Chez Cascadia

Here’s my warm-up to exotic India:

I’m staying, for a couple of days while in Olympia to take a yoga workshop from my original guru, David Garrigues, at a place called “Chez Cascadia,” which bills itself as “the best and biggest (and only) hostel in Olympia.

Sitting in the one private room (Splurge! It’s twice as expensive as the dorm beds, but then I’m a twice as old as any of the guests), listening to a guy play Cat Stevens’ “Old Man” on the guitar (not badly, actually—way better than his version of Don McLean’s “American Pie” a few minutes ago) and trying to get myself sleepy enough so I can get enough shuteye to be up at 4:30 for the workshop.

It would probably be easier if I weren’t getting the waft of brown rice and stir-fry from the communal kitchen, but maybe if I imagine myself back in 1975 (which shouldn’t be too hard given the surroundings), I can pretend I’ve hitchhiked here (rather than taken the bus) and am exhausted from standing on the side of the road with my thumb out for the past three hours.

I probably could have checked into a regular hotel, but this place seems a lot more in keeping with what I’ll be doing down here and since it’s somewhat out of my comfort zone, probably a better preparation for what’s in store for me over the next couple of months.

I want to shake myself up a little and have experiences that aren’t necessarily as comfortable as I’m used to or even as I prefer. It’s odd to think that one would cultivate discomfort and I’m not sure that’s what I mean; I do, however, want to not be driven primarily by what feels good, at least at the expense of my opportunity to learn something.

This doesn’t mean I’m going out of my way to feel bad; I am, after all taking the private room.