Third time’s a charm: Laughter yoga in Hanoi
The first time I heard of laughter yoga, or laughing yoga, was when I volunteered at a yoga and meditation center in Pokhara, Nepal.
Laughter yoga was part of the daily schedule for those volunteering at and attending the center’s yoga and meditation retreat. We’d all sit in the outdoor courtyard, watching the owner lead us through multiple rounds of laughter yoga. We started sitting cross-legged on our mats, heaving big fake belly laughs as we waved our arms up above our heads and then slammed them down to the mat. The first several laughs were fake but as I listened to everyone hemming and hawing around me, my laughter turned real as I basked in the joy filling up the courtyard. Another type of laughter yoga was practiced on our backs, legs and arms moving in the air as if pedaling a bicycle or cranking a gear (or flailing around like a flipped bug) as we again heaved great big laughs, making them as hysterical or as wacky as we wanted, slowly transforming them from fake into real laughter.
The second time I practiced laughter yoga was at my yoga teacher training in Doi Saket, a town about an hour east of Chiang Mai in Thailand. That time we danced and moved wildly in circles, making wild, hysterical sounds of laughter as we zoomed in and out of the shala, creating funny faces as we looked at each other, and turning our fake laughs into peals of joy.
I take a deep breath of fresh air as I step outside my hostel in Hanoi, grateful to be away from the humidity and stale air of the dorm. It’s my first day waking up before 6 am since ending teacher training in January, and I’m excited to get back into a daily routine of early mornings, moving my body and being outside before the city comes to life with the beeps of passing motorbikes and the chatter of hawkers.
Today is the Lantern Festival, the 15th day of the Lunar New Year when the moon is full in the sky. In Chinese culture, and back at home with my parents, we eat 團圓 (tang yuan), glutinous rice balls filled with a sweet filling, red bean, peanut, or black sesame, that are as white and round as the full moon. It’s the first year — maybe ever — where I haven’t had plans for New Year, but never mind: I soak in the red decorations, colorful lanterns, and painted Chinese characters that frame shops on the street because the Vietnamese celebrate the Lantern festival too. I’ve already noticed many similarities between Vietnamese, at least in Northern Vietnamese, and Chinese culture during my first week, here. Part of it is likely due to prolonged Chinese rule of Vietnam from 111 BCE - 939 CE which influenced Vietnamese language, religion, and art.
I begin my walk around Hoan Kiem lake but at the last second decide I’m going to be rebellious and walk counterclockwise so I can people watch people’s faces rather than people’s backs. As I walk around the lake I notice the grannies and older ladies dancing and exercising to the blare of music from large boomboxes you typically see on stage at a high school auditorium. They are still going about their morning routine despite today’s rain - some are moving underneath the shelter of the trees’ branches, others are dancing under the overhang of nearby stores.
I veer a bit off course and wander into the French Quarter away from the lake. Five steps in and it doesn’t look interesting, so I make a plan to turn around at the next intersection when suddenly I hear peals of laughter: a group of grannies are gathered in a circle, raising and lowering their hands while launching into big belly laughs.
This group meets at 6am every morning for laughing yoga. Due to the rain, they’ve moved location to the sheltered overhang of a nearby department store where I stumble upon them. I approach with a big smile on my face - their joy is contagious and it’s hard not to catch it. They invite me in their circle and I join, echoing their movements in their version of laughing yoga. I feel their joy and their sisterhood as they move their bodies and chant and laugh to welcome the day. We hold hands and dance in a circle; we give each other back massages in a massage train; we close our eyes with hands in prayer as we give thanks for this moment.
Afterwards one of the ladies asks me where I’m from, and I say “Taiwan” - I’ve learned that usually when someone asks me the question “where are you from?” what they really want to know is “why do you look they way you do (Asian)?”. Another woman comes over and shares that she can speak Chinese, so we begin to chat and get to know one another. I’ve always been glad to speak another language, but I’ve never been as grateful to speak Chinese in a non Chinese-speaking country. While traveling in Vietnam, I’ve encountered several locals who speak Chinese (with a Taiwanese accent!) and as result I’ve had more meaningful conversations than if I’d spoken only English. My Chinese enables me to form a connection with Hai, and learn more about her group of laughing yoga practitioners.
Other grannies come over and distribute oranges and cookies and red envelopes to celebrate the Lantern Festival. One smiles and presses oranges in my hand - I feel a sense of familiarity and community, as if I’m being welcomed home. The ladies eagerly wave me over to join their photos to commemorate this morning’s practice. We pose and I marvel at how they all know how to set up their best angle, popping an ankle or flaring an elbow to get the most flattering photo.
Soon it’s time to disperse - the ladies to the rest of their day and me to the rest of my walk. I’m invited to come back tomorrow and join for another round. I feel at home.
