Alvita Suarez used her childhood memories to transform her home into a
tribute to all things Cuban
By Nery Ynclan. nynclan@herald.com.
The Miami Herald
A decorator lives here. Witness the unusually draped curtains, the colonial
wood details, the carefully selected antiques.
But beyond the beautiful fabrics and original pieces of art, there's
something else at work, something as sentimental as it is tropical.
It seems that every object, every piece of furniture, every color in Alvita
Suarez's house was selected to pay homage to her native Cuba.
Some might call it an obsession. Her family is even less polite.
''I think she's crazy,'' says daughter Mia, 18.
''My Mom is crazy,'' echoed son Pablo Jr., 13.
''Even though I deeply, truly believe my wife is crazy,'' says husband
Pablo, "in the end I give in to her ideas because I trust her. It does look
good.''
Family teasing aside, the 4,000-square-foot Miami Lakes home not only looks
good, it feels good. Good like a warm breeze through a tropical plantation that
leaves you wanting a cool drink and a nap under a straw hat -- not an easy feat
for a spanking-new suburban tract house.
''I don't feel like I'm decorating, just putting together things that create
an ambience, a feeling of belonging with my tradition that I want for my kids
and grandkids,'' says Suarez, 45. "I know for sure they'll be at least half
Cuban.''
Owner of Alvarina Interiors, a firm specializing in window treatments,
Suarez left Cuba as a 9-year-old child but has never forgotten the details of
1950s Havana, with its floral bark cloth, dark antique furnishings and art glass
hanging in everyone's window.
In her last home she had created a space to honor Cuban patriot José
Martí with a picture, some of his works and a white rose marking one of
his most famous poems, Cultivo Una Rosa Blanca. But upon moving to her new home
more than a year ago, she decided a small corner wasn't enough.
''I wanted my kids to know their history,'' she says. "When they were
little, we used to read to them from The Golden Age, José Martí's
book. We started collecting Cuban things, pre-Castro things, from the turn of
the century to the 1930s and '40s. Then, it just blossomed from there.''
Blossom is an understatement. Listen to Suarez explain the vision behind
some of her design choices:
In the living room, a principal painting of a very tall palm and a tiny
passerby on a road beneath: "The big palm is our hope of a future for Cuba,
and the small person is me waiting for that future to arrive. The hope is there,
but the tree is so tall you can't reach it.''
The formal, two-story curtains unusually draped: "I see a very proper
European lady coming to Havana on a steamboat, dressed very beautifully, and
then she feels the heat of the tropics and she lets down her dress below her
shoulders allowing her slip to show. I call it tropical formality.''
The color scheme: 'I asked myself, "What are the colors of Cuba?' To
me, the green is for the mangroves, the corals for the shells, the turquoise of
the sky and the blue of the ocean.''
The banana-tree carpet in her husband's office: 'When they started saying we
were a Banana Republic, I decided, 'OK fine, we'll have some bananas.' ''
The list goes on and on because their passion for collecting has taken
Suarez and her husband, owner of Miami-Dade's four Esther's Restaurants, across
the South, antiquing. They have a home in Tennessee, and the dealers know what
Alvita Suarez is looking for.
''My husband will always say, 'Don't ask them, they're not going to have
anything Cuban here, don't embarrass me,''' she says. "But I do and it
strikes up a conversation. We've made friends, and over the years they save
Cuban things they come across for me.''
Treasured items include a 1953 Cuban newspaper including an ad for a gala
evening dress from Sears for $13.95, a storefront sign from Pope and Son Havana
Cigars and a 1930s radio received as a gift.
''Refugees don't have attics and basements and heirlooms from their
grandparents,'' says Suarez, whose favorite jewelry even has Cuban motifs. "My
husband and I have to collect things for our children, create our own
heirlooms.''
Some are more prized than others. The television armoire in the family room
is topped with a collection of Cuban objects including a blanket from a Cuban
skiff that washed ashore in Miami Beach during the rafter crisis of mid-90s.
Suarez spent many a morning combing the shore for what she really wanted, an
oar, but no luck.
Her search for all things Cuban and perhaps something deeper took her four
years ago to the island she holds so dear. There, she visited her best childhood
friend, with whom she'd kept in touch all these years. Rebeca, who works
repairing watches, had a special souvenir for her Miami friend: a rafter's oar,
one that had washed back to the island from a failed attempt to cross the deadly
straits between home and exile.
'When we went to pick up my wife from the airport, all these people got off
the plane from Cuba with these ridiculous hats and things, and I thought, 'Oh,
God, I hope she doesn't get off with one of those. It's so embarrassing,' ''
says Pablo Suarez. "Instead she comes off the plane carrying an oar over
her shoulder! I couldn't believe it.''
And so, while it may seem easy for Alvita Suarez to choose one favorite
thing in her house of Cuban collectibles, she doesn't pick the oar. She chooses
the large wood-trimmed, arched window with working shutters that light the
stairs' landing.
After all that collecting, it seems, Suarez isn't looking for a thing that
can be bought or held.
''In that window is my whole childhood,'' she says. "When I visited
Havana the houses were just as I left them. When they closed the windows at
night, I was a child again, like a time machine.
"Architecturally, I brought my perfect place in old Havana here.'' | 
