Vamos a Guanajay - Let's make our way to Guanajay. [Esp-Eng]
Guanajay es uno de esos pueblos que ha pertenecido a la paradoja de pertenecer a tres provincias distintas y que no ha cambiado de lugar: inicialmente perteneció a Pinar del Río, después formaba parte de la La Habana y en la actualidad es uno de los municipios que pertenece a la joven provincia Artemisa. Su ubicación al centro del territorio lo convierte en un pueblo de transito, un nodo, para conectar a todo el territorio y aunque no tiene costa, no ha visto el mar, lo atraviesa un río que va zigzagueando por todo el territorio obligando a una urbanización compleja y llena de puentes en todo su cause. El río Capellanía a recibido el castigo de ese pueblo que vierten hacía el cuanta suciedad puedan, y en ocasiones le devuelve el agravio al pueblo, se convierte en el verdugo y sus aguas crecidas desbordan el cause e inundan la ciudad (recuerdo haberlo visto varias veces en su forma más brutal y no es nada de juego). Después, el río, al salir de el pueblo se esconde en la tierra y desaparece para reaparecer kilómetros más adelante con sus aguas renovadas y cristalinas. Es un misterio donde deja toda la suciedad que cargaba.
Guanajay is one of those towns shaped by a peculiar paradox: it has belonged to three different provinces without ever moving an inch. It was first part of Pinar del Río, later of La Habana, and today it stands as one of the municipalities of the young province of Artemisa.
Its central location has made it a town of passage, a crossroads, a living node that connects the surrounding territory. Though it has never known the sea and possesses no coastline of its own, a river winds through its heart, twisting and turning across the landscape. Its meandering course has forced the town into a complex urban form, threaded together by bridges that span its waters from one end to the other.
The Capellanía River has long borne the burden of the town's neglect. For generations, people have poured into it whatever waste they could discard. Yet, from time to time, the river answers the insult. It becomes the executioner. Its swollen waters burst beyond their banks and flood the streets of the town. I have witnessed it more than once in its fiercest form, and there is nothing trivial about its rage.
Then, as it leaves Guanajay behind, the river performs its most mysterious act. It slips beneath the earth and vanishes, only to emerge kilometres later with waters renewed, clear, and crystalline. Where it leaves behind all the filth it once carried remains one of its enduring secrets.
Regresando al pueblo, al corazón de la zona urbana, a ese parque central que corona y embellece, donde el transito se hace intenso a cualquier hora del día y donde se evidencia lo más bello de la arquitectura guanajayense. Allí podemos encontrar el antiguo hotel y restaurante El Niágara, la monumental Iglesia Católica (con su reloj enorme en la torre - campanario que orienta al transeúnte), las casa coloniales de teja roja y redondeada, los portales corridos que te permiten transitar entre ellos protegiéndote del sol y la lluvia, las increibles ruinas del teatro Vicente Mora (que es un tema para conversar en todo un post), y alguna que otra muestra de modernidad. Lo que si es cierto es que Guanajay es de todos el pueblo que más respiraba el aire de ciudad.
Returning to the town, to the heart of its urban core, to the central square that crowns and beautifies it, we find a place where movement never ceases, no matter the hour of the day, and where the finest examples of Guanajay's architecture reveal themselves.
There stands the old Niágara Hotel and Restaurant, the monumental Catholic Church, with its enormous clock set high in the bell tower, guiding passersby through the streets below. Around it rise colonial houses roofed with curved red tiles, and the long continuous porticoes that allow one to walk from block to block sheltered from both the blazing sun and the sudden rain.
There, too, lie the remarkable ruins of the Vicente Mora Theater, a story deserving a post of its own, along with the occasional glimpse of modernity woven into the urban landscape.
What is certain, however, is that among all the towns in the region, Guanajay was the one that breathed most deeply with the air of a city. It possessed a distinctly urban spirit, a feeling that lingered in its streets, its architecture, and in the constant flow of people crossing its squares and avenues.
Mientras escribo este post voy recordando muchas de mis vivencias en este parque: las madrugadas heladas que tenía que esperar el transporte que me llevaba a mi centro de trabajo, como caminaba cuando aún no despuntaba el sol en el cielo por sus aceras, como contemplaba a la luz de las farolas la arquitectura y las formas que se rebelaban ante mis ojos, el misterio de las fachadas ruinosos y mohosas, las calles estrechas, los puentes corroídos por el paso del tiempo y la ausencia de mantenimiento, como la gente madrugaba y se acercaba a tomar el trago de café que vendían en las esquinas para poder calentar y arrancar con energía el día. Allí me sentaba en uno de sus bancos de granito y me dejaba llevar por la contemplación, por el ritmo del pueblo que ha esa hora remoloneaba y bostezaba.
As I write this post, countless memories of this park come flooding back. I remember the freezing dawns when I had to wait for the transport that would take me to work. I remember walking its sidewalks before the sun had even begun to rise, moving through streets still wrapped in darkness.
Under the glow of the streetlamps, I would linger over the architecture and the shapes that slowly revealed themselves before my eyes. There was something captivating in the crumbling, moss-stained façades, in the narrow streets, in the bridges worn down by time and neglected by maintenance. Everything seemed to carry the weight of years and untold stories.
At that hour, the town was already beginning to stir. People emerged from their homes and gathered at the street corners for a small cup of coffee, seeking warmth against the morning chill and the spark of energy needed to begin the day.
I would sit on one of the park's granite benches and surrender myself to contemplation, letting the rhythm of the town carry me along. Guanajay, still half asleep, stretched, lingered, and yawned its way into the morning, as if reluctant to leave the embrace of the night behind.
Estoy consciente que Guanajay es mucho más que estas pocas imágenes que les estoy brindando, que es un pueblo - ciudad con una cultura increíble, profunda y tradicional, que solo estoy mostrando una minúscula parte de algo enorme. Resulta que en aquella época no tenía cámara ni el afán de retratar todo lo que se me muestre caprichosamente interesante, solo ahora puedo documentar esas cosas y compartirlas con ustedes, muchos años atrás solo podía entregarme a la memoria cada una de las vivencias, cada uno de los lugares, cada uno de los viajes que hice en el pasado.
I am fully aware that Guanajay is far more than the handful of images I am sharing here. It is a town, perhaps even a small city, with an extraordinary culture, deep-rooted traditions, and a rich identity shaped over generations. What I am showing is only a tiny fragment of something much larger.
The truth is that, back then, I had no camera and none of the urge I feel today to photograph everything that stubbornly presents itself as interesting. Only now am I able to document these things and share them with you.
Many years ago, all I could do was entrust them to memory: every experience, every place, every journey I made. Memory was my only camera, my only archive. It preserved the streets I walked, the faces I encountered, the landscapes that crossed my path, and all those fleeting moments that disappeared long before I had the means to capture them.
Today, these images are an attempt to recover a small part of that lost world, to give shape to memories that for years existed only within me, and to share with others a place that continues to live vividly in my mind long after the journeys themselves have ended.
Detalles Técnicos
Cámara: Canon EOS 80D
Lente: Sigma Art 18-35mm f/1.8 DC, Canon EF 50mm f/1.4 USM
Trípode: K&F Concept K254C2
Texto traducido por Copilot/ Translated with Copilot.