Lori M. Hunter
Yoga is both grounding and expansive not only when in familiar territory, but also when exploring unfamiliar places and cultures. As a frequent traveler, one of my own strategies for grounding, and for more fully experiencing a place, is finding a yoga studio.
In Prague, my found yoga studio was pink – and not just a little pink — the Bikram Yoga Studio was really, really pink. The odd color was matched by an odd location, the pink studio was tucked in a quiet glass business center on Praha 4’s cobbled Pankraci passage. The large modern glass doors opened to a cavernous room with concrete floors and pink doors surrounding a bamboo themed reception desk and massive, close-up photographs of sexy, sweat-covered bodies. “Dobrý den” chirped the perky young lady behind the desk, although her voice quieted on realizing my lack of Czech language skills. Still, her shy smile revealed she actually enjoyed helping this foreigner through the liability paperwork maze.
I then waited on the colorful, chic corner couch for the teacher, Misha. Petite, blond and with excellent English, Misha was thrilled to have a new student and challenge – although I know the Bikram series well (26 postures each done twice) – with my Czech repertoire encompassing two words, Misha would have to offer corrections to me in English. She was pleased to oblige. The yoga room was dutifully heated to 105o F with 40% humidity.
Our group of 23 scantily-clad students moved in unison to Misha’s microphoned commands, breathing through our noses, stretching, and oozing sweat. At the end of class, Misha announced to the students – motioning to me — that one of yoga’s many blessing is the abililty to take one’s practice across the world, to step into new studio spaces and still understand the language of yoga. Agreed — whole-heartedly.
Back into the gleaming business park, I simultaneously felt spent and refreshed, just as after a Bikram class in my hometown of Boulder, Colorado. But the clean, bright pink studio, Misha, the shy receptionist and and my silent fellow students, had made this class more than my typical – they’d shared an intimate, sweaty, personal, moving glimpse into what some “Praguers” do on a partly cloudy Sunday afternoon. For that, I felt grounded, connected, and eternally grateful.
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