordered fresh oysters (a French tradition) and French Onion Soup (a Moor family tradition).  Though a little pricey and *a lot* lonely, this dinner treat felt right.  The service staff was nice and fast (a very unusual combination here by the way), and then the bill came.  Once I put my debit card down the staff ignored my table for a solid 45 minutes.  Were they giving me the cold shoulder? ...time to digest?  When I finally got someone’s attention, I ordered a petit café (espresso) to enjoy out on the heat-lamp-warmed terrace.  The people-watching on this night was spectacular.  A winter drizzle brought out fur collars, high-heeled boots, a million different color pea coats and the most elegant selection of umbrellas I’ve ever seen.  People were scurrying around with arm-fulls of last-minute Christmas shopping.

After writing and stamping a few postcards I walked to the Louvre courtyard where several glass pyramid structures lit up the dark stormy night.  The rain-soaked night air was refreshing, but my instincts (and my right hip) were telling me to turn in early.  So, I headed back to the hostel where a single bed warmly welcomed my yoga weary body with cotton sheets and a thin plaid flannel blanket.

J’aime Paris

My coach Maguy dropped me off at Orly airport today and, after climbing the smelly metro stairs and weaving through the streets of Paris, wet with recent rainfall, I found my hostel tucked in a touristy corner of town.  What this hostel lacked in ambiance and free wifi, it made up for in cleanliness, safety, and location, location, location.  (It's a stone’s throw away from the Pompidou, the Louvre, Notre Dame, and – this is the best part – a short walk to the local Bikram yoga studio!). 

It didn’t take me long to get settled in and then I was out the door to sniff out my second home for the week: the yoga studio!  Besides the obvious signs, like museums and Starbucks, one way I could tell I was in a touristy area is by counting the bagel and burger joints.  I found the studio without too much trouble and signed up immediately for a 10-day introductory class pass that included a mat and a shower (only 35 euros - what a deal - right?!). 

Ahhhh!  After all the delicious French food I've been eating, I'll admit my yoga costume didn't fit exactly like it used to...  Ha!  Nevertheless, it felt so great to push my hips and lock my knee for an hour and a half in the 40 degree heat and humidity.  The most difficult asanas were the back bends, which require the absence of fear, but I have faith that I will overcome that later this week.  After class, I grabbed a most delicious toasted whole wheat bagel with cream cheese (five months deep into France I figured a bagel was going to do me some good) and then stood in a long line at a Mediterranean deli next door to get fresh dolmas and hummus. 

It’s so great to be back in Paris.  I love everything about this city...  the sights, the sounds, and even the stinky smells.  

That's all for now.  More later!

Yoga In Europe

Maribor, Slovenia

Hotel Habakuk
11AM everyday
Language: Italian*
Level of Difficulty: Easy flow, poses, breathing exercises, and meditation.  Level was tailored to the group.
Location: Outside of town.  Best if you're already nearby (Ex Hotel Arena, Hotel Dras, or Hotel Habakuk).

*Teacher speaks five languages fluently and customizes her instructions based on the group.

Vienna, Austria

Bikram Yoga Wien Schottering
Daily Schedule Online Here
Language: English and German.
Level of Difficulty:  It's your basic bikram beginner series.  26 postures, 105 degrees, 45% humidity.  So, in other words, it's hell here too.  ;)
Location: Downtown Vienna.  Easy access to metro and bus lines.  15 minute walk from the center of town.

Tours, France

Ella Fit
Tuesday 9:30AM, Thursday 6:15PM, Friday 6:15PM
Language: French
Level of Difficulty:  Advanced, but not cardiovascularly. This class was difficult on a metaphysical level*
Location:  Tours proper, but more specifically, Les Halles.

*Can't quite describe it...  This teacher was extremely in touch with the intangible.  He really encouraged us to LET GO and explore our curiosity and acceptance of the unknown.  He kept saying stuff like "sense this, experience it as if it's for the first time and the last time", and we'd be doing something as simple as ankle circles.  Ahaha!  This was really good for me, but I miss the challenge of Bikram.  I'm gonna have to get into Paris very soon...

Day 11 - The KLM Counter

Welp. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not single enough, young enough, quick enough, strong enough... The reality is that I’m supposed to be getting on a plane home right now because I wasn’t good enough in anyone’s opinion to play professionally on this continent with any success… and let’s be real here. I’m not. I’m not good enough. I know what good looks like and I’m not it!!!!

But life, it seems, is not that simple. I’ve found that if I keep pushing, negotiating, thinking positively about my future, and meditating on the things I want come into being around me, the hard work works. And I’m not fooling around when I say that sometimes the hardest part has been letting go of what is.

… Because so what!?!? Maybe I’m not good enough, but I’m not going to let some stupid idea my brain made up hold my body back from what I know I’m capable of: working harder and getting better. The blind faith of others and a few bold decisions have brought me to the KLM ticket counter in Amsterdam this morning… I’m postponing my flight home until the 22nd and catching a train to Tours, France where I will attend a pre-season practice to tryout for a team there.

If the coach likes what she sees, I could be spending the next nine months incubating this hungry little caterpillar into a freaking beautiful volleyball monarch butterfly!!!

…

Stepping off the train in Saint-Pierre des Corps, I’m very travel weary. I stink and my shoulders are aching from carrying around these two big huge bags all day. I barely made my connection in Paris. The metro has changed since the last time I was here – there are no longer attendants selling tickets. It’s all electronic… Had I taken any longer to figure that godforsaken machine out it would’ve been a 50 euro train ticket from Montparnasse to Tours down the drain! Close one.

Finally settling into my seat for the last leg of my journey from South Paris to Tours was SUCH A RELIEF. Neither the Thalys nor the TGV had electricity or internet!!!! I guess we are spoiled with the trains in the states??!? This is news to me… I guess I’ve always generalized about the trains in Europe – thinking they’re the best. Even though I felt like I was a little stuck in the Middle Ages without the world wide web, I was able to utilize those six virtually uninterrupted hours to finally write and stamp the post cards I bought in Lake Bled. They are in the mail today!!

The treasurer of the club met me at the train station and took me straight to the home of the president of the club, where I’ll be staying tonight in a spare bedroom. He speaks perfect English. His demeanor is friendly and professional, and this won’t make sense in the context of this sentence, but he just screams FAMILY.

The president’s house was about ten minutes away. On the way over we spoke about the men’s club here and women who have played for the club from other countries in the past…  The president greeted us with a joke and a smile at the door. The walls of his two-story apartment are painted lime green and grey and decorated with zen photography and art (bamboo, leaves, rocks, you get the idea). His dog and cat are freaking adorable. His 21 year old son came out to say hello. We all sat in the backyard talking about me and them… After all the chaos of traveling, this moment was nice and casual and a little surreal...

After a while, they invited me to dinner in Tours to show me around and discuss more about the club. I accepted (Duh). They took me to the Italian restaurant in town where, they explained, the team goes for post-game dinners and parties. We sat at their usual table and ordered a bottle of wine. I ordered the Insalata Melanzane (a Mediterranean salad with eggplant, sun-dried tomatoes, and mozzarella). I talked about Billy a lot and our life back home. How supportive he is. How difficult this is for him and I. They said there is a four week break from December to January and that “when he comes to visit he must bring WINE!” Ahaha! YES!

Mission: Make the Dream Team - Revised Goals for 2013

Mission: Make the Dream Team - Goals for 2012