Michael & Kamila.

December 2014. We both landed in Paje some weeks apart, each carrying a suitcase that was too full, each expecting the trip to end. It did not. Michael had come from Copenhagen chasing warmer water. Kamila had come from Warsaw chasing something she could not quite name. The island is small. We walked past each other more times than we will ever know.

We did not meet.

We spent years on the same twenty-kilometre strip of east coast — the same beach bars, the same fishermen, the same sunset tide — each quietly deciding that this would be the place. Neither of us announced it. You do not announce a feeling like that. You just keep coming back.

Three years ago we finally crossed paths. It turned out we had been at a dozen of the same dinners, a hundred of the same beach walks. It turned out that when we started talking we could not stop. And it turned out — the part that still feels like a small magic trick — that our families had been in the same place all along.

Kamila from Poland. Michael from Denmark, Polish at the kitchen table. Both of us speaking the same two languages without ever planning to meet.

Michael's mother raised him in Danish and Polish at the same table. Kamila grew up in Warsaw. Between us we have family in Gdańsk, in Kraków, in Copenhagen, in Paje. When we say "destiny" we do not mean it lightly. We mean that when you find someone who walked the same long road and somehow kept missing you, you stop asking why and start building.

YapYap is everything that came out of the slow recognition. The villa in Paje we host out of. The sushi counter next door Kamila's name sits on. The private community we are drawing for the east coast — East — where a small circle of fellow dreamers will live near us.

We are not a fund. We are not a chain. We are two people and a small team, and our names are on everything because we mean it.

If you ever visit, you will probably see both of us. If you stay, you will see a lot of both of us. That is the business model. That is also the point.