Far Flung Correspondents
Triopetra Yoga Retreat
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[This just in from Rebs Wilson, friend on extended jaunt around the world. A fragment from life with yogis on the island of Crete.... -The Eds.]
I arrived at Triopetra to help with computer stuff. My “bosses” are Ieva, a gypsy princess, who sings her Latvian folk songs while washing the dishes and cleaning the rooms; and George, often dressed in 70’s neon. In exchange for my work, I get to stay in yoga paradise for two months.
Each week a yoga teacher arrives with a new flock, car sick and terrorized from ride in, which features jaunty Cretan folk music, and narrow, winding roads attached by olive-tree roots to mountain faces poised to tumble into deep gorges.
But they arrive, about 30 at a time, to the stillness that is Triopetra, the Aegean Sea, impossibly turquoise, and long soft grey beaches, and lazy warm winds. It’s simple, and peaceful. Some drawn to that blue, skip the rooms entirely, and camp nude on the beach.
My favourite moment is just before dinner, when the sun is precariously angled, and the Libyan sea saturated with color. The guests, happily yoga-ed, and vitamin D enriched, gaze out at the ocean, or they wander into the kitchen to scrutinize Chef Chris’ every chef-move. Androniki, who is susceptible to attacks of the giggles, arrives then from the last of his magical ayurvedic massages.
At those moments, the world seems a wonderful place, and I think again that life in a physical body can be – was perhaps meant to be -- an ecstatic experience....
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