'I knew not to expect the tree-huggers and the chanters," says the nice blonde. "It's usually a more neurotic type of participant. Like me, really." And with that, we spoon more yoghurt and thyme-scented honey into our little glass bowls, the reward for the two hours of punishing yoga.

The fact that I am in the depths of southern Greece on a yoga retreat is no more surprising to anyone than me. It's not the yoga (which I love) or the location (which is as beautiful as it is remote). But as we crossed the deep narrow gash that is the Corinth canal - the halfway point between Athens and our destination, the tiny and hot village of Limeni in the middle finger of the Peloponnese - panic seized my soul. I was, I feared, hurtling towards Yoga Big Brother. I was to spend a week in southernmost mainland Europe with a group of unknowns, tortured not so much by regular exercise but the hell that is other people.

The blonde is right though. The group that has gathered for a week of astanga in this magical place is not here to embark on a spiritual journey, nor prepared to deny themselves wine with their evening meal, cigarettes after breakfast or the odd mobile phone call, and only a couple of them are even mildly irritating. And I was wrong. They are not the type to sit around picking their collective toenails discussing the state of their collective bowel movements in the great tradition of BB.

The assembled astangites include a TV producer, a head of marketing, a delicatessen owner, a location finder and a shiatsu masseur whose popularity rating definitely takes a leap upon disclosure of her profession. Countries of origin include India, Japan and the US. The teacher, Kristina Karitinos Ireland, is a former dancer from Athens and her assistant, Michael Anastassiades, is a Cypriot designer living in London. Dinner conversation tends towards subjects such as Murakami's Norwegian Wood, how to hire an architect, travels in Costa Rica, and favourite restaurants. "Dynamic, driven, competitive perfectionists," says someone at some point.

Take Madonna, for example. She's not here (thank God, she'd only put us to shame), but she made a lot of noise about astanga yoga a few years ago. It had been rediscovered in the 1930s by an Indian Sanskrit scholar named Sri K Patthabi Jois. Its slogan is 1% theory, 99% practice, which is perhaps why it appeals to the sort of people who have to spend a lot of their professional time thinking. It's unadulterated hard work; it makes you sweat; it makes you fit. It's invigorating enough done in a chilly London church hall, but quite another when the view out the window is of an ancient range of rugged mountains falling into the sea and, just prior to practice, you have watched a raspberry pink sun rise over the deep still waters of a tightly curved inlet.

Halfway through my week away - having reached an all-time flexible high - I weakly try to visualise myself sitting at my desk, fretting over my keyboard and can't even conjure up the feeling of the office. Upon my return, friends say they can hear the bliss in my voice.

Of course, it isn't just the practice of yoga that is turning my head. The peace and perfection of this part of Greece, known as the Mani, is having quite an effect. We walk through hills fragrant with wild thyme and oregano. We eat succulent leaves picked from the side of the paths, lightly boiled and tossed in olive oil pressed just a few kilometres away, and pick apricots from trees outside our window. We go to the nearby town of Areopoli to buy sacks of herbs and litres of honey, and down freshly made souvlaki and ice cream. The five-hour drive from Athens has so far saved the Mani from the greater perils of tourism and pollution, and even its native population has gradually wandered away to the cities, though the grandchildren are beginning to return - at least for their holidays.

Maniátes are said to be cold and tough, warmongering types who have fought fiercely for centuries for their independence, and for that of Greece itself. The Hellenic historian Tim Severin believes that the perfectly circular bay of Mezapos, just south of Limeni, is the one in which Odysseus docked, only to be stoned by giants from above. They're big people, you see, the locals; traditional; self-protective. Until the late 50s, underage pregnant girls were taken into the fields and shot and centuries-old feuds between families were sustained with no small aggression until they were outlawed in the early 20th century.

The legacy of this way of life is a landscape dotted with defensive towers that date back to the 11th century. Every family had one. Many Byzantine churches with highly decorated interiors, with which warring people tried to rekindle favour with God, also remain alongside crumbling mini villages abandoned by families fleeing enemies and rivals. The Limeni Village hotel, built in 1992, tells you what they would have looked like: the architecture has barely changed since the 10th century, and the hotel comprises small, square stone buildings clustered down the cliff, until you reach the (very contemporary) brilliant blue swimming pool. Below that, down a steep, stone path and past a small white church, is the clear warm sea and five minutes further round the bay, a fish restaurant where the produce goes straight from sea to table via an outdoor grill.

On the last day, over calamares and sea bream, Kristina tells me about her discovery of yoga 12 years ago and how it led her to meet her late husband, Derek Ireland. He died two years ago, but in his lifetime was a keen sportsman, who took up yoga after bad injuries. He went on to become the man most responsible for bringing astanga vinyasa to Britain and is remembered by many as an athlete, and by some as a god.

From him, we have inherited Kristina, who tells us to breathe 200 times in a two-hour class, pushes us beyond our limits, and tells us when we are doing something "bazaar". She is a tough teacher, but not beyond the occasional joke, and her own suppleness and stature are encouragement enough, though I sometimes wonder if she really took up astanga to stop her back giving way beneath the weight of her very womanly breasts.

Yoga, of course, is full of factions, and not all of them agree. Even on our Hellenic sojourn, a radical hatha teacher manages to sneak her way in and picks us off one by one to dissuade us from continuing with astanga: she says that it is too dogmatic and too hard on the body. It creates a minor and rather amusing scandal of sorts though not half as exciting as last year's where a single roving male got seduced one night in the darkened yoga room by a lonely lady who liked a drink. But that, I'm afraid, is another story.

Way to go

Getting there: Olympic Airways (0870 6060460, (olympicairways.co.uk) flies from London and Manchester to Athens from £135pp inc taxes. Yoga Practice can arrange taxis from Athens airport to the Mani (approx €150 for four people).

Courses: Yoga Practice (020-7928 7527, (yogapractice.net) holds its next astanga yoga retreats in the Mani from September 5-12 and 12-19. £450pp (two sharing) for one week, £800 for two weeks, including full-board at Limani Village hotel and morning classes. Single supplement £130 pw.

Further information: The Greek National Tourism Organization (020-7495 9300, (gnto.gr).

Country code: 0030.

Flight time: Heathrow-Athens 3hrs. Taxi Athens-Mani 5hrs.

Time difference: GMT +2hrs. £1 = 1.35 euros.

Seriously astanga

· If you're really serious about all this, you'll head for Mysore in India and study at the feet of Patthabi Jois, the sprightly (and now rather wealthy) 87-year-old who has brought astanga vinyasa yoga to the world. You have to attend for a minimum of one month, and be prepared for the company of intense Americans who have adopted an Indian style of dress.
· (ayri.org), 26,900 rupees for the first month; 16,900 for each month thereafter. Food and lodging extra.

· Closer to home is the Yoga Farm in Penzance, where weekend retreats are aimed at beginners, and week-long sessions are tailored towards improving teachers or those with experience. Combines beautiful beach landscape, organic food, a bit of chanting, astanga and iyengar, and the softly spoken Irish charm of Elizabeth Connolly.
· 01736 361301, (yogafarm.co.uk), weekend retreat £225.

· With one shop, one hotel, a population of 165 and hanging off the very edge of Europe, Clare Island, off Ireland, is nothing if not an antidote to urban stress. Workshops are run by Ciara and Christophe, who even a hoary old astanga hand describes as 'very serious about yoga' - a terrifying thought. Accommodation is in simple local cottages. Superb vegetarian food.
· 00 353 98 25412, (clare.yogaholidays.net), five-day retreat £295.

· Sleep on a platform in the jungle, live without electricity, improve your practice, take up riding, surfing and kayaking, and help society by going to Tierra de Milagros in Costa Rica - the fee includes a donation to a Peruvian orphanage and a Costa Rican rainforest fund. The experience, overseen by Sonya Luz Hinton, is highly rated by those who have been.
· 00 1 505 758 8007, (sonyaluz.com). The next nine-day session (January 23-February 1) costs $1,250.

· For those who don't wish to extricate themselves entirely from society, Ibiza Yoga might have the right slant. Accommodation is in the Bauhausian Villa Roca or the fancy Villa Palma, situated on Benirras beach in the island's beautiful north. And if you're lucky, you will be adjusted by the world-famous Danny Paradise (he taught Sting, you know). Alternatively, just book on to an 18-30 in San An, stay off the lager, and sign up for a week's practice for £125.
· 020-7419 0999, (ibiza yoga.com); full week from £395 to £1,150 (price does not include all meals).

·Prices include accommodation, food and tuition except where stated.