Zen
Funny Bones
TEXT HAZEL DAVIS PHOTO CORBIS / GETTY
Hazel Davis is tickled pink with laughter yoga in Budapest.
It’s the wrong side of 6.30am and I don’t feel particularly funny — I haven’t had any caffeine yet and I’ve eschewed the five-star comfort of the Gresham Palace, Budapest’s swankiest hotel, in favour of tramping up a large, grassy hill to interact with a bunch of people I have never met in a language I can’t speak.
As I reach my destination, I see two people fling their arms open wide, throw their heads back and roar at each other. They are oblivious to me and I’m left standing there, feeling very awkward.
I am here to take part in a laughter yoga session. The couple I’ve seen are part of a group who meet on Gellert Hill every Monday morning, come rain or shine, to start the week with a smile.
But it’s freezing cold and I’m finding it hard not to scowl. Instructor Ferenc Domjan, a beaming Hungarian, introduces me to the assembling throng which immediately puts me more at ease.
The rapturous laughter with which the two members greeted each other earlier is repeated each time someone new arrives and I relax properly as I’m reassured that they weren’t laughing at me. But then I begin to worry that I won’t be able to erupt spontaneously in such an easy fashion.
As the class arrives in dribs and drabs, Ferenc begins to warm us up with some simple stretching exercises, delivered — praise the swami — in English as well as Hungarian.
There are about ten people in the group, most of them Hungarians of a certain age. But there is also a handsome young man with long hair and a heart-melting smile, and even a couple of Japanese tourists.
Ferenc calls out types of laughter he wants to hear from us and we oblige. “Now the laugh of someone who is very shy, through the fingers,” he says. I have no problem with this one but it also does the trick — my own social ice begins to break and I begin to look at my classmates with more interest.
The next exercise involves laughing at someone with whom you are arguing. This entails pointing at someone and guffawing like they are a complete fool. It feels very liberating for an inhibited Brit like me to be able to abuse a stranger in this way.
All the exercises are interactive and require you to look at someone and laugh with them or at them. This means that within minutes an intimate bond forms between us and suddenly I feel perfectly at ease hugging complete strangers.
There is a stunning-looking woman with long brown hair and an animated face. Judging by her physical appearance she must be a “proper” yoga devotee and enters into the spirit of the session with gusto, encouraging me and singling me out for attention, making sure I have a partner when one is required.
For anyone who has ever tried, the Hungarian language can be one of the most difficult to learn and the linguistic barrier often makes attempts to converse with the Budapest locals a bit frustrating. However, today we are communicating purely through gesture and it’s a pretty amazing thing.
One of the exercises involves pretending to look at someone’s passport picture and laughing at them. This is typical Hungarian humour, laced with schadenfreude (or legszebb öröm a káröröm). However, one lady — despite all of us having been instructed to use no words apart from nonsense words — eyes my fictional picture, grabs my hand and whispers, “beautiful”.
As we run through scenarios in which laughter might be required, it strikes me that laughter yoga is less a spiritual practice more a social strategy. And it’s not a bad one. After all, didn’t Mark Twain say that humans’ only really effective weapon is laughter?
The practice was born in 1995, the brainchild of Dr Madan Kataria, an Indian doctor and yoga student who wanted to harness the medical benefits of laughter. There are now more than 6,000 laughter yoga clubs in 60 countries.
Ferenc tells me he got involved when his brother, a doctor, met a woman in Florida who claimed that her cancer was partly cured by laughter yoga. He says that he has had cancer patients in his groups who claim the therapy has done them more good than any conventional medicine.
And this activity — although it takes place at an unholiday-like hour — is perfect for people who want to meet real Hungarians and don’t fancy standing around awkwardly in a bar. As Ferenc says: “We don’t need language — laughter is universal.”
At the end of the session, I feel slightly bereft that I have to leave. The faces of my fellow group-members have become so familiar to me in such a short space of time and, although we have hardly said jó napot (or hello), we have shared one of the most friendly and intimate of experiences.
As I cross the Elizabeth Bridge over the glittering Danube and the sun begins to warm me, I realise that the day hasn’t even really started yet and already I have lots to laugh about, not least that I am in a stunning city, I have a five-star breakfast followed by a luxury Tokaji massage waiting for me on my return to the hotel. Altogether now — ah, ha, ha, ha!
For information on Laughter Yoga Budapest contact Ferenc Domjan: +36 20 971 6187 rabies@freemail.hu
Hazel Davis stayed at www.fourseasons.com/budapest
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