You’re standing somewhere between pine trees and the sea.
The sun is warm. The water below is an unreal shade of blue. Salt hangs in the air, mixed with sunscreen and poor life choices.
The cliffs look… thrillingly jumpable.
Sand shifts under your feet. Music drifts in from somewhere nearby. And then it hits you: no, this isn’t a dream — this is the moment you’ve been waiting for all year.
Welcome to Cala Pola Camping, Tossa de Mar, Spain.
Koffeecuppers arrive from all corners of the map. Sunglasses already on. Suitcases in hand. Hugs exchanged like reunions after a lifetime apart. Some look instantly relaxed. Others are quietly processing the fact that all those Google Meet squares are now… people.
Fortunately, Morgan and Emma make sure no one feels awkward for more than three seconds.
Soon enough, everyone gathers in a meeting room with a wildly distracting sea view. It looks like serious work. It absolutely is not. You blink — and suddenly there’s music.
Hips move.
Some with confidence.
Some with courage.
Some with… questionable creativity.
From genuinely impressive moves to things that should probably be regulated, the dance floor welcomes everyone. No judgement. Just vibes.
Then you’re on a boat.
It’s a boat party. The sun is shining, glasses keep refilling, morale is high. Until it isn’t. Someone turns a concerning shade of green. Someone else says “I’m fine,” while absolutely not being fine. Seasickness takes its toll. The party, however, refuses to stop.
A scream cuts through the air - laughter? panic? joy? A bit of everything. Someone is being dragged behind the boat on a tube, bouncing violently across the water, clinging to life while dignity has long since exited the chat. The boat accelerates.
Back on land, a group of men appears. Identical pink swim caps. Matching swim briefs. Moving as one. Ready to dominate the water polo field. Seconds later, a ball flies. The cameraman takes a direct hit to the head. But as legend has it: the cameraman never dies.
Nearby, shoes arc gracefully through the air toward a tree. Moments later, it becomes clear a volleyball has fled into the branches, seeking refuge from excessive and enthusiastic abuse.
Night falls.
The neighbours awaken.
Karaoke has struck again.
Lights switch on. Glasses reappear. Confidence skyrockets. Talent… remains optional. Passion, however, is abundant.
“They tried so hard.”
Linkin Park would be proud. Or worried. Hard to say.
Is this a hallucination?
A collective frenzy fuelled by sun, sea, and sangria?
No.
This is KoffeeFest 2025 - the annual Koffeecup retreat.
Our annual retreats usually last three days, from Friday to Sunday, and 2025 was no exception. From October 10 to 12, 66 Koffeecuppers gathered at Cala Pola, Spain.
The goal is the same every year: disconnect, reconnect, and bring together a fully remote team from all corners of the world. For some, it was their very first KoffeeFest. For others, a long-awaited tradition. For everyone - an unforgettable experience.
Seeing colleagues step out of the little Google Meet boxes into real life never gets old. Laughter was natural. Bonds formed quickly. Sleep… less so.
KoffeeFest 2025 in numbers
66 Koffeecuppers
3 days of sun, sea, and questionable decision-making
1 boat party
3 cannonball jumps from the cliffs
67 singers of very mixed ability
∞ dance moves (quality not guaranteed)
1 direct headshot to the cameraman (still alive)
1 ketchup-related incident
6–7 faces turning alarmingly white on the boat (each clutching a mysterious black bag)
1 tube, held onto for dear life by far too many people
1 coordinated gang of men in briefs and pink swim caps
1 volleyball pushed past its emotional limits