22-23 December 2025, Holguin
Casa Luna $24 (R432)

Our Holguin host, Yvan, is tall, slender and attractive, with a French flair from his 20 years in Paris.
He studied accounting, then got a job in nearby Guardalavaca, famous for its white beaches, coral reef, swimming-with-dolphins, and tourist resorts. Any Cuban lucky enough to get a job in a beach resort with the potential to earn hard currency tips, takes an important first rung up the economy ladder.
Yvan studied French, became a tour guide, was offered training in France, and ended working there in the hotel industry 8 months a year.
He opened his first casa in Gibara, 36km from Holguin, some years ago. Then bought a flat in Holguin, also with a room or two to let. Apparently when the government first allowed private casa rentals, you could only offer two rooms; nowadays you can offer six.
Yvan bought Casa Luna, where we are staying, four years ago. The 1848 building was very dilapidated, but he has renovated it lovingly, moved in (when he is home in Cuba), and has two rooms to let. He still has the Gibara property.
Yvan is family-loving and money-careful.
Our host has three house cats, one of which is pregnant, and an aging sausage dog, a vegetarian particularly fond of carrots.
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I mentioned Holguin being a different world, noticeably wealthier than anywhere else we have seen to date. Open air restaurants serving beer in 3-litre dispensers to tables of well-dressed revellers, more up-market clothing and skin care product shops, stalls with varieties of fresh cake. We assume Holguin, using the cash injection from its proximity to hard currency from the Guardalavaca resorts, fully embraced the lifting of restrictions on the previously non-existent private sector.
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There are Xmas decorations. Can't say I've recognised any carols, though. The Cubans are obsessed with loud entertainment. Videos blaring on the bus. DJs competing to be loudest from neighbouring open air restaurants. Resulting in a mind-numbing racket over bad speakers. Much like Africa. In the Tortuguilla casa we had all to ourselves, the host was a little taken aback when we asked him to switch off the TV.
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On each of our three nights, we frequented a different restaurant; each was predominantly filled with Cubans enjoying their meals and each other.
Last night, before dinner, we sat at an open-air place, Charl drinking a beer, me a Mojito Cubano (white rum, real cane sugar, lime juice, club soda, and fresh mint), snacking on prawn croquettes. Nearby was a family. The little boy, maybe ten, stood behind his mom giving her a massage. I called out to them, proposing in sign language that I was next. The mom persuaded the boy to come over to our table where he was not quite sure what to do with himself. We helped him with a couple of English sentences, and released him from his giggling massage in under a minute.