Though it seems reasonable that not every traveler laden down with luggage, sleepy, and bracing for hours on a crowded flight would be game for a surprise ashtunga attack, Gabriel and his colleague Sara Sheikh, long-trained in the blissful arts, disagree.
"I think that most people can relate to needing to loosen up a little," Sheikh says. "Or at least that's my positive attitude."
Remarkably, she was right. Whether it's the recent surge of yoga's popularity or the persuasive charms of these two teachers, all morning long scarcely a soul declined to breathe and stretch - at least a little. And the few that refused certainly seemed to have fun watching.
At one point yesterday, the bus was stuffed. On the right sat Lois and Don Derham, a senior couple from Chestertown. Across from the Derhams was the Polk family - Tim, Ingrid and daughters Kristin and Natalie. Patrick Small, a big man with a buzz cut hauling camouflage duffel, settled into the back seat.
Hearing that some yoga was in store, Lois Derham, a snowy-haired grandma with pearl button earrings, said, "Wonderful! I'll put my ticket away and maybe I can relax."
Gabriel, who wore earthy silver jewelry studded with turquoise, asked the packed shuttle bus to breathe so much air deep into their tummies that it spilled over into their lungs.
He encouraged everyone to straighten their spines and push them back against the gray, synthetic shuttle cushions.
No one was listening more attentively than Small, the big guy in the work boots.
With his eyes closed, he stretched his ear to his shoulder, dropped his chin to his chest, thrust his chin un-self-consciously toward the ceiling, looking less paramilitary and more Zen with each calming exhale.
When the bus emptied between runs, the lithe Gabriel swung from the overhead bars like a gymnast and twisted himself into shapes pretzels would envy.
He paid no mind to the sign near the windshield: Remain seated until bus stops. In fact, he joked that he might try some handstands.
When bus driver John Harris, quite fit at 75, heard the part about handstands, he joked: "Watch him! If you see him on his hands back there, let me know and I'll slam on the breaks, see how far he goes."
After Orean D. Chatman maneuvered his Lexus into a long-term spot and pulled his suitcase from the trunk, he slid into a seat in back of the shuttle - talking on his cell phone all the while.
Gabriel stared at him until Chatman, putting his hand over the receiver, asked, "Yes?"
The yogi explained his mission. He hoped Chatman would hang up the phone, put his hands on his knees and drink in a cup of deliciously restful parking shuttle air.
"Ah, I'm already relaxed," says Chatman, who happens to have written a novel about a man on his way home for the holidays who witnesses a murder. "But I appreciate it though."
Seconds later, determined yogi Jean-Jacques Gabriel, the sort of guy that forsakes a traditional handshake for a two-handed number that's more caress than pump, has Chatman rotating his tight wrists and inhaling deep, rhythmic breaths.
At the Southwest terminal, Chatman's stop, he thanks Gabriel profusely.
