Back before COVID-19 upended our lives, many of us took travel for granted. It was just part of what so many of us did in the summer, during holidays, etc. After a year of staying put, we’re antsy to get out and enjoy the bigger world. Maybe you’re planning a road trip. If so, you might be able to get away with bringing all your usual yoga practice essentials. But if you choose to fly somewhere, you need to pack more judiciously. Bulky items take up precious space in our roller bags. All too often, our yoga mat has to stay at home. Enter the Tapas Travel Mat.

What is the Tapas Travel Mat?

Back in the ’90s, some traveling yogis requested that Hugger Mugger Yoga Products design a packable yoga mat for travel. So we got to work on a mat that could fit easily into the average suitcase. Our Travel Mat is a scant 1/16-inch thick. You can roll it up thin and cinch it onto a backpack or fold it to the size of a medium-sized sweater and place it in your bag.

Our Tapas Travel Mats are made from latex-free polymer environmental resin (PER) which has been extracted from biodegradable plant secretions to produce a plastic-like material. It contains no heavy metals or phthalates. Like all our Tapas Yoga Mats, the Travel Mat has a nonskid surface.

In addition to traveling with your travel mat, you can use it in your regular practice. Its nonskid surface keeps your Yoga Practice Rug or Yoga Towel in place for a safer, more secure practice. At just below two pounds, it’s lightweight and easy to transport to the studio and back.

Here are the specs:

• Thickness: 1/16″
• Weight: 1.4 lb.
• Dimensions: 24″ x 68″
• Price: $24.95

Whether you’re off for a yoga workshop, retreat or vacation, or going on a sightseeing tour, it’s nice to have a familiar friend along for the journey. The Tapas Travel Mat is a great companion to share your next adventure, and many more to come!

Here’s a post that outlines three regenerating yoga poses for road trips.

Sayulita is a small, laid-back fishing village about 25 miles north of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. It’s the perfect place for a honeymoon if you just want to be on a tropical beach and do as little as possible.

In our vast, open schedule, I imagined we would find time for lots of yoga classes, but that was not to be. First, there was the food poisoning—from the airport in Salt Lake City, which struck before we even landed. Then, I got the kind of cold that hits when you can finally let down your guard after a stressful event (like a wedding). My sweet husband tried to help by fixing us each one of those emergency vitamin drinks, but he used water from the tap. There’s a reason you don’t want to do that in Mexico.

It seemed the universe was reinforcing my “do as little as possible” mantra, just not in the way I had envisioned. Luckily, we met a local yoga instructor, Tanis Hofmann, who came to our room for a private restorative class on our balcony. She brought along mats, blocks and straps, and led us in cleansing twists and long-held poses. I love hearing how different teachers cue poses. For Vrksasana, we turned toward a thicket of palm trees with graceful fronds. Tanis invited us to notice the way they moved in the gentle wind, flowing sideways. We became fluid trees, rooted, yet not rigid. That Savasana to the sound of the waves as the sun set was the best rest I’d had since well before the wedding.

Tanis drew us a map and shared some insider tips on places to explore. On one of our better (less sick) days, we took a walk. Just past our hotel, a dirt road forked uphill through a shady cemetery. We passed moss-covered tombs on our way to Playa De Los Muertos, a beautiful cove with clear water.

We wanted to check out Haramara, an off-the-grid retreat center (imagine oceanside thatched huts with no electricity), and maybe take a yoga class. With the map as a guide, we trudged along a winding cobblestone road, past land crabs, iguanas, and noisy chachalacas. Haramara’s expansive grounds were surrounded by walls. While probably great for a private, exotic retreat, it didn’t appear very inviting for a drop in, so we kept walking.

Just when it seemed we might be lost in the jungle, we saw the ocean through the trees, and there it was—a pristine, secluded beach. Across the sand, a couple sat at a table encircled by rose petals. Just then, a man walked up and asked if he could help us. “Where in the world are we?” I asked, incredulously. “Playa Escondida,” he said. Luckily, we were able to have dinner as the sun was setting before taking a cab home through the now-dark jungle. Playa Escondida has yoga classes almost every morning, if you’re lucky enough to find your way there.

Yoga seemed to be everywhere in Sayulita. Even our hotel, Villa Amor, sometimes hosts retreats for Via Yoga and others. Summer is the off season, so although it’s hotter and even more humid in Sayulita then, it’s much less expensive and less crowded. I’d love to go back and swim in the 85-degree water, catch a glimpse of dolphins and whales, and eat fish tacos.  This time, I won’t drink the tap water.

Practicing yoga outside in the sunshine is idyllic. Maybe there’s a gentle breeze flowing, or you’re so close to the ocean, you can feel the wind off the waves. A change of scenery can shift your perspective, and inspire profound reflection.

But what happens when it’s so hot outside, you can’t even touch your mat? Dark colored mats get really hot in the direct sun. Suddenly you’re not reveling in the fresh air, or the scenery. You’re looking for the nearest shade, or the nearest bodega where you can buy a cool drink.

If you are planning to practice outside—at a festival, in a park, at the beach—bring a towel. Besides being too hot to touch, your mat might get too slippery if you sweat a lot. I love The Yoga Towel Hugger Mugger makes because it is sticky on one side, and sustainable bamboo fabric on the other. If you get sweaty, the bamboo fabric will absorb your sweat, and you can use the towel as a sticky mat.

If you’re not sweaty, the fabric probably won’t be supportive enough, and you’ll be using your core strength to keep from slipping in poses like downward dog or warriors one and two. So if you’re not sweating, you can turn the towel over and use the grippy side for stability. It works great if you’re on a surface like grass or concrete, or on top of your regular mat. And you can fold it up and stash it in your bag—less conspicuous than your regular mat.

Tips For Practicing Yoga Outside

I used to teach outside in Puerto Rico on a deck overlooking the beach at sunrise. It was the perfect time in the tropics, because the sun was low and the temperature was still mild.

But when the sun is higher overhead, and there’s no shade, practicing yoga outside can become overly agitating. Here are some tips to keep your outside practice healthy.

Time of day. If you can’t escape the sun, practice earlier in the day, before it gets too hot.

Look for shade. Even if you’re hoping to get a tan while practicing, find a shady spot. Direct sun will feel great for a while, but even in the shade, your practice will heat you. And you don’t want heatstroke before you settle into Savasana.

Don’t forget to hydrate. Take care of yourself and bring water to refresh yourself.

Do you have other tips for practicing yoga outdoors? Share them below!

As soon as I found out I was heading to San Francisco for a work event, I looked into taking another class from Rusty Wells at Urban Flow Yoga. “If Rusty Wells started a cult, chances are I’d join it,” someone named Khanjera tweeted recently. If I lived in San Francisco, I’d probably be a regular at Urban Yoga for Rusty’s deep, sweaty, lovey and chanting-infused classes. Rusty wasn’t on the schedule that day, but MC Yogi was subbing for him! Sweet!

Urban Flow Yoga is only six-and-a-half blocks from the hotel where I stayed, but it was a very long, nerve wracking, and smelly walk down Mission Street, past a man pissing in a corner and a myriad of stark, ravaged-looking homeless men and women­—another reminder of the economic divide I don’t usually see at home in Salt Lake City.

There was a line up the steep stairs to the donation-based studio. Someone in front of me rented a towel as he checked in. Later, I wish I had done the same. It was very hot inside. And incredibly loud. You know what it’s like walking into a class and it’s like a temple, quiet and meditative? That’s not at all what it was like. It was like a nightclub, and not just because there were three disco balls hanging from the ceiling. The background noise was so elevated that people had to practically shout to socialize. I remembered from my last visit that Rusty encourages people to say hello to the people around them.

But beyond the din of 100 or so voices, I was struck by the music. I wouldn’t know who MC Yogi is if not for his music, so I suppose this should not have been unexpected. His music mixes sacred stories and chants with backbeats and scratches. Even his mostly instrumental OMstrumentals CD totally rocks. There he was at the controls in the very back of the room, wearing cords, a long-sleeved shirt, and big black-framed glasses. He didn’t look like he was about to teach a yoga class. He looked like a skateboarder about to terrorize a retirement community. He was already setting a tone with his playlist. I have often wondered what would MC Yogi play? And what would MC Yogi teach?

Music and Metaphors

He turned the music up even more and called us to stand at the front of our mats. He led us in three loud Oms. Then he clapped once, so loudly I was utterly startled. “Are you ready?,” he asked.  I wondered if I was! It was already so hot people were sweating. He led us through a flow class deeply inspired by Ashtanga. He talked a lot, using unusual metaphors, such as suggesting our backs were like solar panels as we crouched in a variation of Utkatasana (Chair Pose), backs parallel to the ground. Our spine was like a vine where grapes grow, and our breath crushed the grapes (our thoughts) to produce wine. At one point on our backs, he asked us to imagine all of San Francisco is having a party on our stomachs.

But his teaching went deeper than the imagery. Our hamstrings weren’t just muscles—they held the DNA of our family’s past. As we were forward folding, we were undoing negative karma passed down through our families. He wove Buddhist teachings into the practice, starting with a verse from the Bhagavad Gita about what a difference it makes even if you experience even just a drop of devotion.

It was so hot that I was drenched and eventually couldn’t even do downward dog on my trusty travel mat. Yet this was a level 2-3 class, and people around me were actually still jumping back and forward, even transitioning from Navasana (Boat Pose) to handstand. The woman next to me slipped and fell when we were jumping. The man next to her fell from headstand with a thud so loud that MC Yogi came over to check on him.

I didn’t know if I could finish, but luckily he ran out of time and we wound down quickly, with a two-minute Savasana. As I left, I saw him at the front desk, glowing. I went up to him and tried to say something, but I was tongue-tied. Good to see you, he said. Finally, I stuttered a thank you. “Do you share your playlist?,” I managed to mutter. He said yes, “if I can remember it, but I don’t even know what I played.” He had that post-yoga teaching high. When I asked if any of the music was his, he said “Yes, probably.”

What did he play? I couldn’t remember either, though it started with some reggae, interspersed with some omstrumental-sounding stuff. At one point, it was loud as a nightclub again, and we were dancing and shaking out our bodies primally. Class wound down with a little floor stretching to some sexy sounding tropical music reminiscent of Hotel Costes.

One of my favorite parts of the class came during reclining pigeon. “Push your knee away, he encouraged, like it’s your boyfriend who has said something that pissed you off. You love him, but you just want to get away.”

“It’s good to have space, he said. “Now pull it back. It’s good to fight, because then you get to make up.” My hips have never felt more open.

The walk home seemed much shorter. I caught a glimpse of a reflection of myself in a store window, and I looked beaten and haggard as the homeless people around me—red-faced, crazy hair, sweaty and smelly. It made me laugh, not just at my prior judgment, but also because I felt totally happy and maybe even at one.

We were late to getting to class, again. On a Saturday morning in December, instead of hopping off the subway at Union Square for the quick walk to YogaWorks for Chrissy Carter’s class, my boyfriend and I stayed on the subway a little longer and headed to Jivamukti.

Just after 10:30 a.m., we saw our first of many Santas. There was definitely a side of me rooting for Santacon pub crawling over yoga. People dress up as Santas (and elves and reindeer), and progress through neighborhoods, drinking yes, but also donating canned food and raising money to feed the hungry. We decided we could always meet up with the Santas later.

When in New York City, I’m like a kid in a candy store trying to decide which class to take, wanting them all. I was disappointed that we missed Chrissy’s class, because she’s such an awesome teacher—plus that YogaWorks location used to be called Be Yoga, and it’s where I did my first teacher training. But Jivamukti is a spiritual haven in New York City, and I knew they had classes starting all the time.

Class had already begun, but the sweet woman at the front desk urged us to go ahead and enter. We didn’t know anything about the class—who the teacher was, or even what level it was. I don’t think we could have planned it better if we had known what was going to happen.

Full class? No problem. We crouched in the back against the wall as the teacher talked about sangha. Don’t worry, we’ll find space for you, he said. He led us through chant number 16 in the Jivamukti book:

sat-sangatve nissangatvam nissangatve nirmohatvamnirmohatve nishchala-tattvam nishchala-tattve jivanmuktih

bhaja govindam bhaja govindam bhaja govindam mudha-mate

The book translates it: “Good and virtuous company gives rise to non-attachment. From non-attachment comes freedom from delusion. With freedom from delusion, one feels the changeless reality. Experiencing that changeless reality, one attains liberation in this life. I-AM is the ocean of awareness. Realizing this, one feels, “I am not the body and mind, although I have a body and mind.” Realize Govinda, realize Govinda, realize Govinda in your heart, O wise one! (Interpretation by Shri Brahmananda Sarasvati)

The teacher played harmonium and led us through the chant. In a crowded room, it can be challenging to let go of annoyance at the lack of space. Or, quite possibly, I thought later, of annoyance at latecomers disrupting the class.

Toward the end of a road trip to spend Thanksgiving with my boyfriend’s family in Gilbert, Arizona, we snuck away to a yoga class. We had searched online for a place to practice, but by the time we finally left that Saturday morning, we realized we would have been late to the studio we had planned to attend. Everything seems extra spread out in Gilbert and the surrounding towns—mile after mile of strip malls surrounded by gigantic parking lots.

Thank Shiva for MindBody, the iPhone app that lists nearby classes by time. Yoga Deva was literally the closest studio we could find that started at 9 a.m.  And  “warm flow” — the class description — sounded perfect.

Yoga Deva is beautiful, indigo blue with metallic and wood finishes. Shosh, the teacher and owner of the studio, checked us in. We asked about the temperature, because my boyfriend was worried it was going to be hot yoga.

It turns out that Shosh was trained in Bikram yoga and taught it for years, but her approach is much more gentle. Hot yoga depletes people and the stress of the routine actually causes them to carry fat around their bellies, she told us. Shosh has evolved her style, and her classes are much more creative. Not the same 26 poses in the same order, always.

Shosh started by chanting to Patanjali, and led us in call and response chanting of the first yoga sutra: Atha yoga anusasanam (“And now the teaching on yoga begins.”). Tuning in, breathing together, I let go of the stress of the 12-hour drive to Gilbert, the worry about the return trip, the judgment over the glutenous holiday food I had indulged in (despite recently being diagnosed with gluten intolerance), and the preoccupation with all that still hadn’t been finished at work and home. For 90 minutes, I was at home, far away from home.

Yoga Heals, No Matter Where or When You Practice

What I love about yoga is how it balances and heals. No matter where I am, whether it’s in a group class or on my own, whether it’s a luxurious long class or a few stolen minutes at home (or lately, at work), yoga hits my reset button.

I’ve often thought about what it would be like to study with the same teacher for years and years. I’m grateful that I get to be a yoga nomad, studying with teachers of many lineages. There’s great discipline in the single teacher, single sequence approach.  I get that, and sometimes I wish I could have it.

But then I wouldn’t get the unexpected dance-like variations on half moon Shosh led us through, her playlist heavy on Donna De Lory interspersed with pop music, and I might never practice toe standing and balancing like we did that morning, watching ourselves in the full length mirrors as we teetered, fell, and got back up.

As we were leaving, we talked to Shosh about her path, which has led to Nithyananda, a young Indian guru who says he is the reincarnation of Lord Shiva. We left dreaming about yoga retreats, India, Ayurveda, and people who believe they know who they were in a past life.

Traveling Yogi is a new periodic feature on our blog. Author Jodi Mardesich loves visiting new studios as she traverses the country.

Just a block from the Third Street Promenade in downtown Santa Monica, in a super high rent district (with a Barneys New York Co-op–enough said), sits a small studio called Bhakti Yoga Shala. Small, and more Santa Cruz than Santa Monica, this tiny studio has so much heart.

I arrived early for the Sunday 10 am Kirtan Flow class to meet my friend Lo (Y is For Yogini). While waiting for Lo, I watched Govindas and Radha arrive with their cherubic son. Govindas entered the shala, while Radha breastfed their son outside.

I had experienced Kirtan Flow once a year ago, and to this day, it’s my most profound yoga class experience. This second class was even more beautiful than the first.

We started in savasana. Radha strummed the guitar, singing Om Shanti, Shanti Om. Govindas led the class in breathing and connecting, and encouraged us to join her singing. A cute percussionist wearing a t-shirt that says “Life begins at the end of your comfort zone” enhanced the vibe through drumming.

Combining breath and movement turns asana into a moving meditation; the addition of voice raises things to another level completely. Adding voice to breath and movement is totally revolutionary.
The class began so slowly. We raised our arms, folded forward, and rose again. Over and over, we chanted lokah samasta sukhino bhavantu. May all beings everywhere be happy and free.

Chanting Sri Ram, Jai Ram, Jai Jai Ram, we invoked the devotion of Hanuman. Chanting Om Namah Shivaya together, we destroyed the illusion that we are separate. Govindas led us in a sequence in which we stood in rows, holding each other by the waist, folding over into Virabhadrasana III (Warrior III). If one falls, we all fall. Yet we didn’t fall.

In kirtan, we chant the names of Hindu gods and goddesses, invoking their energy. Ganesh is the remover of obstacles; Shiva is the destroyer of illusion. Kali is the goddess energy of creation. We stood and clapped, chanting Jai Ma, Jai Ma, as energy built. I couldn’t help but smile. Despite the slow gentle start, we ended with the windows completely steamed over, ectsatic and connected. We ended again in savasana, chanting lokah samasta sukhino bhavantu again.

After class, Lo and I met Sarah, who sold me my harmonium. She said we needed to meet Govindas and Radha. While introducing us, she mentioned that I had bought her harmonium. Govindas agreed to teach me via Skype. I dream of some day playing my harmonium in class and guiding people toward this kind of devotion.

When I got back to Salt Lake City, I emailed Govindas, asking him about the genesis of Kirtan Flow, since I haven’t heard of or experienced anything like I had that day. “It was a totally organic manifestation that came through both Radha and myself’s love for two things, kirtan and vinyasa yoga, and how we could integrate them together at the same time,” he wrote. What I experienced that day was the product of six or so years of exploration and just “playing around” with the fusion, he explained. “What I love about it is that it really seems to bring the bhakti into the asana.”

How to decide which yoga class to take, or studio to visit, or even which hand-poured coffee to drink when visiting San Francisco? One Sunday morning in June I made the difficult choice (ha) of drinking both Blue Bottle and Ritual Roasters coffee in Hayes Valley before heading to Shakti Church with KK Ledford.

KK has a devoted following she calls the Kosmic Kula, or KosKul for short. My friend Dave Atlas, an Anusara devotee, is one of them. Dave told me to meet him at the Ritual Roasters around the corner from Yoga Tree a half hour before class. I’d been to KK’s class a year before, so I knew I wanted to go back, just like I wanted to get another amazing coffee beforehand. Problem was, I went to the wrong amazing coffee kiosk. The last time I was in San Francisco, I’d stopped at Blue Bottle Coffee one street over from the studio, so I thought he must have been mistaken when he said to meet at Ritual Roasters, because it’s in the Mission, not Hayes Valley (or so I thought). I haven’t lived in San Francisco in ten years, yet I went down the same old paths thinking things were the same or that I’d get the same results–something I find I keep doing in life: making assumptions that prove wrong, or following the same pattern rather than approaching things with a beginner’s mind.

Comparing the rivalry between Blue Bottle and Ritual to that between Coke and Pepsi doesn’t really do it justice (their coffee is in an entirely different league!), but they are competitive, and their fans just as rabid. They both take forever to pour the perfectly hot water through freshly ground beans using a glass funnel. Drinking the high octane drip over at Blue Bottle, I texted Dave, and found that he really was at Ritual. There’s a new-ish pop-up kiosk, basically a coffee hut made out of a shipping container, just around the corner from Blue Bottle. Luckily it was on the way to yoga, and how could I say no to a cappuccino? The coffee and the cappuccino were both delicious, and I was absolutely buzzing when I arrived at Yoga Tree for Shakti Church.

KK walked in wearing a rainbow tunic, rainbow knee highs, neon eyeshadow and toenail polish, and feathers in her hair (which is wild long blonde with blue tips). Yes, it was Gay Pride weekend, but this is also pure KK–rainbows and light. She’s like a cartoon character come to life. “I KICK ASS AND SPRINKLE GLITTER” is how she describes herself on Facebook. She infuses her classes with astrology. When you are in a KK class, it’s impossible not to know what’s going on with the planets, and why, for example, you might be struggling, or in a dark phase, or just about to break through into the light.

KosKul regulars crowd into the front row of the crowded studio. It’s not an unspoken rule; she lets you know that. She’s fierce and bossy–and inspiring. And her cues are phenomenal. She doesn’t spout the expected Anusara cues. She goes deeper. Way deeper. She knows her anatomy. My hip flexors and hamstrings and quads were engaged and in new-found harmony after lots of heart-opening lunges. And somehow the almost-all Lady Gaga soundtrack just fit.

On the way out, I bought some Shining Shakti tie-dyed radical pants–blue and green, like gaia. KK’s were pink and orange. Yes, I did fall under her spell. When I wear those pants, though, I feel my mojo rising and I’m ready to kick ass and sprinkle glitter.

Later that afternoon, I wanted to drive up to Point Reyes to MC Yogi’s studio for a “playdate” with Janet Stone, another SF teacher I love (and hello, MC Yogi!), but another three hours of practice after Shakti Church would have been excessive, and though I do like excess at times (Blue Bottle AND Ritual before yoga?), KK’s class left me utterly blissed out and satisfied. And I was free to explore the city and see friends rather than succumb to my wanderlust and end up trying to fit too much in.

You can (and should) follow KK and her Wild Moon Wisdom page on Facebook. I adore her and can’t wait to reconnect when I’m back in San Francisco next month.

Last April my friend Danielle and I drove to Moab, Utah, for the last two days of Shiva Rea’s desert retreat. We talked the whole way down, effortlessly, as we meandered down the highways of Utah, stopping to take pictures along the way–of deer antler heaven, decrepit houses and barns, yoga altars, and gorgeous majestic red rock formations–all the way unwinding.

We didn’t know that Saturday night’s class was trance dance. When we found out, we weren’t thrilled. But sometimes isn’t that the way we respond to something unexpected, holding on to expectations of something we know or understand? Even better when what unfolds transforms you.

We started meditating and chanting to the sunset. The clouds parted just as the sun was setting, so Shiva had us turn to face west, and we watched the sun descend through the arched windows (The Moab arts and recreation center used to be a church, so it was a beautiful setting).

Staring at the sun made it challenging to see the text we were chanting. The page glowed. But after several repetitions, it started to make sense:

Om Agniye Swaha

agniye idam na mama

Prajapataye swaha

prajapataye idam na mama

It was a metaphorical fire-keeping, staying connected to our core truth and tending to our inner light.

And then we danced. So hard that I got this lovely blood blister on my big toe.

“In our bodies, our heart is the seat of our inner sun-fire circulating the sun’s energy through nutrients on our bloodstream as well as a vibrational information from the pulse of the heart to every cell in our bodies,” she writes. The Agni Hotra mantra got us ready for the trance dance, which shakes and moves everything. We started with slow yoga-like movements, then rolled around on the floor, moving spontaneously to music. We gradually got the heart rate up, dancing to our inner rhythm, eventually jumping, slapping the floor, laughing, and totally boogying. Shaking out the crud, liberating ourselves from sadness and fear and shame. Not caring how hippie we might look, or what anyone else thinks. We danced until the dance danced us.

Once, at a global mala project event in LA, Gurmukh led us in a 20-minute simple kriya–we shook every part of our bodies. We jumped, shook out our hands, wrists, arms, feet, legs, bellies, chest, and heads … It literally felt like we were retuning our bodies to a higher frequency by shaking out all the negativity. Trance dance reminds me of that kriya. The result was shaking free of depression and negativity. What a gorgeous way to fire up the weekend.