Havana’s former hotels are a portrait of what the city is today. They all had their years of glory, their time of sequins and brilliance, but for many of them, those times are just a remote memory.
Others, on the other hand, have persevered or even been reborn after being struck by oblivion and apathy.
Havana’s former hotels have witnessed decades and decades of changes and storms, literal and metaphorical. And many have not emerged well from those shocks.
Some, not a few, no longer exist. They are a hole in the landscape, a crack in memory. They became lots or parking lots, vacant lots, and some, for the good of the city, into other buildings.
Some are still standing, miraculously. They are weak, uninhabited ruins, or, in more than one case, they should be, although brave and needy people defy fate within their ruined walls.
Several struggle to maintain their usefulness, even when there is little left to show for the splendor of yesteryear. Thus, even propped up, they house families and even private, official or furtive businesses.
The more fortunate are still hotels. Even having gone through dark times, they have managed to continue receiving guests and even to be heritage symbols of Havana.
The famous and colorful classic cars are parked outside, waiting for tourists, and in its bars, mojitos and traditional son reign supreme.
Such are the contrasts of the Cuban capital, with its former hotels as protagonists. Theirs is a story of flourishing times and metamorphosis, of collapse and rebirth, which we approach this Sunday through the lens of Otmaro Rodríguez.