IIn Haiti today, gang warfare and government collapse have created a human rights crisis of enormous proportions. Current violence, combined with long-standing problems of poverty and environmental degradation with the enduring effects of colonialism, has left this once proud Caribbean standard-bearer of freedom in dire straits. It became clear.
Naturally, the country’s tourism industry is no longer functioning. The capital, Port-au-Prince, has been closed off and tourists have been warned to stay away. It is even more poignant, but perhaps priceless, to remember that Haiti was once synonymous with Caribbean tourism and hospitality. Documentaries from the 1950s and 1960s promoted the country as a culturally rich, welcoming, and attractive destination.
Introduction to Haiti It depicts a clean and orderly Port-au-Prince, highlighting the gleaming white presidential palace, imposing cathedral, bustling covered market and teaching hospital. None of these structures remain today, and most were destroyed in the devastating earthquake of January 2010.
Of all the disasters in Haiti, the earthquake was the most devastating, reducing much of Port-au-Prince to rubble within seconds. And there was one building that became the centerpiece of a short-lived city. belle époque The iconic Hotel Olofsson was built in the mid-20th century and has survived almost intact.
This city landmark, built primarily of wood and brick, remained in place as the modern concrete buildings around it collapsed. It remains intact today, surrounded by the ruined landscape of the city.
The Olofsson was not always a hotel. Its splendor reflects the prestige of its original owners and is a particularly good example of Haitian architectural trends. Its construction was commissioned by Demosthenes Simon Sam in 1896. Demosthenes Simon Sam is the scion of a dynasty of political heavyweights and the son of Tiresias Simon Sam (President of Haiti, 1896-1902).
Located in the upscale Pakot area, the family’s home was luxuriously spacious and surrounded by tropical gardens, despite its proximity to the government center. It was also beautifully decorated, with resplendent wooden fretwork and latticework adorning the large doors and windows, porches and open verandahs.
This style later became known as gingerbread in the 1950s. However, when Olofson was designed, it referenced a trend that was popular in the United States in the 1860s and 1870s – now classified as Carpenter Gothic because of its elaborate woodwork.
Gingerbread architecture can be found throughout the Caribbean (Trinidad, Martinique, etc.). However, Port-au-Prince had an unusual concentration of mansions built in this style for wealthy families by craftsmen influenced by American and European techniques.
In July 1915, the Sam family’s occupation of the home came to an abrupt end when Tiresias’ son, President Villebran Sam, was murdered by an enraged mob. Almost immediately, U.S. Marines landed – ordered by the U.S. government, which feared anarchy, to quell the rebellion. The house was then requisitioned for use as a military hospital. During the American occupation, which lasted until 1934, a wing was added to the main building, which proved invaluable in later years.
WAfter the American troops left, the Sam family rented a house to a German-Swedish captain named Werner Olofsson. Although he was rarely seen there, his wife oversaw its renovation into a 44-bed hotel.
And 90 years ago, in early 1935, Olofson joined an early group of American visitors, including anthropologists, entrepreneurs, and artists, who were interested in our hitherto little-known Caribbean neighbor. opened the door.
In 1946, widowed Margot Olofson sold the lease to Maurice de Young, the first of several unconventional hoteliers. Los Angeles Times — Raised a crocodile in a swimming pool.
While occupied by de Young, Roger Coster, and Al Seitz, Olofson became famous for its exotic, bohemian, and slightly sleazy atmosphere. Described by a companion of John Dos Passos as “a huge, rambling palace in the Rococo style, with a dozen or so people milling about happily,” a succession of great literary figures and actors stayed there.
Haiti was and has been synonymous with Caribbean tourism and hospitality for as long as anyone can remember.
John Gielgud, Truman Capote, Noel Coward and Irving Berlin all signed the visitor list at the hotel, which Coster joked was “a magnificent dilapidated barracks for derelicts.” Its appeal lay not in efficient service or clean accommodation, but in a languid atmosphere tinged with tolerance and the thrill of voodoo folklore.
Rooms, including some left over from the American occupation, are named after notable residents. Even though it was pretty dark and creaky and had unreliable plumbing, it didn’t really matter. After all, as Herbert Gold writes, it is home to “drunkens, criminals, sexually obsessed people, lunatics, money transfers, lovers, gigolos, and bewildered adventure seekers.” It was.
When François “Papa Doc” Duvalier took power in 1958, politics, poverty and human rights deteriorated dramatically, and most tourists stayed away. One notable exception is British novelist Graham Greene, who visited Haiti in the 1950s and again in 1965. He immortalized Olofsson. Renamed Trianon, it was run by a world-weary hero during the dictatorship’s darkest days.
A classic green novel that explores love, devotion, and despair, comedian (1966) described the hotel as a haunted house.
“For many New Yorkers, it had the feel of Charles Addams’s mansion at night, with its towers, balconies, and wood fretwork. A witch might open the door for you, or bats might come out of the chandelier behind it.” I guess they were expecting it to be some crazy butler with a dangling.”
Papa Doc did not appreciate Greene’s account of the tyrannical regime or the film version. comedianThe film, starring Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, was wisely filmed in the African province of Dahomey, much to Al Seitz’s relief.
But Greene’s conjurations of the hotel remained fixed in the public imagination, and Olofsson created one of Greene’s most memorable characters, the omniscient and creepy Petit Pierre (aka Aubran Jolicoeur). They became inseparable. He frequented bars and was reportedly a gossipy journalist. Returned to dictatorship.
WWhen I first visited Haiti in 1985, the hotel lived up to its image perfectly. I swam in a pool that once had an alligator and is where Green imagined the discarded corpse of one of Papa Doc’s political opponents. The evil Jolicoeur inevitably held court in a bar.
Since 1987, Olofson has been run by Richard Morse, a Haitian-American with family ties dating back to the Sam Dynasty. For years, Morse navigated the turbulent course of Haitian politics, providing a haven for journalists and cultural tourists, and bravely confronting at least one of the military regimes that briefly ruled the country.
He also clearly reinforced the hotel’s ties to voodoo culture, decorating the place with voodoo-inspired artwork and performing weekly with his band RAM, which fuses rock and religious folklore.
However, the crisis surrounding the assassination of President Jovenel Moïse in July 2021 and the ensuing gang violence proved too much for Morse to bear, and he moved with his family to New Orleans. It is unclear if the hotel is currently open, even if there are visitors looking for a room. Online reviews have dried up.
All this is very sad. But perhaps there’s hope in the fact that Olofsson, with its gingerbread exuberance and squeaky charm, is at least still around. As Haiti emerges from this latest chapter of instability and violence, the hotel hopes to be ready to welcome new guests drawn to its history of eccentricity and resilience.
