Our story.

How Lanka Surf House Was Born in Weligama.

The morning it all started.

I still remember the light that morning. Warm, golden, the kind that makes everything look like a film still. Anju and I were standing at Island Point in Weligama, scanning the horizon together, watching the sun slowly rise over the ocean. I had arrived in Sri Lanka a few weeks earlier, on a solo trip through the island — one month to explore, decompress, and end the journey the way I'd been dreaming of : surfing the South Coast.

I was still a beginner. A friend had introduced me to Anju, a surf coach born and raised in Weligama, and something about him immediately felt right — warm, calm, the kind of person you trust in the water without really knowing why. We had agreed to meet at dawn for our first session together.

He decided to take me to the bay near Lucky Surf Camp. I paddled out feeling surprisingly at ease — safe, well-guided, encouraged on every wave and laughed with on every wipeout. Time moved fast out there, but between sets, it slowed down just enough for real conversation. We talked about our lives, our plans, what we wanted to build. It was one of those rare mornings that feel, even while they're happening, like they matter.

Between sets.

At some point, floating out beyond the break, I asked Anju if he had any professional projects in the works. I'd sensed something in him early on — an ambition, a quiet drive — so I wasn't surprised when he told me he'd just bought a piece of land in Weligama. He wanted to build his own place, welcome his own guests, create something that was truly his.

I was immediately curious. Can you show me? I asked. No agenda, no plan — just genuine excitement for him.

I'll never forget the tuk tuk ride to get there. The sudden abundance of nature just minutes from the centre of Weligama, the narrow roads, the locals smiling at the unusual sight of a foreigner making her way into their small village. Anju showed me his parents' house on the way up, and we kept climbing until we reached the land — still completely wild, overgrown, full of potential.

It was small. But standing there, I remember thinking : if he builds up, the view is going to be something else. And that's when we started talking — really talking — about what could be built here, and how. I'd spent five years working in hospitality, in events and marketing, and I had opinions. I shared them freely.

By the end of the visit, he asked if I'd want to work with him. He said he could tell I knew what I was talking about — and that I seemed genuinely excited about it.

Why not ? I told him. Let's talk.

Three becomes the magic number.

We met again a few days later, the three of us — Anju, our mutual friend, and me — and started mapping out what a collaboration could look like. Slowly, but surely, something real began to take shape.

Naturally, I called Kenza. My best friend, an interior architect based in France at the time. I told her I was thinking about bringing in a third partner — someone who could anchor the project visually, give it a soul. I didn't even have to finish the sentence.

I still hear her voice note : I'm in. For the project, and for working with you.

That was it. No hesitation, no long deliberation. Just three people, a piece of land on a hillside above Weligama, and a shared feeling that this was exactly where we were supposed to be. The signs were all pointing in the same direction. I didn't need another one.

From dream to concrete.

Back in France, we kept moving. Slowly at first, then faster than any of us expected. The land was cleared. The first foundations were laid. A project that had started as a conversation between sets was becoming something you could touch, measure, photograph.

When I came back to Sri Lanka, everything became very real. The walls were already rising. Anju was on site every day. Kenza was deep in the plans, turning every square metre into something intentional and beautiful. And I was standing in the middle of it all, thinking — this is actually happening.

There were stressful periods ahead, and we knew it. Building something from scratch, across time zones, in a country that isn't yours, with people you met less than a year ago — it asks a lot of you. But underneath all of it was a feeling I kept coming back to : I was exactly where I was supposed to be. With the right people. Building the right thing.

Lanka Surf House opens in October 2026. We can't wait to welcome you.