The Final Savasana and Other Turkish Delights

Retreat

noun: the act of withdrawing, as into safety or privacy; retirement; seclusion. 

verb: to withdraw, retire, or draw back, especially for shelter or seclusion. 

(Dictionary.com)

When you live in a big city with noise, pollution, traffic and mass riots, there comes a point when you realize it’s time to surrender, wave the white flag and call in the troops. In Europe, this usually happens in August. It’s a glorious month when it’s almost expected that you’re going to take a break to recoup and rejuvenate before cold weather and grey skies roll around again. It’s a time to trade in the world of ergonomic chairs and water-cooler conversation for a sun lounger and foreign currency… and in our case, 8 days of hot, sweaty Bikram yoga. I know it sounds like a complete oxymoron that a vacation would include working out in intense heat, but this Turkish adventure was not only challenging and exciting, but also inspiring and deeply moving… not to mention, yogis sure do know how to party!

This story begins about two months ago when Josh and I decided to take Bikram a bit more seriously—which, for anyone who doesn’t know, is a 26-posture yoga series practiced in 105-degree F (40-degree C) heat. While something always seemed to get in the way of a regular practice, the hopeful summer season (and my depressing abs) motivated us to get back on the mat. Within a week we were better for it—lighter, stronger and more flexible. So when we noticed that our studio was offering an “Adventurous Yogi” retreat in Turkey, we jumped at the chance!

After a short but luxurious stay in Istanbul, we hopped a flight to Dalaman, which is situated on the southwestern coast of Turkey. I’ll never forget the drive up to the retreat—partly because of the magnificence of the lush landscape and partly because we hugged the shoulder of a cliff the entire way. Upon safe arrival at Huzur Vadisi—a former olive-growing farmstead come yoga retreat center—we were fed lunch, shown to our yurt and had a “chill day”. Yes, life was good!

The following days continued as such, punctuated by trips to a Turkish Bath, boat ride in the Mediterranean and (faux) designer handbag shopping. In the evenings we shared family-style meals and hung out with new friends in the “tree house” until the wee hours of the morning. It was like one big, long sleep over with lots of stretching in between.

Now, I’m not usually one to wax lyrical, but I have to say that as the trip progressed, I discovered a new level of inner peace and tranquility. I’m not sure if it was the sun, the yoga or the fact that I didn’t have to do dishes for a whole week, but whatever it was I felt happy, uplifted and inspired. I think Clark Griswold (European Vacation) expressed my sentiments best when he said, “I want to write, I want to paint, I want to…  sculpt something massive!”

My senses just seemed to have popped right open. During my practice I started to notice that I didn’t just feel the strengthening of my muscles or the pulling of my joints, but also the fibers of the towel beneath my feet, the warm breeze hugging my skin and the fresh breath that filled my body. I saw color more vividly and heard the song of the cicadas as they crooned in unison while we moved from one pose to the next.

Yoga Platform

Our last class of the retreat, and second of the day, completely blew me away. While Bikram is typically a dialogue series, this particular class was set to a soundtrack of meditative music and we were instructed to practice using our intuition as opposed to our ears. I could feel the presence of my class and the emotions we were all experiencing, as we were moving with new bodies and heightened awareness. At the end of the class I laid in my final savasana (dead body pose) and let myself succumb to the hum of the music. On an average day, I usually struggle to keep my mind from wandering and spinning, but this time was different. I closed my eyes and, for the first time, allowed myself to just be...  

I woke up nearly 45 minutes later. Alone in the dark studio, while admittedly a bit scared and late for dinner, I knew that something powerful had just happened. In that final savasana I felt as though I’d connected myself to the universe. My body was glowing from the inside out, from my core to my fingertips, from my head to my toes. It was like waking up from a deep sleep and seeing things in a whole new light—even in the dark.

Thanks to everyone for an incredible time. It wouldn’t have been the same without you! In closing, I will leave you with my Top 10 Turkish Highlights:

     1.     The SCUBA mission to rescue our broken anchor

     2.     Dinner in Gocek… MEATBALLS!

     3.     Zumba lesson with Ashley on the yoga platform… ZUMBA!

     4.     Getting scrubbed at the Hamam (or Bath) by two burly Turkish men

     5.     Playing Grandma’s Footsteps (similar to Red Light Green Light) at 2am

     6.     Calling everyone “Bob”

     7.     Patrice and Leo’s magical treatments

     8.     Yoga everyday with two of the World’s Greatest Bikram Teachers (Thank you Michele and Mark!)

     9.     Dancing around the umbrella on the last night

     10.  Making friends with the coolest yogis around 

Six Years in the Making

On July 30^th Josh and I celebrated our six-year wedding anniversary by traveling to Whitstable, a fishing and harbor town in Southeast England. Rearing for oysters, we stumbled into a lovely open-air restaurant along the sea and ordered one of everything on the menu. While we waited for our plates of oysters, crab and lobster, Josh asked, “If someone told you on our wedding day that six years later we’d be here, would you’ve believed it?”

NO! Six years ago I was a 24-year old Jersey girl who had never so much as been on a plane before. How would I have ever guessed I’d go from lifelong East Coaster to life as a Londoner? Oddly enough, I think it was two days after our wedding that I finally joined the 21^st Century and got myself on my very first flight… an 11-hour journey to a paradise also know as Hawaii. I honestly believe it was that plane ride that set into motion a series of events that eventually lead to our departure from the “world as we knew it” to one of adventure, challenges and new experiences.

I remember waiting in the airport that day, not knowing how I was going to react when I boarded the plane. Was I going to chicken out, cry, grab onto the stewardess’s shoulders and beg her to “let me out of this tin can”? But right before our flight was called, “Danger Zone” (the Top Gun theme song) blared from the speakers and I felt a surge of adrenaline course through my landlocked veins. I was not only ready to fly, I wanted to pilot that flight! Forget Tom, there was a new Croes in town!

After that trip, we eventually went back to our everyday lives in Clifton, NJ, and back to our jobs and commutes. And while life may have gone back to normal, looking back I can now see that, together, we slowly began evolving into something new. Over the next few years we started new careers and took more planes to exotic places. We went skydiving and parasailing, wind surfing and rock climbing (indoors, but it still counts). We moved from Clifton to Hoboken (NJ) to Chelsea to the East Village (NYC) and ultimately to London.

So the answer again is no, that girl six years ago would not have guessed she’d end up on the other side of the world—blogging about it to her 15 loyal followers. Though on some level, I can see that we’ve been moving in this direction for some time now—I’d say about six years to be exact. And I can also say from my heart there’s no one I’d rather be moving with then my husband, Josh! Happy Anniversary!

I Love London

I realize that since moving to London things haven’t always been perfect. I like to think of it as, “moving pains”—a first cousin to “growing pains”. But what I’ve also discovered is that once you live in a place long enough, you get to know the ropes and those aches and pains slowly start to go away. It can then be said that in order to be part of a city you just have to know the rules, and every city plays by their own.

While we may still be learning, there are lots of amazing things we have had the pleasure of enjoying and experiencing as Londoners. Sometimes these amazing things just happen to get eclipsed by a robbery or hot water outage or rancid meat pie, but it doesn’t mean they don’t exist. In fact, just last week Josh and I went for a 6am, 3-mile run to Victoria Park (there’s a first time for everything) and when my endorphins kicked in, there was nothing in the world that could bring me down. Sunshine, green space, flowers, puppies… I was in the epicenter of serenity. This inspired me to think about all of the wonderful things in life, including the many reasons I Love London:

10.  Parks, parks and more parks—and let’s not forget frisbee in the park, BBQs in the park and random dogs who steal your soccer ball in the park.

9. Sunday Markets and market food, from scratch-made noodle dishes to Turkish pizza, green juices and fresh breads. Very European!

8. Historic events, like The Royal Wedding and the 2012 Summer Olympics. (With tickets to see the Olympic men’s soccer semifinals in Manchester!) 

7. Oxford v. Cambridge Boat Race (and pre-post Boat Race activities).

6. Fenton’s Rink for curling—my new favorite sport.

5. Easy Jet—so long as you have a free weekend, a 56x46x25cm carry-on and your tickets printed in advance you can go just about anywhere!

4. 20(+)-day vacation policies.

3. Free Emergency Room services, discovered after nearly cutting off my fingertip in a mango dicing accident.

2. British reality TV, such as The Apprentice UK with Lord Sugar and The Only Way is Essex.

And lastly, but most importantly...

1.  The amazing people I have met and friends that I have made… thank you for showing us the many reasons to love London!

For the Beckers

My brother- and sister-in-law, the Facebook famous Steve and Stacie Becker, were the latest guests to check in at Casa de Croes. Celebrating their first anniversary, they jumped across the pond for their (also first) European vacation. Following in the footsteps of Joe and Judi Stormer, the newlyweds toured London like no other (it must run in the family). From Heathrow to Bath with stops at Stonehenge, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey (site of the second biggest wedding this past year) and of course, Shoreditch, the Beckers saw it all… with 800 pictures to prove it. In honor of their impending anniversary, they also took the Eurostar to Paris were they “hopped on” and “hopped off” at nearly every attraction imaginable. Tres Bien!

Family Photo

It goes without saying that the planning and execution of the Becker trip was virtually flawless. But this wouldn’t be a proper “Life As A Londoner” blog, if I didn’t tell you about how Stacie and Steve’s visit also happened to coincide with our 4-week stint without hot water. Oh yes, 4 weeks, which, according to our management company, is “just how life is sometimes.”

When Josh’s parents were in town we noticed that there something wrong with the water. Perhaps too many showers per day or one too many dishes being washed. Or maybe after a long winter, the hot water decided to go on hiatus. Whatever the reason, our apartment called for a boiler strike. Oddly enough, someone I was working with at the time experienced the same problem. He said he just turned a knob here, flipped a switch there and voila! Well, if you saw our original boiler you would know that it was army green and dusty and looked like it had been erected in the 1960s. There were no knobs or switches or restart buttons. In fact, our first repairman (yes, first of five) told us he could barely look into the matter, because of the way the boiler was basically stuffed into a tiny closet. It’s also worth mentioning that before this repairman came to our flat and tinkered with our boiler, we were at least able to get hot water during the strike so long as the heat was on. In 70-80 degree weather this was less than ideal, but hey, hot water with heating is better then no hot water at all. As you might have guessed, after he left, the hot water stopped flowing altogether.

We were told a valve needed to be replaced and the order was going to be rushed. And when no one called us for a week and a half, we learned that the person in charge of receiving deliveries was out sick. By the time the new part was ready to be installed, Josh and I were leaving for NY. Fortunately, or so I thought at the time, I was able to schedule an appointment for the morning we returned from our trip. It was so nice to think that after an all-day plane ride, we’d finally be able to take a nice, long, hot shower. But 10am Monday morning came and went. After several calls, I once again learned that there was a scheduling muck-up as yet another person had called out sick. I seriously contemplated sending over a jumbo box of multi-vitamins.

While Josh and I have come to expect this kind of thing, what were our guests going to think? I mean, we were handling things just fine. We each took daily showers at the gym, which actually forced us to workout and has to this day kicked off a bit of a fitness high. But what were Stacie and Steve going to do? I didn’t think Fitness First offered guest passes for their bathroom facilities.

So we went back to the management company for another round of, “You better fix this!” - “We’re doing everything we can!” emails. And after visits from two more repairmen, our apartment was condemned! Turns out it wasn’t just a busted valve, but the entire boiler needed to be replaced.

With our landlord’s blessing—that is after several threats—we were granted permission to get a hotel room with compensation. Good, great, problem solved. Josh and I planned to hit the showers after our trip to the Abbey and Stacie and Steve were going to head over later that evening and spend the night there. In all truthfulness, I can’t complain about our shower/stay at the Holiday Inn Express on Old Street. Firm and soft pillows, labeled accordingly, coffee/tea service, free continental breakfast, and lots of movie channels.

We did, in fact, get the handicapped room, which was completely fine, as there was a functioning shower. But to give you a mental image of what this looked like, picture a bathroom with nothing more than a toilet and sink. Then imagine a showerhead affixed to the wall. No tub, door or curtain. Just a drain in the middle of the floor. Oh, and there was also a long red cord. Please note that if you should ever be in a similar situation, do not pull said cord, unless you’ve fallen and can’t get up. Curious Josh pulled it and subsequently alerted the front desk that room 304 was in distress. We had to call reception and cancel what was sure to be a visit from the manager on duty, followed by medical assistance and an ambulance.  

After our weekend stay in the Holiday Inn Express, the new boiler was finally installed by the fourth and fifth repairmen. We celebrated the end of Hot-Watergate by doing the dishes and taking more showers (as one should). And while our visits to the gym may have become less frequent, it feels quite luxurious to bathe without flip-flops.

Cheers to the Happy Couple

To Stacie and Steve I’d like to say thanks for coming, Happy 1^st Anniversary and, every time you take a shower, I hope you think of us!

Taking Europe by Storm(er)

2 Stormers and a Croes

We had our fourth round of visitors these past few weeks, and I must say, I'm starting to feel rather popular. When we moved here, I wondered if anyone was going to take the seven-hour flight just to see us. But we've been very fortunate that so many friends and family are willing to spend their vacation time shacking up in Casa de Croes. This May, we hosted my in-laws Judi and Joe, who embarked on a true European Vacation. I thought Josh and I were tourist extraordinaires, but the Stormers took us by surprise. Everyday they were off to see some new part of England. Stonehenge, Bath, Greenwich, The Abbey, Borough Market, Tower of London and so on…  no artifact, museum or sight was left unseen. They even ventured over to France for five days and stopped in Belgium for a long weekend. With all they had on the agenda we instituted a verbal "check" after each part of their list was covered.

Since our weeks were spent working, Josh and I decided meet Judi and Joe for a weekend rendezvous in Belgium. It's a mere two-hour EuroStar trip and what I'd call a "local country" we had yet to see. I personally hadn't done any research on which buildings and cathedrals I needed pictures in front of, but I did have a list of what I wanted to eat and drink: chocolate, waffles, mussels, fries and beer. Let's just say we tackled that list promptly and efficiently. CHECK!

La Grande Place

Although I'd gone for the food, there were some very interesting sights to see in Brussels, such as La Grande Place and Le Manneken Pis, translation: The Peeing Boy Statue. We also happened to be in town for the Pride Parade, which turned the city into a lively festival of music, color and drag queens! It doesn't get more fun than that.

The following morning we went to Bruges, also known as the "Venice of the North" due to it's scenic canals. Unfortunately, the weather didn't cooperate so we avoided the boat ride and opted for the bus tour. It was the perfect way to view the medieval city and learn all the Jeopardy facts and buzz words while staying warm. Our tour returned in precisely one hour, and of course, it was time to eat again. On the menu: omelets, beef stew, chicory root gratin (not really sure what Josh was thinking with that one) and of course, waffles! Lest we forget pale lagers and brown ales. By the time we made it back to the hotel, we were ready for salads, bananas and bottles of water! 

Before we knew it we were back in London, another great mini-break under our belts. A week has past and as I write this, my in-laws are en route to Delaware after three weeks in Europe. I can't help but feel a pang of homesickness, as I always do when any of our guests leave London. But, happily, I can look back on the fun times and say that we had yet another fun-filled family visit and we knocked two more European cities off the list. CHECK and CHECK!

The Royal Wedding

Everyone has been asking me about the Royal Wedding, and I can't blame them. Since the engagement was announced in October I have been 100% obsessed. I spent the past 7 months of my life thinking about ways I could befriend some member of the Royal entourage and get my invite to the event of the century. Of course my efforts were in vein, as I am nothing more than a "commoner". No famous relatives or bank accounts in Switzerland. I didn't go to a Scottish boarding school. I like to eat dinner in front of the TV watching Jersey Shore. And all my "jewels" were stolen in the robbery. So it goes without saying that the likes of me do not get invited to occasions such as this. But at the end of the day, I'm actually okay with that and here's why...

By the time April rolled around I knew more about Will and Kate's respective families than my own. Did you know that the Middletons eat Sunday dinners at the Bucklebury Village Pub sometimes? Did you know that Princess Beatrice is the first woman in line for the throne (you remember the one with the pink satellite dish on her head, don't you)? Oh, and did you know that the Queen eats cereal everyday for breakfast - from a Tupperware container?! The rascal! 

In every which way, shape and form, "the firm" (the King's name for his clan) had become a part of all of our lives. Day after day we were exposed to up-to-the-minute news feeds, how-they-met documentaries and tell-all interviews. And for some reason I was enamored by it all… the love story, the wedding arrangements, the making of a Queen. I found myself in a frenzy trying to "keep up with the Windsors". 

The day of the Royal Wedding, I woke up feeling like it was my birthday. I made buckwheat pancakes with maple syrup, fixed a cup of tea and sat myself in front of the TV for 5 hours of matrimonial history. From moment one I was sucked into the vortex, anticipating every arrival and, to be honest, every outfit. 

But as I watched the guests arrive in their designated order - the D-listers, the celebs, the diplomats - no one in particular wowed me. Egg-dye was palatte of choice and space-aged fascinators took center stage. I felt like I was watching a Fashion Police Wedding Special of What Not To Wear. In my opinion there were two saving graces: Will, I must admit, look rather dapper in his scarlet Irish Guard colonel's uniform. Regardless of whether or not he earned his stripes, the vibrancy and regalness of his ensemble was a refreshing reprieve from the traditional black tux. My second favorite was Karen Gordon. I had to conduct an extensive google search to get the name of the woman on Earl Spencer's arm, but it was worth the shout out. In my opinion, she was one of the few who truly looked elegant and actually pulled off her over-sized hat. 

By the time it was Kate's turn to arrive, I was full of anticipation. No matter what everyone else wore, surely her dress would have us all squealing with joy. With all the mystery and allure surrounding the designer and the style, I couldn't fathom what she'd turn up in. A gown made of diamonds, dove feathers, angel wings? I was bursting with excitement as she rode from the The Goring Hotel to the Abbey. 

When the moment arrived and she stepped out of her Rolls-Royce, I was completely and utterly… disappointed! Don't get me wrong, her dress was very nice, but I never expected Kate to show up in a dress that was nothing more than "nice".  I mean, after all the hype I half expected her dress to launch into a fireworks to display and sing God Save the Queen in D-minor. And I know Kate's hair is her thing, but would it have killed her to try an updo? 

That's when it hit me. I was spending an exorbitant amount of time immortalizing people who are simply people. The truth is they looked like any other couple, because yes, they are just a couple. Just because they are future kings and queens doesn't mean they actually bleed blue. It's so easy to forget that they are just like you and me, despite a castle of Crown Jewels and a palace to call home. I know you may disagree, but think about it: They have embarrassing family members (Kate's cocaine-snorting Uncle Gary), make regrettable decisions (Prince Harry's Halloween as Hitler) and get upstaged by their siblings (Pippa Middleton and the appreciate day being organized in honor of her royal hiney). Needless to say, once I came to terms with the fact that they aren't characters in a Disney movie and they aren't going to fly off to Neverland for their honeymoon, I was no longer interested. 

British Fever

In the end, revelations aside, I still had an amazing time. After the wedding, Josh and I took the tube to Piccadilly Circus, met with friends and toasted our "commonness" with half-price drinks. And for that I can say, it was a very special day for this Londoner!

I Got My Invite... or maybe it's just a Happy Hour ad!

Highway Robbery

Hello Loyal Blog Readers! I'm sorry it's been so long since my last entry. You might be wondering where we've been. Questioning what sorts of English shenanigans we've been up to. I'd like to say Josh and I have been involved with London life, ya know, striking against the budget cuts, protesting the Libyan government, sitting outside Buckingham Palace hoping an invite might drop out of the window. Alas, I have no idea about that stuff. I don't even know who's designed Kate's wedding dress! I'm shamefully out of the loop (and haven't watched Super Nanny USA in weeks), and it's basically because I got a J-O-B. No exotic, adventurous explanation here. I got a job, got busy, and my Life as a Londoner became just Life. 

The good news is that we've acclimated enough to say that life in London feels fairly routine. We get up, go to work, run at the gym (sometimes), make dinner, leave the dishes in the sink and catch an hour of Two and a Half Men before falling into the deepest realm of REM sleep humanly possible. Not exactly the most exciting schedule, but I guess it means that we've made it. On March 25th we hit our 6-month mark here and it officially punctuated the day we went from being "foreigners" to "locals". We no longer need a map to get to the grocery store; we accept the likelihood that a transit strike, signal failure or planned engineering work will screw up our commute; and we know that when a menu boosts pancakes we're likely to get a short stack of crepes. I even find us saying things like "let's take the lift" and "cheers" in place of thank you... 

Then came the robbery! And with that horrific act of injustice, I instantly felt like I had been transported back in time. Back to those first few months of chaos and calamity. To the days when Starbucks was the only place with a functioning Internet and IKEA was truly a 4-letter word. While Josh thinks the robbery was our final rite of passage (get robbed, get respect), I've come to think there's some sort of English Poltergeist trying to scare us into going back home. 

But after the instantaneously feeling of dread and despair, I actually felt rather calm in a rather short period of time. Maybe it was the Gemini in me or maybe it was as if all the crazy experiences we had in the first 6 months trained us to deal with just about anything. Perhaps everything we'd been through was just practice for the big game. I've come to expect the unexpected and accept the unacceptable. As they say, whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Not to dwell on the details, but for the sake of the blog, here's how it went down: I was at work. It was 6:10pm. The sun was still casting a strong stream of light through the city - the best part about a "spring ahead" time change. I'd forgotten to put my phone on silent, so when my ringer went off I immediately dropped what I was doing to mute it. Of course I had to rummage through my purse first, spilling out lipsticks and receipts and mixed currency until I found it buried underneath my arsenal of supplies. In the process of paralyzing the volume I also managed to hang up on Josh, who I noticed had called and texted me several times in a fifteen-minute period of time. I took a moment to ponder why he was so desperate to speak with me (I guess I really am that cool)… then my phone rang again and I answered it before anyone in the office located the source of the disturbance. 

"Josh?" I whispered in a low raspy voice. To be clear, it wasn't a sexy, phone-operator rasp, but the kind of hushed tone you use when you have your head under your desk so no one knows you're on your cell phone taking a personal call. "I'm still at work. What's up?" I expected him to ask what we were doing for dinner or tell me that he missed me so bad it hurt (well, maybe not in those exact words). Instead he said, "Did you hide the computer?" Of course I didn't hide the computer! I left the computer exactly where I always do: in the living room on the couch near the radiator - right where one would expect to find an expensive piece of modern machinery. To that he replied, "Oh, well, don't panic... It seems like the laptop is the only thing missing and nothing's messed up, but I think we've robbed." Though it wasn't so much as a "thought" as a reality. The busted door frame and crowbar dent were evidence that I wasn't playing hide-n-seek with our Mac Book Pro and we had officially been burglarized.  

When I walked in I hugged Josh and then went about accessing the damage. Looking through as much of my things as I could without actually touching anything. The police had informed us to sort of float about and use our magical powers to open draws and such until they were able to dust for fingerprints. 

The assessment yielded the following positive results: The TV was still in place (thank God), the PC was hooked up and our new plants were shaken but unharmed. The place was indeed a mess, but that was our fault. I was actually kind of worried the police would walk in and think the bulgars threw our clothes around and left toast crumbs in the hallway so they could easily find their way out. But they didn't seem concerned by the mess and, unless I'm being paranoid, I really don't think they were concerned about any of it. They didn't so much as shake our hands, give us their names or extend an apology. It even occurred to me that they might be the robbers! I've seen Home Alone. A fake badge, a couple of walkie talkies and you're a cop. 

The next day the SOCO man arrived, aka is the Scene of Crime Officer. On a side note, I think SOCO sounds like the name of puppeteering school that teaches people how to entertain with hosiery. "CSI" is way cooler. Anyway, he came and dusted for prints and found none. This surprised me because he never took our prints nor did he take anyone else's who had been in our flat. How did he know that the prints he found didn't belong to the robber? It was all smoke and mirrors as far as I was concerned. I knew, as well as the police, that the odds of cracking the case was as great as our odds of getting a FedEx package. 

And that was that. Within 48 hours life went back to normal. I didn't (and don't) feel scared. I'm not mourning over my things. And I'm genuinely happy that no one got hurt. In fact, I find it rather ironic that when we first moved in I complained via blog that we had way too much stuff - and one too many hats - anyway. So maybe on some level this was the universe's way of sorting out the clutter and letting me know it reads my blog... and if the universe is reading your blog, you'd better write something.