What a week holds
No class you must attend. You pick your rhythm — the mountain keeps the rest.
Bags, pads and movement work in the open air. We train to feel better, not to win — every level welcome.
Split the week's firewood by hand. The sound of an empty mountain morning.
Draw cold water from the old well and drink it straight, on sun-warmed skin.
Heat, hammer and iron with the village smith. Forge a small piece you take home.
Sack races, arm wrestling and rough games with the eight of you and the neighbours.
Kayaks on cold green water, a long swim, and the one afternoon with no fire.
Slow-roasted meat under the iron bell, grilled over oak, eaten by hand together.
A walk to the farm — quiet animals, fresh donkey milk, an hour that slows everything down.
Simple Croatian cooking from the village: bread, cheese, honey, whatever ripens that week.
Headlamps on. Up the ridge in the dark, and the light arrives while you're standing in it.
Fjaka
Everyone asks about the training, the hikes, the river and the quads. Of course we do all of them — I'll be the first one jumping with joy, enjoying it like a kid.
But there is another side of this camp: the quiet moments, sitting outside with no rush and no noise around. In Croatia we have a word for it — fjaka. It is said to be necessary for a healthy mind, the number one medicine for anything.
Maybe at first it feels strange — like we should be doing something, or we feel "lazy" for sitting still. That's when we remind ourselves of the magic of fjaka: being in the moment, allowing ourselves just to breathe, notice, and do nothing.
In today's world we are wired to always do something — to-do lists, work, rush, appointments. Our schedules are so full they leave no space for doing nothing. Why not prioritise it and give that gift to ourselves? Maybe it charges our batteries so we can do everything else better.
Doing nothing is part of the program. And maybe… that's exactly what you need.
Day 2 · Warrior day
You wake up a little sore, stretch — and realise you're on a mountain, far away from everything. Then here comes Marija: a cup of coffee, a big cheeky smile, and headlamps. Before you know it you're hiking through the dark, and as the sun rises the tribe is already up there throwing combos, feeling on top of the world.
Afterwards: sandwiches made by Tamara, coffee with the view, the slow walk back to the nest. Shower, recover, maybe meditate or journal — or simply be in fjaka. Lunch is organic food from the village below, then a well-deserved nap. You don't even feel the need to check your phone — you feel like a child, waiting for the next adventure.
And here she is again — crazy Marija at the bags. You can scream as much as you want. When you've given it all, Tamara calls your name by the fire circle: dinner, Village Olympics, stories under the stars.
Just one real day. And there are six more waiting.

Pre-sunrise hike
Headlamps on, up the ridge in the dark.
Well water & bread
Cold water, flat bread, honey from the hives.
Boxing or the forge
Choose the gloves, the anvil or the woodpile.
Peka at the table
Slow lunch, long conversation, one long nap.
River or the farm
A paddle out, or the donkeys and their milk.
Firelight
Wood smoke, games, and the first stars coming up.
From the mountain
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In motion
A few short clips from this summer — training at sunrise, the river, the forge and the fire. All from our Instagram, straight from the mountain.
Day six
You're sitting around the fire with people who were strangers just a few days ago. But after everything you have experienced together in this camp, you feel like you have known them forever — and you can simply be yourself.
Somehow you are so used to this place: the house, the air, the nature… it just feels like home. Even the bugs are not bothering you as much anymore — you feel tougher and stronger, almost like a villain. After all, you are now able to forge a knife!
Somehow, instead of checking our phones we played Village Olympics. We sang karaoke so loud (like anyone could hear us) — and it just felt so right. We felt like we were doing what we were made to do.
What will you take back home from this experience? (except a huge knife ;)
What did you realise here, far away from everything — and will you have the courage to pursue it when you return?
No dates for 2027 yet — send an inquiry and you will be the first to know when they open.
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