Our Story:
How two Pacific Northwesterners built a retreat center in Baja from the ground up
We get asked this all the time: How did you end up here? So here’s the real story.
Back in 2010, we booked a last-minute trip to San José del Cabo. At the time, I was teaching yoga full-time and working in real estate, and Kris was in real estate too. We were burned out and needed a break—just some sunshine and quiet. We found a cheap flight and hotel and took off.
We landed in Baja and, like total rookies, got swept up in a timeshare pitch at the airport. We ended up walking away with a bunch of “freebies,” including a rental car we hadn’t planned on having. It turned out to be the thing that changed everything.
The beach near our hotel wasn’t swimmable, and Kris wanted to surf while I just wanted to float and swim somewhere calm. So I started flipping through a guidebook and found a place that sounded promising—Cerritos Beach. It said there were waves for surfing and a mellow sandy-bottom spot for swimming.
So we hit the road. The highway wasn’t finished yet back then, so it took nearly two hours to get there. But as soon as we arrived, we knew. Cerritos was magic. It was raw and quiet, just a handful of surfers and one little beachfront restaurant with loungers. We stayed all day. Watched the sunset. And came back two more times that week.
From that very first trip, we knew this place was different. It wasn’t just beautiful. It felt like ours.
Over the years, we kept returning—twice a year, every year. In 2012, we bought our first little property and built a couple of small rental units. I started leading yoga retreats nearby, and Kris and I found out we were a great team when it came to creating retreat experiences. We both had our own strengths, and we genuinely loved doing it together.
At one point, we had the opportunity to buy a retreat center nearby. We got excited. We poured so much energy into the possibility—planning, investing, imagining what could be. It felt like this dream had fallen right into our laps. But the deal fell apart. And we were heartbroken.
It’s hard to explain what that kind of loss feels like. It wasn’t just about the property—we didn’t even realize how much we wanted that life until the door slammed shut. We honestly didn’t know if we could come back to Pescadero after that.
But we did. A few months later, we returned, still bruised but hopeful. And when we got here, we remembered why we loved it. We found ourselves surrounded by people who encouraged us, people who had learned the same lessons about patience, resilience, and how things sometimes work differently here. They reminded us we weren’t alone.
That’s when the idea began to take root:
What if we built our own place?
Not just a retreat center, but a space designed by people who actually lead retreats. One that made the experience smoother for everyone—leaders, guests, even the people running the show. A place where the operations were as intentional as the aesthetics. Where community was woven into the foundation.
We didn’t jump in right away. We looked for land for years. We made offers that didn’t pan out. Property lines didn’t match. Deals fell through. But there was one lot we kept coming back to—the one Topia sits on now. Funny enough, we always imagined it would be where we’d eventually build a home, not a business.
Then one evening, sitting together on that land watching the sunset, we asked: What if we do both?
And that was it.
We bought the land and started the long process of building—really building. We worked with an architect friend back in Seattle. We did everything by the book: environmental studies, permits, approvals. It was slow. And then came COVID.
We were teaching yoga online. Kris wasn’t selling houses. And we realized: Let’s just go. We packed up everything—our pets, our belongings. We didn’t even keep a storage unit. We moved here full time, all in.
We faced so many hurdles. Every step felt like the universe asking: Are you sure? And every time, our answer was yes.
Because we were aligned on this dream. No one had to convince the other. We both just knew this was exactly what we wanted to build and where we wanted to be.
We worked side-by-side with an incredible local crew and small vendors who helped us bring this dream to life. We asked questions. We learned as we went. And we poured everything we had into creating a place that felt like home—not just to us, but to the people who would come here.
We opened Topia in November 2021. Our actual doors were installed the night before our first retreat. It was that close. I led that first retreat myself—a group of students I’d been teaching through COVID, including my mom. We were running on fumes, but our hearts were full.
And something amazing happened.
I had talked about this dream for so long—so passionately—that people showed up before we even had photos. Yoga teachers trusted us. Friends brought their groups. We thought we’d host five retreats that season. We hosted fourteen. And it hasn’t slowed down since.
Today, we are full-time residents of El Pescadero. Tax-paying, community-rooted, all-in. This is not a part-time thing. It’s not a hobby or a project or a side hustle. This is our life. This place is us.
Topia is the result of years of dreaming, building, heartbreak, hope, big risks, and a whole lot of belief in what could be possible.
And somehow… here we are.
