My motorbike pulls up to the spaceship-looking building and
a guard smiles and waves as if I’m a long lost friend he hasn’t seen in
ages. I enter the large opening in the building
and directly opposite is a room full of mirrors and glass with about fifty
sweaty bodies. At first, I look away but
I cannot avert my gaze for long. They
are wearing incredibly short spandex shorts and matching sports bras. This must be a qualification for this room
because the fit bodies and…developing…bodies are all wearing it. The music is blaring and their hips are
thrusting and gyrating. Am I in Da Nang’s
finest red light district? No – I’m
watching Zumba. My roommate can attest
to this suggestive workout as she is a bit of a regular.
I don’t realize I’m staring until one of them looks over at me. My whiplash heel turn was probably pretty
obvious. I locate the dimly-lit room I
was looking for and quickly flip my sandals off, spread my towel out on an
unattended mat and assume the laying position everyone else is in.
[Crap! I’m
late!]
One minute later, the instructor speaks softly in Vietnamese
and everyone rises in unison, grabbing their belongings to leave. I’m not late.
I’m early. And I just crashed
this class’ meditation. Awesome.