w/ Casa Manire, Peru

Echoing Home is a new series born from a deeply personal question: what truly makes a space a home? As a designer, I’ve long explored this question – not just from an aesthetic point of view, but, more importantly, from a psychological one. I’m fascinated by the emotional undercurrents of spaces – the way they hold us, speak to us, and, sometimes, gently invite us to be ourselves.

Is it even possible to verbalize what makes us feel at home? In Echoing Home, I try. Echoing Home holds that unspoken feeling – a quiet echo of belonging that remains with us.

In this edition of Echoing Home, it’s all about Casa Manire, a sanctuary of calm in the jungle of Cusco, Peru. At the heart of Casa Manire are Mariana Otero and Yerko Zlatar, an interior designer and a visual artist, founders of Puna Estudio. As they beautifully describe themselves: the dreamers who brought this place to life.

Casa Manire wasn’t born overnight. It grew from a personal and powerful story: Yerko’s grandparents arrived from Croatia to the misty forest in Cusco at the beginning of the last century. This landscape, rich in memory and endless greenery, became their starting point. During the pandemic, Mariana and Yerko returned to this place, allowing time to slow, and decided to plant something new. And so, Casa Manire came into being.

It's not just a house as they say, but an extension of the Puna universe: a space shaped by artisan craftsmanship, the art of slowing down, attention to detail, eastern influences, modernist architecture, and a deep connection to nature. Here, they’ve planted trees, fruit, cacao, coffee, and tea – in a constant search to reconnect with the Earth, to touch it, care for it, and inhabit it in a more meaningful way.

It’s a place to read, create, rest, and be inspired. A refuge for those who value soulful design and the art of living slowly.

Together, Mariana, Yerko and I had a beautiful conversation about a family’s dream, the acceptance of imperfection, the sense of feeling quietly full, and the connection between the meaning of Casa Manire and an 1870 issue of the French magazine Tour du Monde.

Yerko, when your family came to Peru in the 1900s, they began farming this land, so I imagine you have a lifelong personal connection to it. What were your initial certainties about what you wanted to create here? Did you always envision this project, or did a specific opportunity arise that you and Mariana decided to pursue?

Yes, my relationship with this place is deeply personal and lifelong. For years, we would come here for short stays — a week or two — just to disconnect from the city. My father built a few small bungalows, and at some point my brother and I started planting cacao nearby.

I often used this place as a kind of creative retreat — a quiet lab for focusing on my art projects, away from distraction. It wasn’t always clear that we would build a house here, but when the pandemic came, everything shifted. Mariana and I felt the need to create a space of our own, where we could stay longer, bring our kids, and live in tune with the rhythms of the forest. That’s when we decided to design Casa Manire — a house shaped around our own way of living.

I read that Casa Manire is inspired by the mid-century Case Study Houses [developed by Charles and Ray Eames] and the simplicity of Japanese rural cabins. As the creative director of Puna Estudio, did you envision a clear architectural concept for this land, or were there particular functions you knew the space had to serve?

As designers, we’ve often drawn inspiration from creative duos like Anni and Josef Albers or Charles and Ray Eames — admiring their seamless integration of form, function, and life. The Case Study Houses, in particular, influenced us with their openness, clarity, and harmony with the environment. At the same time, our deep connection to nature and traditional craft has shaped much of our work, including a recent line of ceramics and hand-painted textiles with Amazonian artisans, guided by a wabi-sabi sensibility that embraces natural textures, irregularity, and the quiet beauty of imperfection.

This spirit became part of the DNA of Casa Manire, where the precise lines of its structure converse with the organic forms of the surrounding landscape, creating a delicate balance between perfection and imperfection. We were also inspired by the simplicity and restraint of Japanese countryside cabins — their ability to coexist gently with nature, using materials with intention and respect. Rather than imposing a rigid concept, we allowed these influences to guide us toward something intuitive, essential, and deeply rooted in its place.

What drew you to combine mid-century modern design with Japanese simplicity specifically for Casa Manire? What made you feel this approach would work so well in the Amazonian environment?

We’ve always felt there’s a natural dialogue between Japanese simplicity and mid-century modern architecture — especially the work of the Eameses. Both explore a sense of clarity and openness, avoiding excess and allowing space to breathe. We were fascinated by the idea of large glass openings and sliding panels that dissolve the boundary between inside and outside.

That concept felt especially right for the Amazon. In a place so alive and ever-changing, we didn’t want the house to dominate — we wanted it to be part of the landscape. We were drawn to the simplicity in both Japanese cabins and mid-century modern architecture, and to the austerity in their choice of materials and decoration. Using natural elements like wood, a black metal roof, and clean, unfussy lines, we aimed to create a space where the architecture supports the experience of the environment, rather than competing with it.

Are there elements in the current building that connect to the era of your grandparents and great-grandparents? If so, could you share some examples of specific details from that period that you felt were important to preserve or that hold personal meaning for you?

Yes, absolutely. My grandparents came from Brac, an island in Croatia, where most houses were built in stone, and they brought that knowledge with them when they settled in this part of Peru. They became skilled stonemasons and used stone to build storage structures and irrigation channels. But their main house — the casona — was made entirely of wood. It was a tall, two-story structure with vertical wooden siding and a pitched roof, and it had a small attic with tiny windows used to dry grains in the heat.

We didn’t want to recreate that house literally, but there are details in Casa Manire that echo it. For example, we used vertical wooden cladding, just like the old casona, but in a more contemporary way. We also created a kind of modern attic space — not with a small window, but with a large skylight embedded in the ceiling that frames the view of the river. And while stone isn’t part of the structure, we included it in hand-carved bathroom sinks as a quiet tribute to that family legacy.

Casa Manire is built with local materials including wood, stone, and natural fibres. The wood is Ana Caspi – a magnificent Amazonian tree with deep cultural and spiritual significance. Sometimes known as the Queen of the Jungle, it embodies strength, balance, and open-heartedness. Do you notice how these qualities seem to permeate the atmosphere when staying at Casa Manire?

Being surrounded by Ana Caspi wood brings a quiet sense of comfort. Its warm tone gives the interior a soft, natural glow that pairs beautifully with the green of the jungle coming in through the windows. That mix of textures and colors creates a calm, harmonious feeling — like the house is part of the forest.

Ana Caspi is also a dense and durable wood, which makes it ideal for the jungle. Its hardness helps protect against termites, and over time, it develops a character that adds to the atmosphere of the space. It brings both beauty and strength — just like the land around it.

Mariana, as an interior designer, what's your approach to designing spaces? What has been your starting point when you began this project?

My approach always starts with context — understanding the environment, how it feels, and how people will live in it. For Casa Manire, the starting point was simplicity — both in terms of aesthetics and practicality. Because the surroundings are already so rich — with the forest, the light, the sounds of water and birds — we wanted the interiors to feel quiet and grounded.

The idea was to create a space that doesn’t compete with nature but supports it, using only what’s essential to feel comfortable and present. Natural textures, minimal elements, and enough openness to let the outside in. Nothing unnecessary.

You've designed Casa Manire with a clear intention: to disconnect from urban life and reconnect with nature. Beyond the obvious appeal of trekking and wildlife spotting in this lush jungle setting, what other reasons do guests share for choosing to stay at Casa Manire?

Casa Manire has become a destination for people seeking a deeper connection with nature — not just through exploration, but through stillness. Many guests come for the birdwatching, as it’s one of the most biodiverse spots in Peru, with species like macaws, hummingbirds, and the Andean cock-of-the-rock. Others are drawn to the extraordinary variety of butterflies or the region’s medicinal plants. And there are those who use the space as a quiet retreat — a place to write, reflect, or simply rest. The energy of the forest invites that kind of pause.

Has the development of Casa Manire always been for others to experience the beautiful jungle of Peru, or did you want to create a sense of home for yourself personally too?

Casa Manire was originally designed as a personal refuge — a place where we could spend time as a family, surrounded by nature. We built it with our own rhythms and needs in mind. But as the house took shape, we realized we wanted to share it with others who value that same sense of slowness and connection.

Since then, it’s welcomed a variety of guests: from creatives looking for inspiration, to families seeking time offline, to birdwatchers waking up at sunrise to explore the jungle. It’s become a place that holds space for many ways of being — and that openness is what makes it feel like home.

Part of your work includes Puna, your label for handmade objects and textiles using traditional techniques. Many elements in Casa Manire were specifically designed for this space. Could you share a few examples?

Yes, several elements in the house were created in collaboration with artisans from different regions of Peru, as part of the design process rather than a separate collection. For example, the stone sinks were carved by a family of traditional stonemasons in Cusco, giving the bathrooms a raw, grounded presence. Some decorative pieces were made using tamshi, a natural vine native to the Amazon, traditionally used by Bora communities for weaving. We also included stools and side tables made from local wood, and a pair of lounge chairs woven from junco, a type of reed. The coffee table and other small pieces in the living room were built with a subtle oriental inspiration — simple, low, and close to the ground. Overall, we wanted to keep the interiors minimal, allowing each piece to feel essential and connected to the context.

You collaborate with local craftsmen – can you share examples where you feel there's been a perfect marriage between their craft and your design vision?

Working in such a remote area, we chose to collaborate with local builders rather than bring in a team from Lima. Many of them had never worked on a project like this before — large glass panes, exposed structures, minimal finishes. At first, there was doubt, but slowly they embraced the challenge. By the end, their pride in the work was palpable. It became a shared achievement, and that sense of ownership made the process incredibly special.

In terms of Peruvian tradition and craft, is there anything you believe people should know or understand? What aspects make you feel particularly proud?

Peruvian craftsmanship is rooted in profound, time-honed knowledge — passed down through doing, observing, and repeating. What moves me most is the way these ancestral techniques can evolve when there’s trust and openness. Tradition is not static; it’s alive. When it engages with new ideas, it becomes a space of dialogue and transformation — carrying the past forward while shaping the future. That, to me, is where its true power lies.

Are there any personal stories about working with local craftsmen that confirmed your belief that this is exactly why you do what you do?

With Puna, I’ve often experienced moments where a project took an unexpected — and better — direction thanks to the artisans we work with. Many times, we would arrive at the workshop with a very precise design in mind, only to discover that certain details were technically difficult or impossible to execute exactly as planned. In those moments, the artisan’s creativity would take over — finding alternative solutions, sometimes changing the shape, other times the colors. The final piece was rarely identical to the initial drawing, but it became something richer: a true collaboration between designer and artisan.

It taught me an important lesson — to let go of control. In cities, and in modern life, we’re conditioned to believe we can and must control everything. But here, you have to adapt, improvise, and work with what the land, the materials, and the people can offer. That openness, that acceptance of imperfection and unpredictability, has become not just a way of working for me, but a philosophy for life.

As you know, this interview series Echoing Home is about my attempt to verbalize the essence of feeling home. Do you think you can verbalize what feeling home means to you? What is your own experience that would best describe the feeling while staying at Casa Manire?

For me, feeling at home is being in a place where life slows down and you feel present in every moment. At Casa Manire, there’s this sense of returning to the basics — without the noise and distractions of the city. We cook, plant, tend to the garden, read, draw… and somehow the whole day passes like that, quietly full.

If you're comfortable sharing: Are there any specific moments or memories from your personal journey that served as the true inspiration – or part of the inspiration – behind founding Casa Manire?

During the pandemic, when life suddenly slowed down and we all spent more time at home, I realized that our place in the jungle was the perfect spot to build a home for my family. A place where we could be deeply connected to nature and have the time to do the things we love. That pause — that unexpected stop — made me see it clearly. I’m certain that without it, I might never have decided to make it happen.

Are there any particular items or objects in the space that hold special meaning for you – things that bring back happy memories?

At the entrance, we have a small space for umbrellas, boots, and raincoats. Next to the main door, I placed a very old photograph of my grandparents’ house under construction. I love it because it carries this pioneering spirit and determination. In the picture, my grandfather and his friends or relatives—still very young—are up on the roof, building the house themselves. It’s an image that inspires me deeply, because it radiates the energy of people working hard and fighting for a dream.

What would you say is your favourite spot at Casa Manire?

I think the terrace is my favorite spot. You can sit there and hear the river right in front of you, with the mountain in the background. Around 4 p.m. every afternoon, there’s this beautiful show of birds—macaws and oropendolas flying across the river and landing in the treetops. It’s such a simple but magical thing to watch.

Before we wrap up, I have to ask: I searched for the meaning of 'Casa Manire' but came up empty-handed. What significance does the name hold for you?

The name comes from the Manire River, which runs right in front of the house. This area has been called Manire for a long time, although I’ve never been able to find out exactly what the word means—it doesn’t seem to come from the local native language. While digging into the history of the place, I came across an 1870 issue of the French magazine Tour du Monde. In it, French explorer Paul Marcoy tells the story of his travels through South America, illustrated by Édouard Riou, the celebrated French artist known for his detailed engravings in Jules Verne’s adventure novels. To my surprise, Marcoy describes camping right where my house stands today, at the meeting point of the Manire and Araza rivers. Back then, the river’s name was written as “Maniri.”

Last question: If you had to distil the feeling of home at Casa Manire into a single sentence or image, what would that be?

The sound of the river.

Please note: all images are the courtesy of Puna Estudio and Casa Manire. Written by: Annemiek Fässler-Kooi for @studiomique