Next up, I tried out the Centre de Yoga du Marais. From the bios on the website, it seemed that most of the teachers were American-trained and many in the Kripalu tradition. On Tuesday, I meandered through the hipper-than-thou streets of the third arrondissement with their nameless boutiques and restaurants to a small (really small!) studio on the street level. Despite the mammoth pole dividing the room in two, the studio was warm and welcoming, with candles and little shelves built into the walls, filled with inspirational photos and trinkets. There were soft blankets and quality mats available, along with blocks, belts and bolsters. The regular teacher and owner wasn't there, and her class was led by a lovely girl named Chantal. If the class itself had been a little harder, I would have been in heaven. Chantal was fantastic, hands on, non-judgemental, and better yet, funny. Now I know that yoga is what you make it, but I like to sweat. The class was 90 minutes long with some difficult asanas, but it was sloooooow- and not slow in a good way, slow in that we paused after every single asana.
I talked to Chantal for a while after class and she expressed some frustration with the level of the class. She said that although she was certain her students could go further physically, mentally, they showed no interest in doing so. The French are inherently lazy. I'm sorry, but it's true. They like to do just a little bit, never too much- if you push them too far, they start to complain. They are a very sensitive people! Just look at all the fuss they've kicked up over working on Sundays! As if Sundays weren't the most depressing day of the week. I'd be happy to work a Sunday for them. Call me, I need a job!
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