| Greece | Rest and relaxation The Guardian Saturday July 26, 2003 |
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| 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. | ||||
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