A curtain swings open with my legs on the ground, “WELCOMETODALAT!” Single word smush wakes me up alert, sleeping on the floor of a bulky bus. My phone reads 3:12 am. 4 hours earlier than my estimated arrival—then look to the window. Darkness and wood.
I haven’t seen the density of forest in one year, at least.
Well, I think, another adventure. Starting with a backpack and no place to stay. I open my screen for service, options, sanctuary. Sure there are choices, once dawn breaks. Another is to wander. Or nap on the road. I look up the dark streets and sigh, sitting at the bus station, the only light for miles. The taximan out front looks at me curiously and two girls follow in his shock. “Are you going to stay here?” One asks, concerned as much as she is confused. I shrug, “I’m not expected until morning.” Without missing a beat she asks, “Do you want to come with us?” My eyebrows raise in surprise. “Can I?” Sounding like a child surprised by a parent’s good mood and generosity.
I load onto the sleepy taxi, the only Westerner, smiling in relief and graciousness beneath my mask. We arrive, a steep path into the trees. There is no light, only pavement pointing us downward. We pace down the hill, deep breathing our introductions. Thu is a 28 native of Ho Chi Minh and so is her companion Than, 33, remarkably wearing a sundress in this unfamiliarly brisk cold. We unlatch a gate midway down the hill, to a small pink house, the lawn loaded with greens. Further down are two more houses, complete with patios and plants galore. Across the hill are gardens that stretch God’s wingspan to trees and tiny cafes in the distance. This serene hideout is called Nha Cua Ba, a homestay on the outskirts of the city. We slip our shoes off and step inside, greeted by typical homestay guards; two puppies. A reunion it seems, as Thu and Than fall over themselves in greeting and the dogs reciprocate in their hellos. We pick up and pile into a bright orange dorm, with cabined beds. The girls laugh and tell me about their pals who own the place, their work, and love for Da Lat. Just as soon as we sleep we awaken. I pull my head out from my tangerine comforter confused. The window reminds me I am anywhere but home; clear skies, sunny and green. The forest, of course.
I get up groggy and the girls are on their way towards breakfast, but first greet me by placing their cat on my lap. What a morning. We cook eggs sunny side up on the stove, with Banh and cucumber with chili sauce. Vietnamese breakfast, with espresso to boot. We chat, half English, half Viet, and snort our way through mistranslations. They show me the grounds and we talk about tradition, marriage, hiding from work—getting away. Thu plays guitar on a sofa, I sip espresso and the puppies snuggle up to Than. There’s a coziness as the sun rises, radiating new warmth over this springlike haven. I swap my black bus sweats for a clean pair and throw my backpack on again. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, thank you for saving my life,” they scoff at my melodramatic goodbye. We hug, they refuse to charge me for the night, and I head up the hill (one puppy chasing behind).
…
“Hey!” a known voice calls out from a cabin and a familiar face emerges. Thank God; Lindsay.
She smiles bright and refreshing and I pace towards her relieved. I drop my bag and we walk up to the main building of the Sivananda Yoga Retreat, an ashram in the woods.
Soon we sit outside on a meditation table, with vegan chocolate milk and a bowl of sweet red bean soup. Lindsay catches me up on her travels from Cam Rhang and Nha trang, a beach 3 hours from here. We stretch and glare up at the tree tops, secluded from society. Retreated.
We climb up the hill that stretches through the grounds, lined spaciously with simple white houses. Brown roofs, grand windows that shine through one side to the other—trees all around. I’m out of breath as we climb to the lookout over the lake. I stand and stare. I’ve never seen so much uninterrupted green, spanning out all around us.
The days at the ashram curate a level of peace in routine. Our days are concisely planned; dawn wakeup, group meditation and chanting known as satsang. (Remember Hare Krysnas?) Then a modest oatmeal breakfast followed by two hours of yoga. The sessions are paced slowly, to feel out the body’s ability and give it adequate rest between positions. The center follows 5 pillars of yoga including Diet, Exercise, Breathing, Positive Thinking & Meditation and Relaxation. The diet remains clean, sugar free and completely vegetarian. Yoga begins with opening meditation then 15 minutes of breathing exercises, in the abdomen followed by the nostrils. We stretch and work for an hour and a half, resting in Sivanyasa aka assed out on the ground—and we conclude similarly. Lay back comfortably, wrap yourself in a thin blanket, and rest in deep meditation…known to some as nap time. Then sit up again for conceding meditations. Group chanting is a uniquely useful and time-tested method for bonding and relaxation. There is a group vibration and radiance that comes along and resonates.
After our first session of yoga we take a break for what the swamis call Karma Yoga, or selfless service. It operates as a volunteer system to help maintain the center but dually as a mode of meditation itself. A selfless, caring act. The energy around the center is beyond warm, everyone smiling and greeting each other. A kind of approach that supersedes all that is known to me as a former New Yorker. Pushing through crowds of blank stares tunnel visioning towards their aims. So we help clean; mop the kitchen, wash the dishes, case up our leftovers and smile.
The swamis hold workshops in the afternoons, a sort of micro lecture on yoga philosophy. They cover topics like universal vibration, mind-body-soul oneness, self-development purpose, and the teachings of Guru Sivananda. After the workshop is another two hour yoga session, mirroring the first. We sweat, sleep, and eat again. Before we gather for a group meal the residents join hands in a circle around the cafeteria and chant, for peace, gratitude and love. Joy radiates from each individual as we accept our blessings and line up to eat our vegetarian spread.
The food is simple and incredible. Rice and soy sauce, seaweed soup, curried vegetables, fresh greens, and lemongrass tofu. All finely tuned Vietnamese flavors and filling portions that feed all.
After we eat, there is another session of Karma Yoga followed by closing Satsang. The group piles onto the floor of the main hall, surrounded by windows, seated cross legged on the floor beside each other. One of three swamis leads us into silent meditation. Focus on a point, either the third eye or heart, to breathe into for thirty minutes. The room drifts into a powerful and peaceful silence. Soon the Swami brings us back to the surface with an opening chant. Om shanti, shanti, shanti. Om binan, binan, binan. And we open our eyes in unison to chant together in song. The energy in the room picks up, a loving radiance. The swami concludes our 30 minute song, and opens up the group to questions. She speaks Vietnamese, and a woman behind me hands over a headset to listen to a live translation. She’s funny, really funny. Joking about the false knowledge of chakra, complications of meditation, and short span of our lives. The group bursts into laughter hard and often, further fueling our sense of love and bondage.
We dismiss and clean up our mats, and each leave with a gifted slice of fruit to conclude the night.
Our final morning we replace our usual Satang meditation with an hour hike into the forest. We walk up and uphill, deep breathing into meditative states. My heart thuds against my chest, not yet used to the incline or altitude. I climb over tree limbs and red clay mud, shooing away flies and looking hard at the sky as we venture further. Our route finally stabilizes and I peer around. Nothing but leaves, green and brown. Insects flit around the ground, funny mushrooms, sprout from the rich soil and tree sides, roots tangled and hugging each other. I feel like Naruto in the Hidden Leaf Village. Our swami stops the group and reveers everyone who made the trek. He greets me and introduces himself formally, in the usual open manner of the group. We head back down, easier now on a decline. Lindsay and I wander off the path, where it opens up to the lookout. We stare into the lake and breathe in fresh air, so far from Saigon pollution. Soon we’re off and sore but refreshed, driving back into the city where sugar, rude closeness and caffeine still live.
This photo was taken in Da Lat, the piney highlands of Vietnam
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