Xanadu Surf Retreat — short film, 2025

There is a particular quality of light in Lombok at six in the morning—silent, golden, almost amber—that makes everything feel as though it’s on the edge of becoming something. Waking beneath rustling trees where monkeys sway and grasshoppers sing. Watching the red sun yawn over fresh-scented rice fields along the drive to the surf. This became my morning routine.

I felt comforted from day one. Every detail—from the open-air yoga shala to the surfboards stacked on top of our vans—was chosen with intention. It was in following those intentions, camera in hand, that I began to notice what Xanadu truly offered.

Genuine moments of joy.
Simple, quiet miracles.

Over seven days, I moved barefoot between water and shore, drawn to the in-between moments. A wet hand reaching for coffee. Laughter shared over plates of dragonfruit and papaya juice. The shifting colours of the horizon between sets. All of it experienced alongside strangers who slowly became home.

The retreat was brought to life by the people within it—our cheerful host Jose, insightful tutor Sam, yoga teacher Dani, the local surf instructors, and the warm, ever-present team whose energy felt like sunlight. And of course, Luna—Xanadu’s beloved dog and quiet queen of the retreat.

Our stories, from all corners of the world, had somehow met here. A mix of backgrounds and life paths, grounded in a shared love for surfing, for movement, for slowing down, and for Lombok itself. And in it, I felt accepted as I was.

Luna seemed to look out for me in her own way. She would walk beside me down the mountain toward town, then wait for my return later that evening. Fiercely protective, yet playful and gentle—always seeking a belly rub. She became, in many ways, my spirit animal.

While town was within reach, I felt most at ease within the retreat itself. Xanadu seemed to hold everything.

A spacious sauna and ice bath. An infinity pool overlooking Lombok’s rolling greenery at sunset. Fresh, vibrant meals that felt like summer in a bowl, alongside traditional Indonesian dishes and something cool to sip on the side. Cloud-like beds. Outdoor showers that felt like stepping into an enchanted forest. Thoughtful details—a small bag of essentials: aloe vera, a lip scrub, organic bug spray.

The communal spaces carried a quiet warmth—terracotta tones and soft gold light, like a flickering candle. Meditation in the berugak, a small wooden treehouse tucked between leaves, opening out toward the ocean.

Removed from noise, yet deeply connected to everything around it.
On top of a mountain, yet close to the surf.

There was something surreal about the way Xanadu and Lombok intertwined. In that space, I found a deeper sense of peace—within both my surroundings and myself.

In surfing. In laughter. In morning light.

Captured through my camera, but a feeling beyond the frame.