Remedios
Every new Casa Particular is a new window into life in Cuba, and everyday when we knock on the next door, we are filled with excitement about what and who we will find inside. We have yet to be disappointed.
As we push the door open from the busy street into our Casa Particular in Santi Espíritu, Weezie and I are immediately overwhelmed by what we find.
The ceiling is painted with a decorative relief and lofts 20 feet over our heads. It supported by tall arches and marble columns that separate one sitting area from another.
There are several large, crystal chandeliers, one in every room, all made of cut glass. The doors into side rooms are 12 feet tall and have upper and lower panels that open independently to allow airflow, while enabling the rooms to remain secure.
The floors are made of intricate, polished Spanish tile, original from the houses construction 150 years ago. It is smooth and cool beneath our feet.
The walls showcase fine classical paintings that are sunk into the plaster, their frames built into the structure of the house.
The furniture is antique, constructed from a stained hardwood; rockers and settees, couches and tables, all polished to a shine and original to the home. It is a museum.
Spellbound we walk further into the house. In the center there is a large, open air courtyard with plants that climb supporting two story high columns and create a green oasis in the midst of this bustling city. It is filled with several wrought iron tables and chairs, that invite a traveler to revel in the tranquility found here.
Around the courtyard, under a veranda, are the doors to eight palatial guest rooms. Each has two beds, its own bathroom and a changing room.
There is a kitchen off to the side for serving guests and an iron stairway from the courtyard to the roof, where we find breezy views of the surrounding city.
“Your home is amazing!”, we stammer. “It is unbelievably beautiful! How much is it going to cost us to stay here?”
Our host Yandy smiles proudly. “25 dollars, it is the going rate.” He tells us that he has been restoring this house for years, that it was built before the Spanish war, but that without electricity, it is hard to see its grandeur. We promise him we can see it regardless, and he shyly thanks us and gives us the keys, wishing us a good evening.
As night descends, darkness fills the house and the stately guest rooms do indeed become cavernous rather than splendid; what had been beautiful by day, becomes ghostly by night. We bump into furniture and walk into door jams, but feel royal none-the-less.
Weezie and I decide to put on our headlamps and play cards on the patio, and we imagine what this place, what Cuba, must have been in better times.
What was it like when the party was happening? When the chandeliers shimmered and the diners told tales into the night with lazy fans turning and music playing. When they smoked their cigars and clinked their crystal at the tables in the courtyard? When these room were full with travelers or maybe a huge extended family. When these homes had life.
Being in Cuba is a bit like being in a ghost town at times. Everything here seems to be waiting. Waiting for the economy to shift, for the electricity to turn back on, for the borders to open, for the party to continue.
In the morning, as we enjoyed a decadent breakfast, we spoke to our host some more. He told us that without tourists coming like they used to, without electricity and with the current embargo, he needs a side hustle. The house is no longer enough. He shows us a heavy weight, iron, antique treadle-powered sewing machine from one hundred years ago and excitedly told us about his new idea. He is going to start a shoe and clothing repair business.
“We don’t have electricity, we can’t buy new things and tourists aren’t coming like they used to, but we do need to repair things, and I can do that.”
I am amazed by his tenacity and his sewing machine is a piece off art, but I say, let’s bring the party back.