yoga with chanting

Today I took a class at One Yoga with my friend Anna. I'd never been there before, but heard from some reputable sources that it was a good place to go. 

When it comes to yoga, I don't really know what I'm doing. I was slow to get on the yoga bandwagon (or the any-kind-of-exercise bandwagon; see early posts for more information on my lengthy sedentary thrift-stores-and-vodka phase). I've taken a handful of yoga-type classes at the YWCA and the place where I take dance classes. But I definitely don't have "a practice." I don't know what any of the poses are called--I usually just find someone who looks like they know what they're doing and take it from there. And I don't really pay attention to the "spiritual" stuff; I'm just there to get stretched out.  

I figured today wouldn't be too bad--the class was super crowded, so there was no way anyone was going to pay much attention to me. I settled onto my borrowed yoga mat over near the wall. The room was virtually silent--I thought of some gossip I wanted to tell Anna, but felt too self-conscious to even whisper anything, so I kept quiet. 

Soon the class started with a bunch of breathing. That was fine. But then the instructor informed us that we would soon be required to start "chanting." She started the chant, and soon, the entire room joined in. As far as I could tell, it was a group sing-along--not the droning melody-less noise I imagine when I hear the word "chant." Despite the fact that I was supposed to be "letting go of tension" and that sort of thing, my muscles immediately seized up. I'm completely neurotic about singing--I just can't do it in public. 

Although my eyes were supposed to be closed, I discreetly attempted to look at my neighbors to see if anyone else was opting out. At least it looked like the instructor had her eyes closed--I didn't want her to think I was "dissing" her by not singing. But I just can't get into that. 

After the class, Anna asked me what I thought. I told her I liked the class...and sort of trailed off. She said she liked it too, but that she hated chanting, and that she felt bad about not doing it, but not bad enough to cave in. Suddenly, I felt much better. I totally hate chanting. Although the point of this "column" is to do things that make me uncomfortable, I think I might have to draw the line at chanting in yoga class. 

Verdict: Although I'm sure it's great for some people, I just can't get into chanting during yoga class. However, the experience wasn't so negative that I ran screaming for the door--I actually allowed myself to be talked into purchasing the introductory one-month unlimited class card. I'll probably be proudly chanting by the end of January.  

don't knock it till you try it: drinking sakau

One of the best things about getting married was the excuse it provided for going on a lengthy and expensive vacation. 

Nick and I discussed some possible destinations. I wanted to go somewhere warm, perhaps a place with an ocean nearby. Indonesia sounded good, but Nick had totally been there already, so that seemed kind of anticlimactic. (Well, for him, at least. For me, Green Bay is a thrilling new adventure). We thought about Mexico, but then again, that's so predictable--every drunken coed goes there for spring break. (Uh, except for me.) 

Then one day in Savers Nick and I found a ten-year-old Micronesia travel guide. We didn't waste much time choosing Kosrae as our romantic honeymoon destination. It seemed pretty ideal--a remote little island in the middle of the Pacific with mountains, fancy coral reefs and virtually no tourists. 

In addition to all the natural beauty, Kosrae was also supposed to have some of the best sakau in the western Pacific. Also known as kava, sakau in a mildly narcotic drink that is made by pounding the roots of the plant of the same name and squeezing the liquid detritus into a communal chalice. 

However, we learned that on Kosrae, sakau drinking is a somewhat "underground" pastime. While you can visit sakau bars on neighboring islands like Pohnpei, the only way to drink sakau on Kosrae is to track down a local who makes the drink at their home and invite yourself over.  

Therefore, when we arrived at the airport in Kosrae we immediately expressed our interest in the local narcotic beverage to the men at the customs booth. "You need to speak with Hilton," one of them said, disappearing into a back room. He returned moments later with Hilton Phillip, an airport employee and host of one of the island's few regular sakau parties. 

"We are making sakau tonight!" Hilton told us, pleased by our perfect timing. Although this sounded tempting, we begged off, secretly afraid that the ancient mud-drink might sicken us for the remainder of our ten-day stay. We suggested the following weekend, and Hilton agreed, promising to call us at our hotel to give us directions to the party. 

True to his word, Hilton called us the following week with directions to the sakau party house. We invited a few locals who worked at our hotel to accompany us (Ruth, one of the office girls, Par, a waitress, and Ben, a dive guide). Ruth was our designated driver.  

We arrived at the house shortly after the sun went down. We stumbled down a steep hill into a car port where the sakau pounding was taking place. It was a pretty masculine scene--I was glad we'd brought Ruth and Par along. Two Kosraean dudes relentlessly smashed sakau roots on a large pounding stone, pausing every few minutes to scoop the resulting sludge into some well-used hibiscus leaves. Another dude then wrung the hibiscus leaf package into a plastic tub, and then yet another guy strained the raw sakau into the aforementioned chalice. Then the whole procedure was repeated, until all the roots were used up. 

After one full "serving" had been prepared, the owner of the house stood up to make a formal announcement to us, the visitors. He explained that the traditional way to drink sakau is to give the first drink to the person with the most status, and then send the cup down the social chain from there. However, he explained, since we were there tonight, they would start the circuit with us.

Nick started with the sakau--he took a drink, then passed the cup to me. Par, our favorite Kosraean waitress, had already coached me on how to properly drink sakau. As she had instructed, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and sipped. 

It didn't taste too bad. I'd read that sakau tasted like mud, and it was much more liquid-y than that. But when Nick later described sakau as tasting like dirt-flavored egg whites, I had to agree. 

I then passed the cup to cup to Ruth, our designated driver. She took a sip, then passed it to Par, who passed it to Ben, and then on around the room it went. I can't say I felt much of anything right away. The cup kept moving around the room, but there were probably close to 20 people there, so it was a slow process. 

After several circuits, I think I noticed that my mouth was slightly numb. Eventually, I guess it started to "work"--I think you could say I felt very mildly tranquilized. But that was about it--unlike drinking alcohol, drinking sakau doesn't turn everyone in the room into a bunch of loudmouthed idiots. Everyone got really quiet--it was more like a pot smoking kind of situation, but without a bunch of dippy revelations.  

Eventually, all the sakau ran out and it was time to leave. Ruth drove us back to the resort, and Nick and I went back to our little cabin. We decided to drink some vodka to kill any of the possible germs we'd ingested from the local narcotic sludge-drink. Nick had a shot with little incident, but when he passed the bottle to me and I took I sip, my stomach turned as if I'd just sipped from a mug of gasoline. Next time I drink sakau, I'll just accept the germs.