Cultural Narrative Week 2- Yoga in Paris

This past semester in Boulder I started getting really into the wonderful practice of yoga, frequenting my favorite yoga studio at least once a week—if not more. This past Sunday, I decided to try and find a yoga studio in Paris. As I have been too busy wandering around the streets of the city, soaking up all of its art, and eating pastries and baguettes, it felt nice to be able to really slow down for a moment and just focus on my breath. That is not to say that the Parisians do not know how to live life at a slower pace—quite the opposite. In fact, compared to my life in the states where I am much more concerned with time, since I’ve been in Paris I often find myself losing track of the time completely and simply soaking up the moment. Regardless, I thought yoga would be a good way for me to meditate on how grateful I am to be living in Paris for these next few weeks, not wanting to get so comfortable that I forget how extraordinary it is to be here.

This particular yoga studio, Paris Yoga, attracted me because it was in walking distance from my apartment, and all of the instructors were supposed to be bilingual—speaking both English and French. I arrived early, not knowing whether or not I needed my own yoga mat or if I needed to reserve a spot in the class before hand. The instructor was either an American who had lived in Paris for a while or a Parisian who spoke English very well, because as soon as I said “Parlez vous anglais?” she responded with a friendly “Yes!” I always love how friendly and warm yoga instructors treat you, making you feel instantly comfortable as soon as you walk in. It was nice to have that same feeling while in a city where I don’t know many people and can’t have conversations as easily. Turns out I didn’t need a reservation, and I didn’t need a mat either because the entire floor was covered with one giant mat!

One thing that really interested me is the vast differences in the way that some of the French women dressed up to go to yoga versus the usual apparel I am used to seeing at a yoga studio in Boulder. I saw one woman in particular that had just finished her class as I was about to go in who was wearing tight, black, yoga-like pants and a tight black shirt, except the tights were shiny and the shoes that she was putting back on were leopard-print stiletto boots. Her hair and makeup looked immaculate as well. Boulder is a much more casual scene overall than Paris, and generally, the yoga studio is not the place where most people choose to look their finest. It just goes to show how much the Parisians value aesthetics and looking presentable no matter what the occasion.

The instructor, seeing that I was the only English speaking—or at least the only American— person in the class, pulled me aside before class began to let me know that she would be giving the class mostly in French (obviously) but would add some English in there from time to time. I agreed graciously, excited to experience yoga in a different language. The class very enjoyable, as I was able to concentrate more on my postures and really sink into my own little world rather than focusing too much on the specific instructions being given, which I can sometimes do. It reminded me that yoga is primarily about your own personal experience more than it is about doing the pose perfectly, and that the instructor is merely a guide. So, in a strange way, not being able to understand the language actually helped my yoga practice. So much of our experiences in daily life revolve around verbal communication, and so not being able to effectively speak the French language is a constant reminder that we are visitors in a city that is not our own. It was really rewarding to partake in an activity here where language was not the most important means of communication, and I could share my passion for yoga with Parisians.