Hells Bells

Granada has a huge, beautiful cathedral that sits on a square that has rivers of narrow alley-like streets streaming away from it. Every alley is the same— apartments above, small cafes and bars and souvenir shops below. It’s a fun vibe at night because street musicians roam around performing, and they’re GOOD. (It’s mostly guitarists and singers but one guy absolutely rocked a homemade cello thing made out of an overturned garbage can,  broom handle, and string.) We wanted to have a sangria and tapas there in an alley our last night, but it was not meant to be. Why? Because it was international yoga day.

Hundreds of people on yoga mats packed the square while a woman on the top of the cathedral steps droned on into a microphone. I guess she was leading the class? Because everyone below moved in unison. There was someone quite insistently drumming beside the leader throughout, so she needed to get a bit shouty about her instructions. I saw frustrated musicians with guitars walk up the alley towards the cathedral square to see what was going on, only to turn around dejectedly and head somewhere else. I also saw a few male photographers, greedily raising cameras overhead to get shots of ladies colourful asses raised (and probably silently farting) in unison. They are the (downward) dogs. 

How long does this last, do you think? I asked. Steve shrugged.

When I looked over again, they were all in tree pose. I could see their arms raised high over spectators heads. Was it wrong that I wanted to run over and gently tip one of them over so she fell into the next woman, creating a domino effect? Maybe it would be less wrong if I felt very zen while I imagined it.

We drank and ate.

Finally, yoga class had reached Shavasana. Nap time. This is my favourite part of yoga— having a little snooze at the end. Why don’t all athletic endeavours include this? I imagine my friends and I after soccer, napping on the turf. We could even throw in a cuddle. This would solve so many of the world’s problems, I decided. No more hooliganism. If the pros played each other and then cozied up at the end? I think of Ronaldo and Messi. Messi has more ballon d’or awards but he’d still be little spoon. 

Shavasana meant it finally got a little quieter in the square. But then... the bells at the cathedral went off and everyone went apeshit.

These bells were LOUD, so everyone in the alley jumped a little. There was no sign of them letting up. Dogs started barking in the apartments and in the street, riling each other up. Kids covered their ears, and a baby started to cry. The woman with the mic tried to shout over the din— but with the constant bells and barking, I couldn’t hear what she was saying, no one could. I couldn’t understand the language she was speaking anyway but the frantic; stressed out change in her voice— that came out loud and clear, like the bells.  I liked to imagine she was shrieking ‘LET YOUR SHOULDERS RELAX! CLEAR YOUR MIND!’ 

Finally, I felt at peace.