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Zung got up early. Very, very early. He left with the boys for their fishing adventure. More on that later. I went back to sleep. I was up around 7 though. I never sleep that late on vacation. In my real life I am up at 6:45 every day that I have to go to work. Not ridiculously early. Back when I was a real nurse I was not only up at 6:45 am, I was at work, showered and presentable (‘course it took a LOT less to be presentable in those days), at work and functioning.
Yea, those were the old days.
I got up and headed off to the buffet for breakfast. I took my trusty iPad and checked the news. Nothing momentous had occurred, thank goodness. I’m sure I had tea, possibly a Mimosa, for sure some bacon. There was probably a roll involved. I didn’t take notes, so I can’t be sure. But I do remember that there wasn’t a lot of variety and at the end of the trip I was glad to be done with this buffet. (Actually, there was a huge variety, just none that I wanted to partake of).
I missed Alex (my favorite breakfast and lunch waiter at the Grand). Although, the service at breakfast seemed perfectly adequate. It even improved as the week went on. I think it helps when the waiters get to know you. I do remember that Juan was a good breakfast waiter.
One of the things that Zung really enjoys (besides his omelets) are the fresh donuts at the Grand. The donuts at ERC were pathetic. Another thing that was different is they don’t leave the milk on the table. I drink my tea with milk (very British, you know). If I couldn’t catch my waiter right away I would just go back to the buffet and get some milk in a glass to use.
After breakfast I went back to the room and dressed for yoga. I would have brought more work-out clothes if I had known I was going to be working out so much. All this working out was very unlike me.
It was my last day with the Yoga Tyrant. I sat on the steps of the spa and watched for him to arrive. This dude was tall and all of a sudden he would come into view between the buildings, a smooth, long stride. He always wore the same shirt, which he quickly discarded upon arriving to the gathered group. Underneath was a well toned chest to focus on while we did our balancing poses.
The group today was different than the first time. Those other people must have gone home.
Yoga Tyrant had grown on me. I’m not sure why. He still barked at us to “Oxygenate!” and, “Lock leg!” He still asked us to do unreasonable things with our bodies. I, increasingly felt like he spent waaayyyy too much time correcting my poses. He was constantly putting his hands on my legs and hips. He started murmuring, “Good, good,” as he did so.
Dude, forget buying me dinner. I think it’s time to introduce you to my parents.
The class ended. I told him this was my last class. I thanked him for the classes. Why did I say that? Thank you for torturing me? He put his arm around me. Okay, we’re gonna do the “Latin’s have different body boundaries than us US Americans.” He leaned in very close and told me that he really liked my yoga and, wait for it……… my daughter is beautiful.
Yes. Yes, she is.
Then he kissed me on the cheek (yes, Latins are free with their kisses – I only kiss men that are my husband or sons, and this dude was neither). I asked him his name, but I would never be able to remember what he told me.
So, I would forever have to remember him as the Yoga Tyrant.