Within a week of joining Swedish AI company Sana, I was added to a group chat with an auspicious title: “Island Week.” We were asked a single question: “What meal will you be cooking?”
At first, I figured it was typical startup onboarding, a team-building exercise, but then more questions started pouring in: “When are you going to the island?” “When do you head out onto the Baltic Sea?” “How are your survival skills?” “Do you get island fever?” Oh, I thought, they’re talking about an actual island.
This is the unique ritual that sees new joiners at Sana spend a week foraging on a small island outside Stockholm to build character, bond with colleagues and make memories for life.
So on a foggy autumnal morning, we were whisked away to the harbour in a convoy of taxis. Once on board a boat (the pun was not lost on us), we headed into Stockholm’s archipelago, chatting on deck and swapping the scraps of Sana folklore we’d picked up that week.
We’d been told this onboarding ritual was little more than a chance to spend a few days in a nice cabin with the new joiners, cooking meals, playing board games and using the sauna. Ominously, we’d been warned that the water pump sometimes breaks.
The island soon emerged from the mist, the cabin’s windows catching the boat lights under a dull grey sky. In sunshine, it would have looked like the front cover of an architecture magazine. In cold October, it looked like it could be our founder Joel Hellermark’s secret lab in a Scandi-noir.
Inside, it became obvious why someone had built a house here. Floor-to-ceiling glass, blonde wood, the archipelago framed in every window. We unpacked and went to our rooms, where we’d bunk with our new colleagues for three days.
That’s when I discovered that it would be water, and its availability, that would set the tone for the rest of the weekend.
I went to the kitchen for a Coke, finished it, and opened the dishwasher to put the glass in. The dank smell hit me immediately. No one had run it for ages, for there was no water to run it with. A check of the taps and the toilets confirmed it. We had no running water.
The engineers in the group sprang into action, burrowing into the basement with the water tank to debug the pumps. We’d see little of them for the next several hours as they tinkered away beneath the concrete slabs.
For one blissful hour they thought they’d fixed it, which prompted wild celebrations in the best way Swedes know how: by making coffee.
We did the other menial things, too. Flushed the toilets; washed our hands; and, crucially, made ice for Aperol Spritz.
It didn’t last long, and when the water stopped again, and a plumber couldn’t be found, we decided it was time to improvise. We swam in the archipelago to shower, and used the sauna to dry off.
I’m Robinson Crusoe
A poll dropped in the Slack channel at 8am the next morning: “Do we abort the mission and head back?” The options were, “I miss my shower” or “I’m Robinson Crusoe.”
Everyone opted for Robinson Crusoe. We stayed, with no idea if the water would come back. We weren’t sure if this was a startup tactic gone too far, as if at any moment Joel would pop out from somewhere, arms splayed, declaring: “You’ve passed the test. Welcome to Sana.”
We cooked with bottled water. We developed a washing-up system using rainwater and a three-bucket assembly line that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Victorian scullery.
Between the sea, the rainwater and the bottled water to drink, we made do.
We kept joking that we had to stay hydrated with wine instead. One evening, after several hours of that, someone offhandedly grabbed a water bottle and started slugging from it.
The table went quiet. We exchanged nervous glances. We're rationing, and we all knew it. Someone called it out, the bottle was returned, and we labelled the rest. Peace was restored.
‘At some point, you just want a shower’
The rest of the time was spent cooking and playing games. You learn things about people on a fogged-in island in three days that you wouldn't in three years at a desk.
Then it was time to leave and bring this surreal three-day adventure to a close. I’d like to say we could’ve stayed there forever, but at some point, you just want a shower.
Bags packed, walking down to the boat, we heard the sound of something kicking into gear below. The water tank. The water was running again. You couldn’t have made it up. We still don’t know if someone did, and have collectively decided we don’t want to know.
Back in the office, we’d made Sana history. “Oh, you’re the people on the island with no water? That’s so bad ass.” It was.
Elina Mäkelä works in product at Sana, which last year was acquired by American company Workday in Europe’s largest AI acquisition.
Sana’s VP of operations, Olivia Elf, is speaking at Sifted Summit this year, which is happening September 30 and October 1. You can get your tickets here.
