Holdstone Down -- Devon, England

Instead of going to church on Sunday mornings, Harriet and Stephen worship by taking a drive to the nearest holy mountain (Holdstone Down) and sending their spiritual energy into the earth and out to those in need. Because I'm trying to make a habit out of saying yes (even though "yes" occasionally ends up with me shaking like a crazy person in the middle of the living room), I decided to drive up to Holdstone Down and just take pictures.

"It's a different climate up there," Harriet looked at my skirt, askance. "Now, you're welcome to borrow some of these," she removed a pair of waterproof pants from the press under the teacups. "They live here for whenever you need them. And why don't you take an extra rain jacket? And here are the keys to the car in case you get cold and want to go back inside. Do you have gloves? Oh, good, you've got a scarf. You'll need that."

I started to get worried at that point.

I know it's a holy alien mountain and all, but it's not like I'm going for a stroll around Neptune. 

But it kind of was like going for a stroll around Neptune. I stepped out of the car and was immediately pummeled with wind and rain and cold. 

Why do "Great Masters" always pick unpleasant places for their holy shindigs? What about down by the beach? That's nice. Why can't they have a holy sunny beach instead of a holy boggy mountaintop? 

I soldiered on through the black muck for long enough to see the local sheep. I looked at them bleakly. They looked at me and bleated weakly. 

You're right, I thought as they wallowed off to take shelter next to a three foot stone wall. It's bloody miserable. I feel zero of this mountain's positive vibrations.

I spun on my heel (nearly face-planting in the holy heather) and speed-stumbled back to the car.

I don't love alien Jesus enough to say yes to this kind of weather. 

Harriet had been invited to lead a quick yoga routine in Barnstaple as part of an advert for a local studio, and she asked me if I'd like to tag along to bolster the class size. Twenty minutes of basic hatha was led by Oona, the charismatic studio owner. Twenty minutes of inversions was led by Harriet and ten minutes of toe exercises (I was by far the most advanced in this department) was led by a new agey looking woman in teal.  At the end of the hour, Oona looked at me and said, "And for anyone who would like to stay and take another class, Aimee is a teacher from... where did you say -- Colorado? Yes, Aimee is a Vinyasa teacher from Colorado and Harriet has volunteered her to teach a ten minute class. Is that okay?"

"Umm.. sure," racking brain, racking brain... only ten minutes? What sort of routine can I do in a lousy ten minutes? Yoga Vinyasa takes time to warm up... time to set poses. You can't do anything in -- 

Of course you can. There's always something. Stop making excuses and make yoga.

"Sure, that's great. I'd love to guide a short routine."

So I led a small group of six dedicated yogis through a simple series of sun salutations. The stuff I'd teach absolute beginners in Grand Junction but seems to leave the English absolutely knackered.

This is what most everybody does in Colorado... Vinyasa or Ashtanga. But Vinyasa is nearly unheard of in this part of the world. Practitioners can't get over how tough my most basic class is. Goodness. I wonder how they'd react to one of my intermediate level routines with a few arm balances thrown in. 

The few who stuck it out were exhilarated, sweaty and enthusiastic to try Vinyasa again. Una thanked me for my help and asked if I might be able to substitute teach a class or two for her in the upcoming month. 

I could... make money... teaching yoga? 

It was nearly two o'clock when we cleared out of the studio and made for the Boston Tea Party Café for lunch.

I gazed longingly at the meat.

No. Bourget, it would be so insensitive to ask Harriet to buy you a meat lunch. Stick to... salad and, and... salad. 

We then set off to Tesco to purchase decorative paraphernalia to make the homely B&B more presentable and TV friendly. Chanel 4 was stopping by the next evening to interview Stephen and Harriet about their homeopathic, yogic operation as candidates for a reality TV show about B&Bs around the UK.

This place would make pretty good TV... get a super conservative Christian, an avid carnivore and a hippie under the same roof and there are bound to be interesting fireworks. 
  
I spoke to my family that night and then passed a couple of hours writing in the beanbag by the fire as Michael played the guitar softly beside me.