Nicaragua: Living in a Treehouse

We lived in a treehouse in Nicaragua, at a lovely spot called Sabalos Lodge on the Rio San Juan.

With a half-dozen thatch roofed huts strung along the river, it felt just like living in a treehouse. Simple, humble and rustic, but utterly fun as well.

I had no idea what I was in for when the boat glided up to the dock.

A carved sign announced the lodge with a note underneath that we were at Yaro’s casa–and the rangy man with white hair met us with a firm handshake.

I felt like I had entered a story when I walked up two steps to a bamboo reception area open to the outside world on nearly all sides.

Imagine my excitement when a wooden bridge over a lagoon where the boys were chasing caiman alligators, led me to a path through the brush alongside huts on stilts lining the waterway.

And the birds calling in the trees? No wonder the huts were named for characters out of Tarzan!

A real treehouse?

We stayed in Chita, a two-room “bungalow” made of bamboo and open to the river flowing nearby.

The common area held several simple chairs, a table and two hanging hammocks.

The bedroom boasted a double bed and a single futon, both swathed in mosquito netting.

The walls on two sides reached to our shoulders and gaped so we had an easy view at the pathway to the north and the open sky and river to the south.

No windows, no screens, and a towering A-framed roof overhead. The sound of rushing water never ended and the birds chittered and squawked in the trees–when they weren’t upstaged by the hoot of howler monkeys.

Included a bathroom!

This tree house even came with a bathroom, replete with cold shower and a flush toilet. Who could complain about that?

One afternoon a yellow frog with dark green eyes poked his head through the thatch and watched me shiver. Even now I’m not sure if it was the water or the reptilian eye that caused me to hurry out.

It was fun to look past the shower head and watch a monkey swing past, just like being in a treehouse.

Our furniture was simple but comfortable. We had a table for our night stand, a platform for our luggage, a bare light bulb overhead. It was sufficient and easy to live with.

We didn’t have to lock our door–which was good since it only had a latch. We didn’t worry about the neighbors because the thick foliage gave us privacy.

The tall roof overhead kept out the monsoon rains that poured down in the evenings. Down near the boat dock, a shelter housed six hammocks where we could gather at dusk and watch the birds fly to roost on an island in the middle of the river.

One of the few electrical outlets where you can charge your I-pod or camera battery was in the shelter. Or in the dining area, equally open to the elements.

There’s something to be said for the casual, simple living of a treehouse.

With lizards skittering in and out, the prospects of bugs an ever-present excitement and monkeys sitting in the trees nearby, you feel like you’re in the jungle.

But the beds are soft, the water cool and the sounds of nature close at hand. The food is good, too, and all of it off the property.

I wouldn’t want to live in a treehouse all the time, but for five days on the Rio San Juan, it worked very well for us.