I'm starting this post from the dismal, cave of an office at the Yoga Forest.
I don't know how Michelle gets anything done in here. It's so dreary.
At least this cave doesn't encourage lingering. You come in here, get your shit done, and scurry out as quickly as you can. Like toilets in Nepal. You don't linger. You evacuate the inhospitable premises as soon as possible.
Anna is space-holding in the common area, preparing dozens of blissballs for the owner's wedding this weekend and directing walk-ins towards James' afternoon yoga class. Tammo rummages through a few of the multiple bags that call this dank space home, putting together his climbing gear so that he can join Lucho at the Yoga Forest's new climbing wall before the sun goes down.
During the course of the last week, the Yoga Forest has been rapidly transformed into one of Guatemala's few climbing havens. Tammo (my tentmate) and Jonas (my manager) are crazy into climbing. As in, Tammo can climb all day, six days in a row, have his hands torn to shreds, and still effusively share about his love for climbing when he arrives at dinner.
I love witnessing people living their passions.
Lucho is a professional Chilean climber. And he pretty much just wandered into the Forest one day, having overheard from some other climbers in San Marcos that we were in the process of, well, wanting to establish some climbing routes. He brought a drill, lavish enthusiasm, extraordinary generosity, and his vast climbing expertise.
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| Tammo and Lucho drilling holes in one of the Forest's rock walls |
Hence, I haven't seen much of my tentmate the last week. We had made the commitment to study Spanish together in the mornings, to read a book called "Sapiens" whenever we happened to have spare time, and to learn some happy songs on the ukulele...
... but whenever my tentmate is not working or sleeping, he's on the wall.
It's like if someone gave me access to a fully equipped French kitchen. Or set me up with a week of horseback-riding through some gorgeous countryside. Or gave me and endless supply of paints and canvas and Tom Waits and red wine. I would be totally captured, enraptured, blissed out.
And that's Tammo right now. Blissed out. So I'll just be happy for my tentmate and catch up on Sapiens later.
Since I've lost Tammo, I torment Nele with my Spanish flashcards, and she tolerates me with an eye-roll and her ubiquitous, contagious laugh.
I'm writing here in The Forest office instead of at Circles or Shambala (a new cafe with no dogs, no flies, but crap wifi. Guess you can't win them all. Not in Guatemala, anyway) because my laptop charger has died. Again.
Fuck, I thought, vacantly staring at the dull circle on the charger that should have been lighting up orange. What will I do? It's not like I'm in Italy again, and can just waltz into an Apple store, hand over a ridiculous amount of money, and walk home with my problem fixed. I'm in Guatemala. Where money can't fix everything, because the solutions to first world problems don't always exist in third world countries.
At least it's a first world problem.
And I'm resourceful. I'll figure it out.
But fuck. It's annoying.
During my two and a half months at The Yoga Forest, we've hosted three teacher trainings, two plant medicine retreats, and are currently hosting a Thai Massage course. Every retreat/training brings with it unique, beautiful, and bizarre people. Hence, I approach each new event with trepidation and excitement.
The Yoga Forest is my home now. Hosting people for these retreats feels like welcoming new flatmates every couple of weeks or so. Flatmates who could be annoying as all get out, or end up as incredibly close friends. Like Nacho.
The Thai Massage course brought us some particularly colorful individuals. So the Yoga Forest family sat around the dining room tables and laughed about our new...er.... forestmates.
Nele is leaving the Forest in a few weeks (probably because she's getting tired of my Spanish flashcards). And like Kayla did when it finally hit home that she'd be packing her bags soon, Nele pulled out a piece of paper and made a calendar.
A calendar full of whatever adventures she wants to have, whatever she needs to accomplish during the rest of her stay.
The Forest won't be the same without Nele. Without her warm, fuzzy hugs (she's always wearing that fabulous Easter Bunny sweater. When Jonas hasn't stolen it from her, anyway), without that unmistakable laugh, without her sweet, caring energy.
I might even miss hearing her sing Justin Bieber from the shower.
Might miss. MIGHT. And if I do miss it, no one will know.
Jonas has been busy the last few days. With adult things that my nomadic noodle can hardly comprehend. Like buying a small piece of lakefront property. Like renting an apartment in town for Michelle to move into for her final month of pregnancy. Like managing the entire Forest on top of everything else.
So he spent a morning letting go of all that adulting, and played on the rock wall.
So that all my photographs weren't boring butt-shots, Jonas put me in a harness and Tammo taught me how to belay myself up the wall.
I do yoga and I think I'm fit. And then I climb and I realize all the places (there are many) in which I could REALLY use some growth.
Holy bananas. I'm a wimp.
A few weeks ago, the Forest brought Carly here from London. Carly and her singing bowls. And Carly asked me to photograph her yesterday morning.
"I'd love to. My goodness."
"I'll pay you for it, you know."
"I mean, you don't have to. I'm really happy to just take photos," I winced at the thought of being paid for my amateur photography.
I'm not good enough for that. I just like to play with my camera. I don't want the pressure that comes along with money... I don't know if I'm ready for that.
"No. I'll pay you," Carly insisted with a smile.
"Well, Tammo and I will appreciate all the brownies your money will buy. Thank-you for supporting my chocolate addiction."
Nele would say that this is part of the flow. I haven't once tried to find work. I haven't once advertised myself. But when I need money, work finds me. Because I'm where I'm supposed to be, doing what I'm supposed to be doing.
Or something like that.
I went to San Pedro with Michelle this morning. She was also doing adult things, like getting her blood tested, paying taxes on her new piece of property, and buying training tools (spray bottles) for her recently adopted puppy.
Michelle and Jonas don't mess around.
A newborn baby wouldn't have been enough for them. It would have been, "meh, that's sort of challenging, I guess."
Michelle and Jonas needed a puppy and a newborn baby in order to feel adequately challenged.
...
No puppies. No babies. Ever, Bourget. You will never be adult enough for these things.
Michelle hurried back to San Marcos after her morning of adulting. To attend the owner of the Forest's hen do.
I stayed in San Pedro and got my nose pierced.
And after getting stung by a scorpion three times, the nose piercing felt like almost nothing.
In comparison, of course. By itself, the piercing still hurt like hell.
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