Britnie
My husband has labeled my a food bigot. After this jaunt, he can no longer say that (although I'm sure he still will). The only reason I am able to swallow this food is because I know it contains no animal products, so at least I know it is from nature... but so is the stink of the sulfuric mud pots in Yellowstone, so that's a moot point. I was very open minded the first several days, even eating chunky onion yogurt. I have tasted the onions ever since and probably will forever more. I was able to wash it down with what the other patients here call “hot river water.” The river water is so refreshing. Apparently it is some kind of herbal anti-oxidant water. I think it tastes like cheap chap-stick; Justin thinks it tastes like a Christmas candle. Admittedly, it has grown on me, but I often find myself longing after a cold bottle of water and something fresh to brush my teeth with... like Coke. Or a Slurpee.
Last night we ate something I decided to call “stove top stuffing” due to the unidentifiable assortment of shapes, colors, and textures. I closed my eyes and masticated. Believe me, I would rather have eaten anything from a turkey's hind-end than that crap. Pretty much I've resolved myself to put food on spoon, put spoon in mouth, chew chew chew, swallow, put down spoon, chase down with hot river water. Repeat. I will say that there are some good dishes. I've eaten a large amount of fresh pineapple, watermelon, mango, and grapes. I also enjoyed a pomegranate and bananas that I smuggled in before the retreat began. One night there was also a dish that tasted like caramel with bananas. I keep hoping they'll serve that again, but that might be an exercise in futility. In any case, now I know where the inspiration comes from for the food served at old folks homes, airplanes, and public schools.
Visit with the Doctor
Doctor: “Did you go to karali today?”
Justin & Britnie: “No.”
Doctor: “I will set an appointment for you.”
Justin: “You said that the past 3 days, but there is still no appointment, but we actually don't want to do it, so we can continue with this lip service charade if you want.”
Doctor: “That will not do, it is part of your treatment. You will report to the guru at 2 pm tomorrow.”
Justin
Karali is a bit like karate and bit like personal training. It consists of a slightly larger loin cloth than the massage room, learning some high kicks while a man with a stomach the size of a beer keg shouts things in a language you don't understand, with the promise that if you do this well, in 6 days time, you will be able to use the weapons.
The first day we did kalari, Britnie didn't wear a bra. This may sound like an odd choice, but she only packed 1 for the entire summer and the laundry here takes at least 3 days to get back because they don't have dryers and it is super humid and quite cold. We also think they do the laundry by banging them on rocks down in the muddy river. But I digress. The guru kept asking Britnie and me to do random kicks and jumps and lap runs. I was fine doing this and was actually quite enjoying the workout. However, Britnie was not interested in anything that involved her ample bosom jiggling up, down, around, or upside down. The guru kept yelling at her to jump and work harder, but Britnie is not one to ask “how high” when told to jump. She folded her arms on her chest, looked him straight in the eye, gave him that stern teacher look I have come to laugh nervously at, and said, “no.” I'm sure the language barrier was not a problem, but the cultural barrier went into effect. I'm not sure that many people, especially the ones with bosoms, tell a guru man “no.” Needless to say, Britnie has not returned to kalari lessons since.
I, on the other hand, have gone about every day. I have learned some wicked-cool ways to strain my hamstrings and cause bruising on my ankles. I even did an exercise that made my pecs spasm so bad that I couldn't feed myself at dinner. Thankfully the dinner doesn't much appeal to me so it wasn't a huge loss. I have joined in with a few other of the, how should I call them, “patients” at the retreat. I consider myself a customer, but I think maybe “patient” is more likely. I have been having an educational time with my new British and Russian friends watching the skirt-clad guru do strange jumps in which his scrotum comes flying out of his skirt. It is difficult to not laugh hysterically when this happens, but one stern look from the guru and a swift karate chop within millimeters of my nose stifle the laughter.
The Town
Thank the heavens for the town 40 minutes away. We were able to find regular bottled water and Kit Kats. This is proof that Jesus only forsakes you for a short time, but always pulls through in the end. For more information, visit www.mormon.org :)
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