Water. For such a ubiquitous resource, it isn't half held in high regard.

The alleged healing quality of the wet stuff at Lourdes. Niagara Falls being deemed worthy of world wonder status. The ingenious marketing idea of companies selling bottled water - you know, that free liquid - at an extortionate mark-up.

It's also possible, of course, to enjoy water more simply. This is the premise that the ecoYoga centre, in Argyll, works on. As the title suggest, the retreat functions as a place for those who wish to hone their downward dog of a morning, later feasting on vegetarian food prepared by an expert chef, on one of various courses and retreats run throughout the year. For the yoga aficionado this is a tightly-toned slice of heaven.

But ecoYoga is not just about its yoga studio and classes teaching how to omm with aplomb. It is also a refuge of sorts for the weary. For the workaholics who haven't yet figured out how to relax in their own homes, and for those who need to completely remove themselves from familiar surroundings in order to recharge.

To that effect, the centre offers self-catering holidays with optional extras available: yoga, obviously, but also an on-call masseuse who can come and manipulate your muscles into a world of welcome pain with a little notice. As exercise-allergic and desk-knotted, this was the obvious choice for our stay.

And then there's the water. It is easy to live in Scotland and allow the weather to turn us into mirror-image miserabilists; more difficult is it to harness the natural force (and beauty) and transform it into a selling point. Yet that's what Rachel and Nick Loening, founders of ecoYoga, have done. On-site is a hot tub, housed within a glass geodesic dome. There are two plunge pools filled with icy cold water to dunk yourself into, Scandinavian-style, after hot-tubbing. Not for the faint-hearted, or those with ticker trouble, mind you. All are filled with spring water fed from the doorstep. The whole centre garners energy from a hydroelectric power station, and there are solar panels and a biomass pellet boiler to keep guests toasty. It is a paragon of green virtue. Inspired, I make a mental note to stick the bottle of Jura we brought in the recycling bin at Lochgilphead once finished.

So far, so in-keeping with a wellness spa. But how many yoga centres offer the chance to take a morning bath in the shadow of a waterfall? Picture it: accessed via a knee-tremblingly steep slope with only a rope to cling to, a wide white tub on wooden decking set into the side of a small cliff. It is necessary to tuck bathing paraphernalia (a new book purchased for the opportunity of uninterrupted reading) into clothing in order to navigate the descent properly.

Of course there's the slim chance of death but what a way to go - bath sheet slung over shoulders like a superhero's cape tumbling down a mountain followed by a fluttering copy of Gay Talese's Thy Neighbour's Wife. Once in, however, with eyes closed behind a small mountain range of eco-friendly bubbles and overactive imagination sated, it's a kind of relaxation therapy that's hard to beat.

It is easy to use the 'r' word flippantly at a place like ecoYoga. It depends on your definition of the term. For me, it is not relaxing to be completely cut-off from all civilisation and living in fear of the number of emails waiting to be attended to on return to the real world. It's also not particularly practical. So the centre's provision of Wifi is welcome, as it allows frazzled guests to manage their lives in the confines of peaceful surroundings. As is the hands-off approach. EcoYoga's volunteers and owners (and their two children) are great company but there is no pressure to engage in any activities or even get up at all if you'd rather spend the whole time in bed.

Enter beds. As a stressed-out sleeper who polices the conditions of her bedtime routine with militant attention, a king-size bed with memory foam mattress and pillows tall enough to genuinely have to scale (the noughties' predilection for futons has a lot to answer for) provided the perfect combination for an exemplary night's sleep. Rooms are more like little chalets, with beds occupying the back and a small seating area upon entry just large enough for two chums to spend a few hours post-late-night sauna sitting chatting in very happily. Each is fronted with French doors and floor-to-ceiling windows and overlooks the river - possibly the most soothing soundtrack to nodding off in the world.

While yoga retreats at the centre include an on-site chef to rustle guests up their daily (organic) bread, those making the most of a self-catering stay are invited to use a well-equipped communal kitchen complete with eggs from the ecoYoga chickens and a prismatic selection of herbal teas. As a pescatarian cooking space, this devout meat-eater was coaxed out of her comfort zone and tried her hand adapting a lamb raan recipe with veggies instead of meat. The following night, an unspoken agreement took us up the coast to the Crinan Hotel's Seafood Bar where we dined on crab risotto and Loch Crinan langoustines prepared by someone clearly far more talented than the previous night's mushroom destroyer.

So, yes: a hub for those who have the whole mindfulness thing down pat. An ideal spot for yogis who wish to meet like-minded people and continue to condition their bodies, inside and out. But also a place for those who are trying to readdress the work-life balance with a few indulges thrown in along the way. One step of righteousness at a time, after all.