CAN RAMONET
From ruins to home
I remember as if it were yesterday when I climbed that bumpy road, with a stone wall, and pine and olive trees until I reached the house that had completely collapsed. I also remember the exact place where I fell in love with the estate. It was on the path where the stone wall began, which at that time gave way to a magical environment full of vegetation.
The oldest part of Can Ramonet is 200 years old, it was a house built in phases. I still have some old details of the house, such as the stone arch at the entrance and the staircase, the rings they used to tie the donkeys inside the house, or the stone spike they used to wash the dishes.
The land had been uninhabited for no more and no less than 40 years, for me, it was an enchanted place, and I could only see it with a magical gaze, which only I could see. The roof had collapsed, and there were not many walls left standing either. There were rats’ nests, nothing inside, nothing outside, but with breathtaking views of the Serra de Tramuntana and the Puig de Santa Magdalena.
Buying process
At that time the advertisements to buy a property appeared in the newspaper once a week, you called the advertiser, without having seen any photos or anything, just a brief description and you went to see the house.
I went to see Can Ramonet with the real estate agent who was in the advert, a German and we were also accompanied by a Mallorcan, at the time I didn’t understand what the man was doing there. My Spanish at that time was very basic and so I opted to communicate with the German who pointed out the price of the property, at that time, 55 million pesetas. Meanwhile, I thought that the Mallorcan was a representative of the owners, but later I found out that they were some kind of partners.
The point is that I went away happy, dreaming of my future home. As luck would have it, I knew a local neighbor to whom I told my visit to Can Ramonet: ‘I’m very excited, I love this house’, I told him. He knew which house I was referring to, and his reply left me cold: ‘Yes, it’s a house that’s been on the market for some time and they’re asking 45 million pesetas for it’. My face was a picture.
The estate agent had told me 55. Ten million pesetas more. I called them and told them that no matter how much I liked the property, no one was fooling me. I was already giving the house up for loss.
With the disappointment I felt, I had no choice but to keep looking for other properties where I could make my home. And it is interesting, as fate would have it, that I looked at two houses: one in Selva and the other in Santa Eugènia, and today at Engel & Völkers we have the same ones for sale.
At the same time, I was still in the process of selling the house in Alaró. After a few months my phone rang, and surprise, it was the Mallorcan from Can Ramonet. He already knew that the house for sale was mine, and when he heard that I had put up the sign with my phone number, he went by on purpose, so that he could call me.
He asked me if I remembered him, and to top it off, if I was still interested in the property. My answer was clear: as much as I liked the house, I can’t buy for 55 what you are selling for 45 million pesetas. She surprised me again with her answer, assuring me not to worry, that if I wanted Can Ramonet I could have it.
And I bought it, from a family of seven brothers, one of them 97 years old, and because of inheritance issues, they made me pay for the house in two installments. Let’s not forget that during this whole process, I was pregnant with Yannis. I couldn’t go to the second signing because two days later he was born.
The reform
After the whole purchase process, the only thing left to do was to refurbish it. Almost nothing. A house that didn’t even have a roof. I was really on a pink cloud, I could see reflected on that land the house that was going to be my home. My illusion increased even more when the architect made me a hand drawing of what the house was going to look like.
Luckily my relatives already knew me, and although they might think I was rushing into things, they knew that if I had something in my head I was going to go for it. My father was horrified when he saw the photos and he said ‘That’s nothing but a pile of stones’. I didn’t see the pile of stones, I saw the result in my head.
The first step was to get the license for the renovation and extension, and when we got it we started in September 1999. And on 24 December of the same year, I was already living there. Incredible but true. But it was in the small house, which years before had been the stables.
To give you an idea, at two o’clock in the afternoon the electrician would leave the house and I was putting up the Christmas tree on a cement block, because there was nothing else, but I couldn’t allow it to be Christmas Eve and there was no tree in my house. The property was upside down, the small house was finished, the terrace was half finished, and everything around it was full of rubble… There wasn’t even a garden, if it rained one day there was mud everywhere. But the Christmas tree was not going to be missing.
The anchor
For me, this house is the anchor of my life. I am convinced that there are energies here that take care of me. When I move away from Inca, and I start to see the trees on the road to my house, what I feel is relief.
And speaking of energies… I assure you that they take care of me because I respect them firmly. When we arrived at the Finca, we knew that nobody had lived there for 40 years, and it made me uncomfortable to enter a place that had previously been lived in by another family, so for a long time I used to light a candle that I placed next to the entrance to the kitchen. Some people don’t believe in all this and may think I’m crazy, but the people who do, I’m sure they know what I’m talking about.
It makes me feel so proud and privileged to see the whole process that Can Ramonet has gone through… In fact, in the future, I want to build a new home with my husband, and we have tried twice, but for A or B we haven’t left. I think the place doesn’t want me to leave.
