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I Went to a Yoga Retreat in France and Understood Approximately 40% of It
There are certain things you imagine will happen when you book a spiritual retreat in the French Alps.
You imagine yourself surrounded by mountains. Breathing deeply. Connecting with your body. Finding inner peace. Perhaps having a profound spiritual awakening, emerging at the other end as a calmer, wiser, more enlightened version of yourself.
What you don’t necessarily imagine is spending three days nodding thoughtfully at people speaking French, hoping that the universal language of yoga will save you, and relying on two exceptionally kind English women to explain what’s happening every thirty minutes.
But that, as it turns out, was part of the journey.
My retreat in Beuil began in a small car. I was in the middle seat of the back row, wedged between a woman who spoke absolutely no English and a baby seat that had been repurposed as storage for yoga mats, tarot cards and various other spiritual instruments.
To my left: a French woman with whom I could communicate using approximately three facial expressions and a hopeful smile.
To my right: what I can only describe as a portable spiritual supply cupboard.
