"Practising non-activity" - my first yoga class

Selina Hostel was a chain with more than 50 hostels worldwide and professionally managed with a lot of Chichi. As more and more backpackers arrived in Guatemala, supply and demand led us to book at Selina. The hostel with a pool, fireplace room, beach bar, and entertainment program ranked at the upper end of the typical hostel price range at 16 to 18 euros per night. Breakfast was not included, but there were free yoga classes with a lake view in the morning.

My skeptical view of New Age, paired with long-cultivated prejudices and my own Western European arrogance, ultimately succumbed to the allure of the new. So, yoga it was. At 8:30 AM, about ten young women and five young men gathered on the beach bar's dance floor. Incense sticks were lit and meditative music played. The noise of the workers around us was commented on by the instructor with words from the Dalai Lama about how discomfort is primarily due to our perception.

My lack of body control, problems with right-left coordination, and balancing on one leg led to the meditative aspect of the exercises eluding me. Or as the instructor put it: 'Listen to your inner voice! Sometimes the answer is also: no.'

Whenever I somewhat mastered a position, my attention would wander to a dog dozing in the morning sun or to a young worker trying to change the blade of his hacksaw to continue working on the adjacent wall. Shortly after, I was back to tensely focusing on fixing my toes, commented on by our teacher with the words: 'Try to relax 10% more!' Oh dear.

For the final round, our yoga coach asked the local workers to stop working so that we could better focus on our chakras (?).

What was a good idea the night before turned out to be a seminar in foreign embarrassment for all involved. Admittedly, we spent Tuesday evening in a cantina. It was pouring rain outside. Inside, the beers and flammable local spirits were flowing. It seemed logical to agree to a morning trip for more spirituality.

The rest of Wednesday was spent visiting the village of Santiago de Atitlan on the opposite side of the lake. At the same time, I tried to piece together a quote from musician Wolfgang Wendland in my mind. 'Punks are loving people who appear mean and evil, with hippies it's the other way around,' or something like that. Should think about it... or maybe not.