Yoga in France

     When my sister Sharon, an Iyengar yoga teacher in Georgia, suggested I join her for a six-day yoga workshop in Beaune, France, I said, "Yes, if you will hike with me afterwards in Switzerland."

    Deal struck. We met in France on June 20.

    Beaune was a delight—narrow cobbled streets lined with centuries-old houses and beautiful flower boxes,

 the ramparts of the walled city, the good food and wine. Every morning we walked through town to the yoga studio, stopping for coffee on the way.

    The yoga was intense. The teachers, Mary and Eddie, had studied in India for decades with B. K. S. Iyengar and his daughter, Geeta ("The best yoga teacher in the world," Mary said). Everyone in the class except me had studied with Mary and Eddy before. Avid followers, they had come from around the world for this workshop: from San Diego, Georgia, England, Thailand, Spain, Scotland, France. The class was beyond my skill level, but when I sneaked a look around, I saw that although some students were better in some poses than I was, I was better in other poses than they. I would do all right.

Me preparing to enter the yoga studio

       Eddie and Mary alternated teaching days. While one was teaching, the other walked around helping students. They taught the same routine every day, an approach that I thought would be repetitious but that instead brought deeper understanding every class period. Their teaching style was what B. K. S. and Geeta's reputedly was: barking orders and sprinkling instructions with sarcasm. I wasn't sure I liked it.

    But it produced results, and, in truth, both Mary and Eddie were more sympathetic with our hard work than they let on while teaching. By the fourth day my muscles were rebelling. And yet, every day, after a long and directed savasana, I walked out of class as exhilarated as I had been tired only an hour before.

    Between yoga in the morning and yoga in the late afternoon, Sharon and I had lunch in town, walked on the parapets, toured the Hotel Dieux, the 15th-century hospital with its beautiful Burgundian architecture, famous glazed-tile roofs, and, in days gone by, gracious nuns who cared for the indigent sick of Beaune. We ate regional specialties: boeuf Bourguignon and chicken in mustard sauce. (Dijon is nearby.) We had crepes.

Sharon with a crepe and egg

We had cheese from the market with good French bread. One of the best things I have ever eaten was a gazpacho with goat cheese sorbet—gaspingly delicious—at the RenDez Vous brasserie. 

    And the wine was good, too. Very good. 

    But the best part was sharing the whole experience with my sister.

    On June 24 we hugged everyone good-bye and took the train to Switzerland.

Gazpacho with goat cheese sorbet