Taking time

There were certain things I expected to encounter at Wanderlust: people who were bendier than the road to Milford Sound, t-shirts sporting the ‘ohm’ symbol, sculpted limbs and dreadlocks.

But certain things I didn’t predict, specifically: singing Whitney Houston’s "I Will Always Love You" while struggling to hold a challenging yoga pose inches away from a middle-aged Taranaki man in fits of contagious laughter.

Our teacher, an American yogi, obviously works on the principle that humour is a great distraction when you’re pushing your body’s boundaries. And it is, more or less – until I laugh so much I fall over.

I’m a first-timer at Wanderlust, a four-day yoga and wellness festival held just outside Taupo. The festival began in the United States in 2009, and Jonny and Jacqui Halstead brought the Wanderlust concept to Kiwi shores in 2014. They say the festival is aimed at ordinary Kiwis interested in mindful living: "it’s a trinity of yoga, music and nature".

As we check in, classes are taking place indoors, in open-air marquees, and underneath a sky streaked with grey clouds. People lounge on the grass by food stalls, sipping coffee or smoothies. There’s a whole lot of relaxation in the air.

We pitch our tent and hurry to a workshop with a raw food advocate, yoga instructor and life coach who leads a group of around 100 women through identifying what we’re passionate about, unpicking the fears holding us back, and committing to small steps towards our goals.

None of this is new: it’s the stuff of a thousand self-help books and inspirational memes. But in a world of distractions, deadlines and commitments, checking in with yourself every so often is actually really important.

Besides, when people stand up and talk about what they want to achieve, I realise how we really aren’t alone in our fears and insecurities – and just how
many fascinating paths people
are walking.

One woman weighs up the impact on her family of taking on another foster child; one decides whether to take a position of responsibility in a regional food initiative; another talks about her dream of teaching yoga to miners in Western Australia, to address their high rates of depression and suicide. As they commit to the first, smallest step towards their goals, it feels like we’re witnessing big change. I get goosebumps.

The yoga classes cater for all abilities, and trying something new is part of the fun. There’s acroyoga (blending yoga and acrobatics), slacklining (slow-moving yoga while balancing on a line suspended a metre off the ground), blindfolded yoga, aerial yoga and more.

I discover yin yoga, a practice that’s all about slower, supported movement and deep stretching rather than building strength. It’s still challenging, but feels more achievable and attending an outdoor class one bright blue morning leaves me feeling particularly peaceful.

Music often accompanies the yoga and meditation sessions, and international bands keep the dance floor full late into the night. Though there is wine tasting and a bar on site, alcohol never affected the atmosphere.

"I love this; there are no drunken munters!" grins a woman from Tauranga, bouncing her young daughter around the resort’s heated swimming pool as darkness falls.

The final day dawns cool and clear. Whenever I open my eyes from the early meditation session, accompanied by the eerie, echoing sounds of a handpan (a small, domed percussion instrument), my eyes slide over a wall of green: bushes and trees in infinite shades, with a smidge of lightening sky above them. At the end, I feel a little more ready to deal with whatever the week throws at me.