Guests arriving at a private English estate at dusk — the start of a Vana weekend, the house glowing amber, silhouettes on the gravel drive

The Weekend

Friday to Sunday. A country house. A dozen people you'll be glad you met.

Guests arriving at a private English estate at dusk — the start of a Vana weekend, the house glowing amber, silhouettes on the gravel drive

The Weekend

Friday to Sunday. A country house. A dozen people you'll be glad you met.

The difference

You know the feeling at most members' clubs. The right room, the right people, and no real way to talk to any of them. Vana is built the other way round. The group is small and chosen with care, and the weekend has just enough shape that you never have to do the hard part yourself. By Sunday you've met everyone, effortlessly.

Guests swimming and lingering at the edge of an estate lake on a bright autumn morning, mist lifting off the water

What it's like

It begins on a Friday evening. The city behind you, a drive out into open country, a drink in your hand before you've caught everyone's name. What follows isn't a schedule. A morning doing something you'd never get round to booking yourself. A long lunch somewhere with a view. A dinner cooked just for the group that runs late because no one wants it to end. Somewhere in there, without anyone trying, the room becomes people who know each other.

Every weekend is different

No two weekends are quite the same. A different place, a different part of the country, a different group each time.

Everything's handled

The house, the travel from London, the meals, the activities, with wine at dinner. One number, all in. You bring yourself and good conversation.

For those who'd take a long table over a loud room. The weekends are few, and the list hears about them first.