New York City is the mecca for the entertainers, the insider traders and the tattooed outcasts. Also a place where you can go and put your ass in the air with a bunch of strangers, while suffering a serious vagina issue.
This past Sunday Wanderlust Festival came to New York City. In the grass of Pier 63 two 90-minutes yoga classes were taught by famed yoga instructors such as Elena Brower and Kelly Morris, along with music and meditation. The original Wanderlust Festival held in California is a multi-day experience, a body-mind blend of yoga, music, food, wine, basically everything to leave you feeling the calm of benzodiazepines without needing to pop one. I take that back, during my hippie years I spent a month living in a tent in Mexico to become a certified yoga instructor, and whenever excessive touching was involved I totally ate some Ativan. Obviously I have not yet reached enlightenment.
I arrived just in time for the 1:30PM class. Before I begin to evaluate the experience there is something I should tell you. I woke up Sunday morning to a raging UTI (always remember to wash before moving from stink to pink) and was ready to run home by the end of the first class. Despite my pain it was cool being out there on Pier 63, one of the few acid-tripping destinations in Manhattan, moving and flowing and breathing with my fellow New Yorkers. The instructors were top notch, their separate sequences flowed together seamlessly.
I do have one bone to pick. Why do pretty city instructors try to connect spiritually with their students using the dinkiest anecdotes? At Wanderlust a story was told by an instructor how she recently learned to caramelize onions in cooking class, and that you must soften before you can caramelize. We were supposed to be inspired and incorporate this knowledge into our yoga practice. Once in a New York studio an instructor ended class with the moving tale of cutting six inches off her hair and "Shake off the past in happy baby pose, experience the joy of letting go like I did skipping home from the hair salon!"
Come on. Yoga masters in India would be like "Try fasting, bitch."
Oh yes, back to Wanderlust. I left immediately after class to chug cranberry juice, so I missed dance party with 13 Hands (apparently Russell Brand's a fan) and the "big hugs and tears of joy" that proceeded going home. I am truly sad to have missed the dance party, but it was probably best I skipped the hugs and tears as I'm trying to keep my Ativan intake to a minimum.