Boom Boom Thao

It's been rough times in the Cannes Cannes household. Or should I say, craphold. 

We are literally in a crap hold. Our teeny Parisian apartment has got us in the biggest crap hold of all time. I fell off the blog grid during The Great Apartment Search of 2013 and left for Christmas in the states thinking that Copain was signing for The One (with the power of attorney I gave him the day before my flight!). 

When I woke up in San Francisco after a night of celebratory nachos and cocktails with m'moom and seester (okay, we totally had artichoke dip and a pizza too, long live America), I learned that we had fallen down the crap hole, back into the crap hold. After wiring a (BIG) "show of good faith" payment, and surviving 3 hours of negotiations (read: yelling matches) with the owner and her posse, Copain said, "Adieu," and peaced out of there, leaving our apartment forever.

We should have seen the bad omens floating in the Parisian sky when the 78 year-old owner fell down the stairs during our first visit, breaking her little grandma arm. We should have known when they promised us the gigantic, American fridge and then took it away, leaving 25 year-old kitchen appliances in its place. We should have known by the funky smell on the landing, and the brown socks with orange tassels vibe, the fact that the owner's son-in-law is a lawyer. 

But we fell in love with the location, the balcony overlooking trees and a children's square, the beautiful hard-wood floors, the parking spot (!!), the CLOSETS in the hallway...yeah, closets. 

We turned a blind eye to the wallpaper from 1975, the beige sink and bathtub, and the over-glossed paint job in the kitchen. We'd live with it until we could afford new furniture AND new decor. We'd make it work because we'd finally be out of the craphole and into chez nous.  Our house.

Alas, it didn't go down like that. 

The day after the failed-sale, the owner threatened to sue us for backing out. Copain joined me in the states and our friends and family helped us out of our funk, told us we'd probably side-stepped a land mine. If the owner's posse was so crazy-cray, who knows what else could have happened along the way. 

And so here we are. Here I am. Back on the taupe couch.

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Paris is just now starting to buzz back to life after the holidays. The Sees candy and California taco-overload is melting off as I Vélib to work and walk back home along rue de la Roquette. Copain and I feast on homemade soup and salads from the marché, and our eyes roll back in our heads at around 10pm, as we adjust back to the time zone.

Avancer 2013 is not dead, but it's on hiatus. Instead of looking for apartments this week, I looked at the yoga studio's schedule and got myself to Thao's class at Rasa last night. Girlfriend kicked my sad, yogi buttocks that haven't seen a yoga mat since Bali (ahem, September). You'd think she would have taken it slow for the New Year, but no; at one point I was supposed to get my foot locked into my elbow, while reaching overhead with the other arm to stretch my quads, but that didn't happen. I was just lucky to be able to grab my foot at all without falling over or seriously pulling a muscle. 

Which brings me to 2014. Equilibre. Balance. That will be the name of the game. It's not to say that we won't avancer -  we will. But I don't want to lose sight of my equilibre, which was very off in 2013. So off, that I found myself visiting the gastroenterologiste for some serious issues with my stressed out intestins (poor dudes). 

I need time for Copain, time for work, time for friends and family, time to make soups and go to the theatre, time to Cannes Cannes, time for movies and walks in the city...

Time for fitting my foot into my elbow.

Brave

Amy over at Lemon and Raspberry is posting about A Year of Brave. Nothing like "lion taming or hang gliding", as she says, but more subtle acts of bravery. She posts about it every Sunday, so I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon and share a brave thing myself.

Knowing that I couldn't make it to yoga on Saturday afternoon, I decided to try out a Yoga Nidra class on Friday instead. I had no idea what Yoga Nidra was, but it was being taught by Silke and I figured that she would make me feel comfortable, no matter what the style of yoga.

I called ahead of time and the receptionist at Rasa told me that I would be doing 30 to 40 minutes of asana (posture) and then 40 minutes of meditation. 

40 MINUTES OF MEDITATION?  um, scary.

But still, I went to class.

Silke began by asking who had already done Yoga Nidra. Answer: no one. 

ouf! phew! (insert your version of relief here).

And so, in great Silke form, she began to explain that Yoga Nidra is yogi sleep. We would begin with a very simple hatha yoga class to "get out the kinks and relax the areas that were making us cranky" (I love that she uses the word cranky in yoga class), and then we would lie down with an intention, or Sankalpa.  

A commitment to fullness. Don't you love that? 

She gave us some guidelines for our Sankalpa, and even gave us a general one that we could use if we were feeling a bit too much pressure to come up with one on the spot. I was tempted to use it (what if my commitment to fullness is blah?!), but I stopped thinking so hard and being such a sankalpa overachiever, and two words popped into my head: 

1. Joy

2. Purpose

These two words became part of my Sankalpa intention. I relaxed onto two blankets and pulled the third one over me entirely. Using my Sankalpa as a path for my thoughts, I let Silke guide me into my yogi sleep.

It was ....bizarre. amazing. a little scary. I kept feeling a tightness in my chest when I would come back to awareness.  When I spoke to Silke about it after class she said that sometimes old things do come up. And maybe that's what needs to happen to let go of them. Since I had just come out of two weeks of non-stop stress at work, it actually made quite a lot of sense.

Now I have to do it again. What will happen the second time?

I'm so glad I tried something new, let myself go to that funky place, created a Sankalpa that I now use everyday. A gentle reminder when stress reams its ugly head. 

Quite simply, joy and purpose.

My Manipura

Trying to remember my hope for 2013, I took some time out of my insane work weekend to meet my friend for a yoga class at Rasa. I knew it was a going to be a ridiculous weekend and I also knew that if I didn't say yes to my friend's offer to meet, I would never have made it to the mat. As it was, I was pedaling full speed ahead on my Velib to get there on time...

There was one spot left to park it.

I arrived, gave my friend the bises, blurted out that I was having the worst weekend of my life, ran to the dressing room, changed and then proceeded to bombard my friend with all of the reasons why I was stressed out. My poor friend. She took it in stride, told me I needed to make some changes (um, yes please!) and then told me that she was happy that we had found time to meet for a class together. She's a good friend. We are both dancers - who haven't danced in a long time - and had been saying that we needed to get to some classes together.

On this crazy weekend, despite all the odds, we finally did.

My friend was feeling nervous about certain poses due to a recent abdominal surgery, but we decided that Silke's class was gentle enough for both of us. We placed our mats side by side, sat cross-legged and waited for Silke to begin the class...

What I love about Silke is that each class begins with a focus or an intention. It helps to settle the mind, remember why you are on the mat, the beauty and power of your own body. As Silke began to speak, I realized that the stars had aligned to get me and my friend to that yoga class. The focus of the class would be the manipura - the solar plexus, but also the stomach and lower belly. She talked about balance and the importance of putting good sustenance and good thoughts into our bodies in order to maintain that balance and therefore, happiness and confidence. Here is a more thorough definition since I'm not really doing the manipura justice. 

Third Chakra:

Manipura (yellow)
The third chakra, which governs our will, self-esteem and sense of personal power, is located in the solar plexus. When energy flows freely through this center, we’re confident about our ability to manifest our intentions and desires. When the third chakra is blocked, however, we feel powerless and frustrated.
source

Ummm, did Silke read my blog post? (Did she also know that I ate pizza and beer the night before because I was too tired to make dinner and woke up feeling like crapola?) Did she know about my friend's surgery? I'm pretty sure our third chakras were allllllll blocked up, and that we were both feeling totally powerless  and frustrated (for various personal reasons).  We both tuned in to what she had to say, feeling as if she was speaking directly to our frustrated souls.  

At La Fourmi Ailée, where we got tea and coffee afterwards, we both reveled in the relevance of the class to each of our particular challenges. Then we decided that yoga needed to be on the schedule for next Saturday - because hello, our manipuras are clearly in need of some additional assistance and the universe seems pretty adamant that we get our bootays on the mat - stressful life or healing body be damned.

Non Non Blondette

After 8 months of Parisian living I finally got my act together and got a gym membership and yes, I would like a medal and/or a cookie for my efforts.

Thankfully, instead of paying the 800+ Euro annual fee, I got a super duper amazing discount through my work.  phew. compte bancaire sauvé.

The first day I headed over there with the Copain was a Sunday - very chill - jumped on an elliptical - lasted 15 minutes - thought I was going to die - could barely walk for about four days.  The second time we went it was a Tuesday...

Not. So. Chill - I should have known...

The entire working population of Paris goes to the gym between the hours of 6pm and 10pm leaving you running/wrestling for ANY cardio machine. It makes you wonder why the eff you went to the gym in the first place when you could run ANYWHERE for FREE in Paris.  (the answer to that question is that you decided it was more important to wait 30 minutes to run on a machine than to risk running through Parisian dog poo and French loogies only to be harassed by your local corner homeless dude on the way home).

Hence our decision to try out a group class instead of braving the cardio machines the following Tuesday.

Copain signed up for the crazy ridiculous and très difficile RPM biking class while I went for the zen relaxation class "Body Balance".  I should have known better having tried these yoga- thai chi -pilates combo classes for dummies before, but it was either that or thoroughly injuring/killing myself on a bike for an hour so Body Balance it was.

I somehow managed to get a spot in the back, shoved in a corner by the molding over
Emergency Exit door. Great for my health.  Our blond (with dark roots) instructer began with what she calls a "Thai chi -inspired" warm-up followed by a "Yoga-inspired" stretching section.  ooh goody. Her musical accompaniment: lyrical versions of Jay-Z's hit "New York". I cannot tell a lie my friends - this ish is the TRUTH.

Beyond the "balls of light" we had to swish from right to left and the "crocodile pose" that I am convinced she invented and try to pawn off as yoga, I got to listen to Blondette sing along - Neeew Yooooork...(mumble mumble because I don't know the words in English) Un, deux, et trois - YES! YES! Saying YES in English instead of French so obviously made her feel super cool - it was her trademark call out during the ENTIRE hour of class.

It pretty much brought on suicidal thoughts that I had to supress while I swished balls of shining light, à droite, à gauche, à droite, à gauche...YES.

Brownie Points for Paris

After a very rude welcome to Paris including but not limited to: water damage repair, 10 days of painting, plaster, dust, a plumber, white paint flicks on just about everything, a weird man lingering in my stairwell asking for money for his "asthma medication" and the news that there is a new leak upstairs due to a shower that isn't water-tight therefore resulting in 2 to 3 months of wall-drying time for our apartment, Paris is finally winning back some brownie points. It's hard to believe I know, but it's true.

Just being able to put my things in their place instead of crammed in my bedroom has already made my life happier.  Starting my morning barefoot in my own house with a cup of coffee on my couch (not covered in a painting sheet) has also increased my happy factor.  And yesterday, walking through the Marais at dusk, watching the Parisians picnic at the Place des Vosges, a bass player plucking along while aperitifs began on the café terraces, I began to remember why I moved to Paris.  This is what I was hoping for...this is why I was pulled here.

Today began with reinforcing my points de repère... yoga was taught by a hilarious Japanese teacher who should really consider a career in coaching - not yoga. But I loved it anyways and was happy to even be able to take the class.  Then a frothy iced coffee and almond biscuit with Clauds near Le Printemps...just what I needed to feel normal again! I wore something other than the jeans, converse and tank top uniform I have been sporting every since we arrived here as I could not previously access my wardrobe because EVERYTHING was blocking it due to the above-mentioned painting disaster. Ah the joy of rings, makeup and ballerina shoes!  Who knew!

I have done laundry, organized bookshelves, made fresh salads and watched countless Sex and the City episodes - and I love it. All of these simple things that make me feel at home.... Tomorrow, lunch in the city with C and ...who knows! Keep up the good work Paris - I'm counting on you my friend..