In the tropical hills of Tamanique, El Salvador, two Canadians settled into a beautiful villa surrounded by jungle.
Towering trees. Warm tropical breezes. Spectacular scenery.
Paradise.
Until one evening, a snake dropped from the roof, landing barely a foot in front of the woman as she walked across the patio.
She bolted inside, slammed the sliding glass door shut, and shouted to her husband, a man who absolutely despised snakes.
“SNAKE!”
Apparently, nature was equally enthusiastic about getting acquainted.
And unfortunately, the snake was only the beginning.
The warning signs had been there all along.
On their first walks along an old donkey trail through the jungles of Tamanique, the couple noticed something peculiar.
The earthen banks were riddled with holes. Dozens of little openings disappearing into the ground.
They appeared to be tarantula burrows.
An entire neighbourhood, already established.
And apparently, a few residents were interested in upgrading their accommodations.
Tarantulas are part of the tropical ecosystem, where they help control insect and other small-animal populations. Many terrestrial species spend much of their lives sheltered in burrows or protected hiding places.
But some seemed perfectly comfortable exploring the couple’s deck.
And one, in particular, developed an interest in indoor plumbing.
It began as an entirely ordinary visit to the bathroom.
While sitting on the toilet, the woman reached down to pick up a roll of toilet paper from the floor.
Beneath it sat a six-inch tarantula.
What followed was an extraordinary display of human athleticism.
With her trousers around her ankles and her bladder still emptying, she fled the bathroom at remarkable speed.
Her husband went in to investigate.
Moments later, a voice echoed through the villa.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”
The local residents had apparently misunderstood the concept of personal space.
But the tarantula wasn’t the only creature interested in indoor living.
There were scorpions.
Over time, her increasingly exasperated husband discovered no fewer than seventeen inside the villa.
Seventeen.
One might be considered an unwelcome visitor.
Seventeen suggested an organized community.
Possibly with a homeowners’ association.
Fortunately, not all the original residents were quite so alarming.
One particularly sociable iguana seemed determined to make friends.
Unlike the snakes, spiders and scorpions, this resident preferred a more civilized approach.
A leisurely visit to the deck. A little sunshine. Perhaps something to eat.
With fruit trees providing an occasional free buffet, the local iguanas had every reason to stick around.
Their table manners, however, left something to be desired.
Fallen fruit was consumed enthusiastically. The resulting mess was someone else’s problem.
Apparently, paradise came with complimentary guests.
Housekeeping was another matter entirely.
But why were so many of the original residents showing up at the villa?
The answer begins with a simple observation.
The jungle doesn’t stop where the house begins.
A tropical home is part of a living ecosystem. Its gardens, rooflines, patios and sheltered corners can become extensions of the surrounding habitat.
An overhanging branch can provide climbing wildlife with a route toward the roof.
A poorly sealed door, an opening around a pipe or a damaged screen can provide access to the interior.
Dark, undisturbed spaces can offer refuge to spiders and scorpions.
And ripe fruit left on the ground can attract hungry visitors, including iguanas and other wildlife.
The precise routes taken by the villa’s unexpected guests were never established. But the broader lesson was becoming clear.
The jungle provided the wildlife.
The villa provided a few additional conveniences.
And the humans had inadvertently made themselves rather accommodating hosts.
Fortunately, sharing paradise doesn’t mean surrendering the house.
A few practical decisions can help reduce unexpected encounters without turning a tropical garden into a sterile landscape.
1. Seal the openings.
Inspect exterior doors, window screens, vents and gaps around plumbing or utility penetrations. Properly fitted screens, door sweeps and suitable sealing materials can help prevent wildlife from wandering indoors.
An open-door policy is taken rather literally in the jungle.
2. Keep branches away from the roof.
Trees are among the great pleasures of tropical living. They provide shade, beauty and valuable habitat.
But branches touching or overhanging a roof can also provide access for climbing animals.
Thoughtful landscaping and appropriate pruning can reduce those routes while preserving the trees wherever possible. In El Salvador, tree-cutting and certain pruning activities may be subject to local or environmental requirements, so permissions should be checked before significant work.
There’s no need to provide the neighbours with a private entrance.
Especially when some have a habit of dropping in unannounced.
3. Don’t leave a complimentary buffet in the garden.
Harvest ripe fruit regularly and collect what’s fallen.
Decaying fruit can attract insects and fruit-eating wildlife, while food sources around the house may encourage repeated visits.
A productive tropical garden can still support wildlife. The goal is simply to avoid concentrating food and hiding places immediately beside living areas.
After all, there’s no need to advertise free accommodation and an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Particularly when the guests have absolutely no intention of cleaning up after themselves.
These precautions reduce opportunities for unwanted encounters. They cannot guarantee a wildlife-free home, and unfamiliar snakes, scorpions and large spiders should be left undisturbed rather than handled.
There’s something wonderfully humbling about living in the tropics.
The landscape may be spectacular. The architecture may be beautiful. And the property boundaries may be clearly marked.
But the surrounding ecosystem has been operating on its own terms for a very long time.
The challenge isn’t to eliminate the original residents.
It’s to understand them, respect their place in the landscape, and establish a few reasonable boundaries.
Because some neighbours are best admired from a distance.
Others might become familiar visitors.
And the occasional iguana may simply decide that the terrace is an excellent place to spend the afternoon.
The humans may own the house. They may even own the land.
But the iguana lounging on the terrace?
He doesn’t seem particularly concerned about the paperwork.
After all…
They were here first.