A few Sundays ago, I took my very first vietnamese yoga class at my gym, which is located in a 5 star hotel about 15 minutes away from my house by foot. I paid a small fortune for a 3 month gym membership at this hotel, but since I am economizing on rent and other expenses, I figure that it's well worth the price for my mental and physical health.
Plus, it is fully equipped, very clean, includes towel and locker service, a sauna, jacuzzi and steam room, use of the rooftop tennis courts and unlimited classes. The clientele is three quarters Vietnamese and a quarter ex-pat, so it's an interesting mix.
I've pretty much given up on the fitness classes at the gym though - they mostly consist of low impact aerobics borrowing from the choreographic stylings of Jane Fonda circa 1984. I basically get a better work-out sneezing. The participants in the classes are mostly older Vietnamese ladies wearing funky jazzercise leotards. I usually sneak peeks at the classes and smirk while I'm sweating it out on the treadmill or stairmaster.
The yoga class I took was an experience to say the least. There were only 5 other participants, including myself, plus the teacher. The teacher was a buxom woman with a bottom that J.Lo would be proud to call her own. Most of the class I spent squinting trying to peek at what the teacher or other students were doing because I could not follow the teacher's directions since the class was conducted entirely in Vietnamese. I therefore had some trouble reaching that "meditative state" that yoga can bring.
The fun began, however, when unbeknownst to me, the teacher announced that we should pair up for "tandem stretching". Of course, the other ladies in the class quickly partnered up with their friends which left myself, as Murphy's law would have it, to be paired up with none other than the Vietnamese J.Lo yoga teacher. In front of everyone she pushed, prodded and stretched me like an elastic band.
The discomfort I was in could not be disguised - beads of sweat trickled down my forehead and I wore a very obvious grimace on my face. I'm sure the older ladies found this very amusing! Of course, I could not offer a verbal protest or express my displeasure to the teacher. My vietnamese is quite limited, to say the least (literally).
At the end of the class, I thanked the teacher for the class. In perfect English she replied, "You're not Vietnamese? Where are you from?".
"I'm from Canada", I said as I headed towards the exit. As the door closed behind me, I could hear the ladies burst into giggles.
Maybe I can't feign pain very well, but apparently I can camouflage being Vietnamese like a chameleon. And next time I will not assume that the teacher doesn't speak english.
Plus, it is fully equipped, very clean, includes towel and locker service, a sauna, jacuzzi and steam room, use of the rooftop tennis courts and unlimited classes. The clientele is three quarters Vietnamese and a quarter ex-pat, so it's an interesting mix.
I've pretty much given up on the fitness classes at the gym though - they mostly consist of low impact aerobics borrowing from the choreographic stylings of Jane Fonda circa 1984. I basically get a better work-out sneezing. The participants in the classes are mostly older Vietnamese ladies wearing funky jazzercise leotards. I usually sneak peeks at the classes and smirk while I'm sweating it out on the treadmill or stairmaster.
The yoga class I took was an experience to say the least. There were only 5 other participants, including myself, plus the teacher. The teacher was a buxom woman with a bottom that J.Lo would be proud to call her own. Most of the class I spent squinting trying to peek at what the teacher or other students were doing because I could not follow the teacher's directions since the class was conducted entirely in Vietnamese. I therefore had some trouble reaching that "meditative state" that yoga can bring.
The fun began, however, when unbeknownst to me, the teacher announced that we should pair up for "tandem stretching". Of course, the other ladies in the class quickly partnered up with their friends which left myself, as Murphy's law would have it, to be paired up with none other than the Vietnamese J.Lo yoga teacher. In front of everyone she pushed, prodded and stretched me like an elastic band.
The discomfort I was in could not be disguised - beads of sweat trickled down my forehead and I wore a very obvious grimace on my face. I'm sure the older ladies found this very amusing! Of course, I could not offer a verbal protest or express my displeasure to the teacher. My vietnamese is quite limited, to say the least (literally).
At the end of the class, I thanked the teacher for the class. In perfect English she replied, "You're not Vietnamese? Where are you from?".
"I'm from Canada", I said as I headed towards the exit. As the door closed behind me, I could hear the ladies burst into giggles.
Maybe I can't feign pain very well, but apparently I can camouflage being Vietnamese like a chameleon. And next time I will not assume that the teacher doesn't speak english.
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