In the Eye of the Hurricane, part 1
When a tropical paradise turns into a danger zone...
On the very, very long list of things I never expected to experience in 2023, at the very top is “surviving a category four hurricane.” But here we are! After giving myself some time to recover and reflect, I’m ready to tell you the story of the retreat that wasn’t.
In October, I was so excited to co-facilitate my very first international yoga retreat, hosted by Drift Yoga Escapes, and co-led by my friends and colleagues Nancy and Vivian. We took a group of adventurous yogis to the remote beach at Xinalani retreat, located about an hour by boat from Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. I’d been looking forward to this trip for months, as a chance to learn from my teachers about hosting a retreat so far from home, and to soak up some teachings and rest for myself, as well.
Xinalani is a really special place. Nestled into the hillside between a thick jungle and the Pacific Ocean, with sweeping views of the Mexican Coast, this oasis is a hidden gem, tucked away from the world in the privacy of lush trees and foliage. To get there, you travel by boat - really more like a skiff, with bench seating, an awning to provide shade, and rain jackets to protect you in the case of rain. (Spoiler alert: we needed the rain gear.) And if you’re prone to seasickness, this boat might be a bit of an adventure, as it definitely skips across the waves on a good day, and bounces like crazy on a bad one.
Landing on the beach, you hop out of the boat into knee-deep ocean water that feels like a warm bath, and assisted by staff from the retreat, begin to climb the many stairs, past the adorable cabana bar, up to the dining platform where you’re greeted by reception and offered tea and other nourishment. The retreat is staffed by some of the kindest, most resourceful people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, truly helpful and knowledgable about the region. (The food was a true gift - nourishing, delicious, and unexpected, prepared by the wonderful chef Louis Fernando, who we all fell in love with and looked forward to taking cooking classes with.)
Once you’ve got your key in hand, you start your climb to your palapa - depending on your accommodations, your climb may be long and steep, winding up twisty steps and across bridges slippery with the frequent rain in the jungle. Some of the rooms have air conditioning, but most are open air, with a balcony overlooking the sea and mosquito netting covering the beds, and home to many lizards and insects and other friends passing through. From your perch high on the hillside, you can see the most beautiful sunrises and sunsets, and truly forget the rest of the world.
The day we arrived at Xinalani, the weather turned very quickly from humid and sunny to dark and stormy - and that happened in the first fifteen minutes of our nearly hour-long boat ride to the retreat. We quickly put on raincoats, and our bags were wrapped in plastic, but we still got extremely wet on the way to our beach landing, and were fairly drenched when we checked in at reception. After a brief snafu with our lodging, Nancy and Vivian and I hiked up to our room, where for that first night, we would all three share a king bed. After that, Nancy had her own room, and Vivian and I shared an open-air room with twin beds.
The rain and thunder were persistent all through that first night, and the three of us carried giant umbrellas to keep ourselves mostly dry when we hiked down the stairs for dinner, which was delicious and abundant. We also celebrated our first night with a much-needed margarita, and went to bed really excited for everyone to arrive the next day. By the time we made the climb back up to our beds, it was pitch black and super wet outside. Most of the stairways were well-lit, but in several spaces, due to the heavy rain, lanterns had tipped over or gone out completely, and we had to really carefully watch our steps as the wooden bridges were extremely slippery. But, it was lovely to crawl in bed and fall asleep to the sound of thunder, which is one of the things I miss the most about living in the Pacific Northwest. (If you didn’t know, thunder is extremely rare here in Seattle.)
Saturday morning dawned sunny and beautiful, and Nancy and Vivian enjoyed a morning yoga class while I took a walk down to the beach. We then had a delicious breakfast and planning session, followed by some relaxing beach time for just the three of us. I remember thinking, when I got in the ocean for my first swim, that the water was the warmest I had ever swum in, but I didn’t think too much of it, because I was just so excited to be swimming in warm, open water (another thing we do not have in the Pacific Northwest).
By mid-afternoon, we could see clouds forming over the ocean. The first skiff containing about half of our guests arrived, and they were a little damp, but when the second boat arrived, the rain had set in, and those folks arrived to pouring rain, just like we had. We kept our spirits up, though, and climbed up to one of Xinalani’s several yoga spaces for an evening practice, piling our umbrellas and soaking-wet shoes by the edge of the platform, and enjoying the sound of rain and thunder as we moved our bodies. Everyone enjoyed our first dinner together, which was again delicious, and it was so fun to see people starting to chat and get to know each other in this gorgeous, serene space.
During the afternoon on Saturday, I heard for the first time that a tropical storm called Lidia was forming in the Pacific and moving in the general direction of Puerto Vallarta, but I didn’t worry too much initially. Having spent a large chunk of my life on the east coast, including several years living in North Carolina, I’m pretty familiar with hurricanes and how they work, as well as when to worry. I knew that it was just as possible that the storm could dissipate or change course, and thanks to my decade of therapy, I was able to let go of any worry for the time being. But I did feel a bit unnerved knowing there was a reason that ocean water was so incredibly warm.
Sunday was extremely humid and sunny, and folks were eager to get out and explore the retreat, the beach and the daytime excursion options after our morning yoga practice and breakfast. Some people went on a snorkeling trip, while others opted to hang out at the beach or pool, or to rest in their rooms. I spent as much of my downtime as possible swimming. On Sunday evening, we held a sound bath and yoga nidra session for our guests, and had our formal opening circle, sharing our intentions and hopes for the week ahead, and then we made our way down to the dinner platform to eat.
While we were having dinner, Vivian was tucked away for a long time talking with the staff in the reception office. At the table, the mood was mostly jovial, aside from a couple of guests who were concerned about the tropical storm. Nancy and I knew that something was going on, and waited to get an update from Vivian. Soon, we were called into the reception area, and Vivian shared with us that the tropical storm had escalated and was expected to make landfall pretty much exactly where we were standing, and likely as a category two hurricane. Because of Xinalani’s extremely precarious position on the hillside next to a small beach (and the fact that most of our rooms were open to the elements), our retreat and the other retreat group on site were both to be evacuated back to Puerto Vallarta on Monday afternoon.
Immediately, Vivian went into fixing mode. She worked tirelessly that night to secure accommodations for our entire group in a hotel that was about 4 miles from the Puerto Vallarta coast, where we could ride out the storm in safety and stay all the way until our originally scheduled flights, if that’s what people chose to do. We knew that it would be difficult, if not impossible, for all the attendees to get flights early enough to bypass the hurricane. There were very few tickets available, and the ones that were available were mostly very, very expensive, and effectively priced out most of our guests, some of whom had stretched their finances already just to be able to make the trip. Our goal was to make sure they were safe, with shelter and food, until their planned flights. From there, if anyone wanted to leave early, that would be their call.
It’s interesting looking back on all this. From the moment we heard about the situation on Sunday night, I felt scared, like a low-grade anxiety sitting deep in the pit of my stomach. But that was mostly fear of the unknown. I’ve dealt with hurricanes before, I’ve evacuated prior to a hurricane before - but this time, I would be riding it out. I knew from the moment we found out that we would be evacuated that I would not leave my guests. I would stay until the storm passed. The way I saw it, I brought those people to that place, and they were my responsibility, at least in terms of providing them a safe option to shelter in place, and a steady presence to help sort out issues and find solutions to problems. There was no way that we could pay for everyone to fly home early, even if enough tickets had been available, but I felt very committed to seeing this thing through alongside my guests.
The response when we told the group that we were being evacuated was a range of emotions. Some folks were clearly and obviously scared, and began making plans to try and leave Puerto Vallarta ahead of the storm. Some folks were more calm, and a few were even able to look at the whole thing as an adventure, knowing that by the time the storm hit, we would be safely tucked away in a giant concrete box of a hotel with a couple of back-up generators. More than half of the group was resigned to sheltering in place.
On Monday, we got up, packed all our belongings, and brought our bags to the dining platform to await the boats that would take us to Puerto Vallarta. The other retreat group ended up leaving first, and then our group was evacuated all in one boat. The weather was calm as we left, overcast. Off the coast, the storm was ramping up and moving toward a category three hurricane. Once we landed in Puerto Vallarta, two vans arrived to transport us to the Hampton that would be our home for the next few days.
From there, the group continued to splinter. Nerves were frayed and tensions were really high. I led a yoga class that evening before we all went out to dinner, and it was one of the hardest sessions I’ve ever had to lead. But I think, if I was reading the room right, that moving and breathing together did help. We went out for a nice dinner all together Monday night, enjoying delicious seafood and cocktails, knowing that the next day, some members of our group who had been able to secure tickets would leave, and the rest of us would remain and need to be resourceful.
Tuesday morning, I awoke to learn that Nancy had decided to leave along with a few of the others, so only Vivian and I remained to watch over the remaining six people. It’s hard to describe the way I felt that morning - anxious, but that doesn’t even begin to cover it. If I’m being honest, I was terrified. Not having sat through a hurricane before, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I knew we would be physically safe (that hotel was like a cement fortress) but I didn’t know how inconvenienced we might be. How loud would it be? Would we have enough food? Would the power and internet hold out? How bad would the damage be after the storm? How long would the airport be closed? Would we have to wait for our original flights home on Sunday, or would we be able to find something sooner?
To be continued…
xo,
