Like Coming Home

This morning when I got on the mat, it felt like coming home. For the last two weeks, I have been paddling furiously to keep up with all the end-of-year goings on.  It hasn’t helped that there was no routine with schools as well as the yoga studios I attend, all closed. My body has been protesting the absence of a good stretch and the grounding it gets from a regular practice. The little I have been doing by myself at home has not been focused enough for real satisfaction.

All the rushing around culminated in getting onto a plane to Mauritius, not a moment too soon.  The rush to the airport included a stop at my daughter’s school to get her exam results – more of that later...And so I woke up in paradise and took myself off to a yoga class. As I sat down, breathed in and settled down, I felt a sigh escape my body. It really was like coming home. I allowed the sing-song voice of the yogi to guide me through the familiar postures my body knows so well - though not without muscles protesting from disuse and abuse. Yes, even two weeks can make you lose it. It was a pure Hatha yoga class which took me right back to my roots in the Ananda Kutir ashram.

A gentle breeze was blowing in from the ocean and the sounds of birds singing and frogs croaking, was all the music we needed. As we chanted “Om Shanti” to end the class, I was at peace. 

Horse-riding and other mid-life challenges

On Friday night I sat next to a show-jumper at dinner. He told me how riding had kept him out of mischief as a teenager when all his friends were going off clubbing, and doing other things that teenagers do. Horse-riding did not rank high on any list I might have had growing up in South Africa, when I did. Fortunately, I could contribute to the conversation since my son has been riding for a few years now. He has always loved animals and one day declared that he would like to go riding. I think I might have dismissed it as a passing phase. Many holiday trips found him longing to go riding. 

One holiday we did a horse safari in Addo Elephant Park - I am not sure how I get talked into all these things. My husband assured me that he had told the guide that we were Absolute Beginners, so off we went. Things started off simply enough until we had to duck to go through a bridge under the highway. We had to wait our turn and the horses got a little restless, bumping into each other. It was my son's horse  which reared up and dumped him on his bottom. To our surprise, he stood up and got straight back on. This was not very confidence-inspiring in my daughter who was even less enchanted than I was at the prospect of being on a safari on an animal in an area where we knew lions roamed! However, there was no turning back and we spent the longest 2 hours of my life trying to enjoy the experience!

On our return home, my son reminded me again that I had not done anything about his earlier request for riding lessons. After a little research,  we were recommended to a riding school which had a waiting list of 9 months (which, I admit, I hoped would put him off). He waited patiently and, now, four years later, we are still taking weekly trips to the "mink-and-manure" side of the mountain. He loves riding and has changed his lesson to a Friday afternoon as it is "a good way to end the week."

Of course now that he can ride he is even more keen on tracking down places that offer riding when we are on holiday. I may add that he has dragged his similarly riding-challenged father off at dawn to ride Arabian horses in the desert of Sharm-el-Sheik! 


Last year we had quite the year of the animals - shark cage diving, whale watching, riding elephants and bottle-feeding tigers in Thailand. In between the adventures on the sea in Hermanus, my son dragged us off to do some horse riding – "gentle ponies that even you can ride mom!" After an hour in the saddle on Lukas, who had ideas of his own about whether he should in fact move, I needed to be prised off and was not sure whether I would ever be able to walk upright again. I spent the rest of the week sporting a John Wayne swagger from those Westerns we watched as children. 

After the Lukas experience, I decided that perhaps I should have a few lessons to get the hang of it since it seems like this riding thing was here to stay. At least I could learn to sit properly instead of being thrown around like a sack of potatoes. While the idea of riding (being outdoors, the graceful rhythm that seems almost meditative) is peculiarly appealing to me, I have to admit to a certain reservation about the whole business. 


I am so aware that this is an animal - bigger and stronger than I - with its own mind. And when the teacher says give him a whack - I mean what is that?  - an open invitation to fly over its head? Neither does riding a horse called Hercules conjure up visions of gentle canters through the forest. I bravely attended a term of lessons and would like to say that I am prepared for the next Lukas. Alas, the longer I went for lessons the more convinced I became that the odds of being thrown off were stacking up against me. Images of the late Christopher Reeve (aka Superman) started to appear in my dreams. I felt like I was playing Russian Roulette and decided to quit before I met my end. 


I have to admit I do feel just a little bit proud of stepping out of my comfort zone and adding riding to one of my mid-life challenges. But I can ride an elephant, and I did that bareback. 

A taste of Italy

Last night I revisited the streets of Rome with Julia Roberts in Eat, Pray, Love. It took me back a few years to what was my son's best holiday ever. Well, what's not to like when you are 7 years old - pizza, pasta, the best ice cream in the world and adults running after you to pinch your cheeks and call you trezorro.

Italy is such a sensual place - the smells, sights, sounds, tastes make an indelible print on your memory. As Julia Roberts' character, Liz wanders through the cobblestoned streets and ancient ruins, I found myself transported back. I could feel the July heat and recognised the street taps, which must surely have been there since the days of the Romans, where my son stopped to stick his head under the cold water flowing from the bowels of the earth. The old buildings with solid doors that look like they can withstand battering rams, the flower boxes spilling geraniums outside every window and the fountains with ornate statues inviting you to make a wish, all form part of the charm. 

We travelled the length of Italy by train – Venice, Rome, Naples, Milan and ended our journey in a villa just outside of Florence, the perfect place to take time to allow all we had experienced to settle down  deep. The rolling vineyards, the beautiful sunshine, plenty of space to run around and a pool to cool off in – these were all the right ingredients. And if we wanted to exert ourselves, the museums were a short trip away. One day we came back to a feast prepared by our kids who had joined the chef in the kitchen and helped produce lunch brimming with goodness. 

But back to the movie last night - one of my favourite scenes is the one in the barber shop where Luca Spaghetti explains the concept of "il bel far niente" - the beauty of doing nothing and the simple pleasure of being. They do seem to have it down to an art - the way they speak, eat, live and enjoy the fine things in life. It has always amazed me how the chaos of Italy (the strikes, the mafia, the politics, etc) seems to go right over the heads of the people while they enjoy the good life. And if you think about it, there are many good things that come out of Italy - cars, bags, shoes, clothes, food, music, art, ice cream... The whole concept of  deserving pleasure seems bred into the bones of Italians, whereas we need to go to therapy to feel that we are worthy! I read once that Freud's theories never took off with the Italians - they don't repress anything so they don't need psychoanalysis.

Like all movies, it veered off the story in the book, but it was a real "feel-good" experience. The "Pray" and "Love" part of the story is subject for another blog ... I am still revelling in la dolce vita.