YOGA SPRINGS ETERNAL
This Bavarian retreat will be the perfect spot to show off the moves you can learn on TV
By the time we emerge on the other side of the virus crisis, I predict that far more men will be yoga enthusiasts. the internet is awash with selfisolation yoga videos.
there are reports that men who once resisted the lure of the mat are putting aside their prejudices and snapping into a downward-facing dog pose.
earlier in the year I did my bit to narrow the ‘gender yoga gap’, joining many flexible, Lycra-clad women at a retreat in the Bavarian Alps. Out of a class of 20, I was one of only three men. the other two looked a lot more confident than I felt.
this was at Schloss elmau, a legendary haven of yoga, massage, and impeccable service, an hour’s drive north of Innsbruck.
Our instructor, Patrick Broome, was a staggeringly supple teutonicesque pin-up, who for a decade had been a guru to the German football team. On seeing him, my fear of humiliation increased. hitherto, my only knowledge of yoga came from a Geri halliwell video I once bought in a charity shop in a moment of madness. I had barely ever watched it.
Luckily my fears were misplaced, and I was able to form a passable plank position and warrior pose. But make no mistake, yoga is hard. Particularly the kind practised at Schloss elmau which, as the hotel’s owner Dietmar Mueller-elmau emphasised, is ‘not hotel yoga’.
At the start of each lesson I made my way to the back of the class, so Dr Broome might not see me. My thighs quivered like the proverbial aspen, and during a sun salutation, I sometimes surreptitiously lowered my aching arms.
yet fortune favoured me. During the second session, Dr Broome sidled up to me to adjust my posture, and said he was amazed I was a beginner. ‘I’ll bet you say that to all the boys,’ I replied.
After two hours of yoga, I was pretty knackered. thankfully, Schloss elmau is full of spas. As Gabrielle, my masseuse, kneaded my calves and told me all about her passion for megaliths (she was just back from a trip to Stonehenge), I reflected on the happy balance of yoga followed by massage.
More soothing still was the Relaxation Room (the clue was in the name). Apart from a skimpy bathrobe, the infinity-edged pool was the only thing between me and the snow-capped peaks. there’s nothing like an uninterrupted view to stir philosophical speculation. the process is also helped by the fantastic food and wheat beer in the Schloss’s restaurants.
I resolved to incorporate yoga into my daily routine in the UK. Of course, I had no idea then that a crisis was coming which would help me keep that resolution.