We all know that I love my yoga. Very specifically, my yoga at Yoga House with Margaret. Being the dense metropolis that it is, I assumed there would practically be Ashtanga Yoga on every corner of London. I assumed wrong. Finding good yoga has been, shall we say, a small adventure.
One of the mums at school teaches "kundalini yoga." I tried it. Twice. I thought getting to know a few mums at school better via this class would be worth it. After the second try I informed my dear husband that "kundalini yoga has got to go." In addition to having to recite a mantra, quite loudly, for all my chakras for 15 minutes, I was also asked to roll like a log around on my mat and laugh out loud - very loudly - with my mouth wide open. Apparently this is good for your lungs. Now, I can buy into this chakra business, and I love the meditative qualities of yoga.....even the good smell of the incense burning. But I cannot take myself seriously enough to not feel like a complete idiot rolling like a log and fake laughing out loud.
So tonight I tried to attend an "Inner Yoga" class a few blocks away. Supposedly more gentle than Ashtanga but more what I'm used to. The teacher didn't show. Lovely. However Blossom, mother of 6 month old Poppy, did show up and we had a nice chat. By the way - only in Britain do the names "Blossom" and "Poppy" work (barely). Blossom informed me that I should try Yoga Junction in Finsbury Park. Just a quick bus ride away.
Back home again I go to check out their website. And - lo and behold - a dear man named Nigel teaches various levels of Ashtanga Yoga. Why oh why has this site not popped up in my millions of yoga google searches? I already love Nigel if only for the simple reason that he exists somewhere close to my flat. I'm going to call tomorrow and see if I can drop in on his Wednesday evening class. Please let this be the end of the adventure and the beginning of some much needed yogi love.