Ashtanga in Lanka

I got to the airport way ahead of time. My father-in-law had offered to drive me to the airport. Stefano, who left three weeks before by the same way, had warned me that nowadays his father, who is in his seventies, talks faster than he drives. So I took a fair margin and was not in the least bit stressed while we were chatting away and rolling along at 60 km/hour towards the airport, with cars passing us left, right and sometimes centre with double the speed. By the time we got to the Domestic Terminal, it was still over an hour before departure, which for a domestic flight in Egypt is almost 60 minutes early.

“Cairo or Sharm?” the check-in officer asked me. “Cairo!” I said, handing over my passport and e-ticket. I proceeded by casually swinging my 30 kg piece of luggage onto the belt and kept my 18 kg trolley expertly hidden behind the counter. The strap of the 12 kg bag hanging over my shoulder was pulling a strand of my hair out of my skull, but I couldn’t do anything about it without giving away my overweight situation - luggage wise that is .

But the guy didn’t even blink, checked in the big black bag with my yoga mat strapped to it, gave me my passport and boarding pass and therewith, potential problem number one melted away in the wintery Egyptian sun.

Upon arrival at the domestic terminal of Cairo airport, I went for a quick toilet stop before picking up the black monster from the belt. Lifting a 30 kg bag with a full bladder is not the best of ideas. After I’d washed my hands, the toilet lady handed me a paper to dry my hands, pointed at me and whispered “Beautiful!”. I said “Thank you” with a big smile and walked out, thinking to myself “But I’m not giving you a tip anyway”, which I then regretted thinking because maybe the lady really thought I was pretty and was just paying me an honest compliment. I will never know.

Two shuttle buses and a luggage scan later, I was standing at the Kuwait Airways check-in rows. I had the choice between four counters, three manned by a woman, one by a man. I went for the latter. Same luggage procedure but this time, I put my shoulder bag on the floor in order to avoid early age boldness. I was all smiles and chatty when he asked me about visas for Sri Lanka while from the corner of my eyes I saw the big black fiend being carried away for boarding by the check-in officer’s assistant who had spotted my trolley and my shoulder bag and but had said nothing. I gave him a big smile as well and hereby the second hurdle was conquered too.

Relieved and feeling much much lighter, I entered the duty free paradise and found the cream Darja had asked me for. Personally I’ve decided not to smear too many chemicals on my face anymore. So before departure, I made someone happy with the Clinique tubes and pots I hadn’t finished and instead, I packed a jasmine perfumed hand made organic cream that I bought at the Clubhouse spa. If I don’t get compliments anymore from toilet ladies in a few months, we will know it was not a wise move to give away all those expensive emulsions. But at least I will have smelt all fresh and flowery for a while.

Upon arrival at Bandaranaike Airport (aka Colombo airport), I felt a blanket of familiarity wrapping itself around me. Off the top of my head, it was the around the 10th time I was at this airport within the last two years and I had grown very fond already of the Coffee Bean and it’s free wireless internet service. But no time for Internet chitchat this time. It was 4.00 am and the taxi driver was waiting for me. But I had one final potential obstacle to tackle: getting into Sri Lanka without a return ticket. Not knowing when I would fly out, I had only bought a one-way ticket and officially, non-residents are only allowed in if they have proof of a way out. So I picked a queue with a seemingly friendly male and more importantly fast custom’s officer and I put on my best I-had-a-sleepless-night smile. He smiled back, found an empty space in my passport, stamped it and handed it back to me without single trace of hesitation. I was in!

Six hours later, we arrived at Rocky Point Bungalows, were I intended to stay until my work permit for the Maldives would finally come through. It could be a week, a month… no way to be sure knowing Maldivian bureaucratic processes, but at least I was better off in this wonderful yoga resort doing my Ashtanga practice every morning with like minded people then in El Gouna, were it was getting miserably cold and I had nothing to do all day. And even better, I was now only half an hour time difference away from Stefano instead of four.

So I settled in the girl’s dorm, got acquainted with people from all over the world who had all come to Ashtanga Lanka to find some warm weather and friendly souls in this period leading up to Christmas and I loved it. Yoga every morning under the supervision of a couple of great teachers, fresh young coconut after practice, breakfast and dinner served in the communal area, beaches at walking distance, wifi all day long and frangipani trees everywhere in the beautiful garden of the resort.

I took advantage of this inspirational environment to work on the Standard Operating Procedures of “my” dive centre in between yoga workshops and flying therapy (check it out, it’s awesome www.flyingtherapeutics.org) and in the evenings, it was chatting time with Stefano. Before I knew it, a week had gone by and Stefano had made his way to South Sri Lanka too. An administrative procedure required him to leave the Maldives in order to activate his work permit, so this was an opportunity for us to have a few days of “holiday” together before diving head first back into intensive labour conditions. How I dare calling it a holiday considering I had been unemployed for almost seven months?!! I don’t know, but it certainly felt like a holiday.

And so after five days of Singhalese bliss, with garlic crabs on the beach, some fishing for Stefano and more yoga for me, a bottle of champagne to celebrate the start of our new adventure and a whole lot of new yoga friends, we boarded UL 103 to make our way to Malé. The work permits came through 30 minutes before boarding (some things really don’t stress me out anymore) and we are now sitting side by side, drinking our last alcoholic beverage for a long time. The Maldives being an Islamic state, alcohol is prohibited except for on safari boats and resorts with alcohol licenses. But our resort is not open yet, therefore no alcohol license, hence no booze… who knows until when… I would say my longest alcohol free period in the last 18 years has probably lasted one week max. My liver is either going to be very happy with me or go into detox shock. I’ll let you know in a month or so.

In the meantime, I think it’s almost Christmas. Tomorrow is the winter solstice, after tomorrow the days will start getting longer again. It is also almost New Moon, all symbols for fresh starts, new ventures, renewed energy. I think it is all very promising.

I’m up for it, are you?

Many merry Christmas wishes from Malé

Liefs, love, baci, bises, besos, xxx

Yaisa