#15 SMALL DINOSAURS IN OUR HOUSE
EL SALVADOR'S WILD WONDERS
Curious about the title? It’s a playful nod to a hilarious stand-up routine by Danny Bhoy (link here—it’s a must-see!). Years ago, Jim and I watched it and laughed so hard we became lifelong gecko fans. Our first wild gecko sighting was in Singapore, but in El Salvador, they’re practically roommates. You’ll spot these tiny “dinosaurs” everywhere—scooting across bedroom walls, clinging to kitchen ceilings, or darting behind bathroom tapestries. One morning, mid-shower, I noticed a tiny gecko hand peeking out from behind my shampoo bottle. I moved it and shouted to Jim, “There’s a small dinosaur in my shower!” We both burst out laughing. These little creatures aren’t just adorable; they’re nature’s pest control, happily gobbling up pesky insects around the house.
The dinosaur theme doesn’t stop there. Our garden hosts their larger cousins—iguanas! These striking reptiles are a spectacle, especially when they sprint across the yard or, in a moment of pure comedy, tumble from a tree or our roof. Every time we hear a mysterious poof somewhere nearby, we rush to investigate, only to catch an iguana scurrying away from the scene. They seem to have a knack for falling out of trees, and it’s endlessly entertaining. We even have an iguana living in our roof. From the moment we moved in, we heard odd scratches and thumps overhead, and it didn’t take long to realize we had a scaly squatter. After some roof repairs, we worried it might be trapped, so after much nagging (sorry, Jim!), my husband grabbed a saw and cut a hole in the ceiling to free it. We tried every trick to lure it out—food, noises, you name it—but six months later, it’s still up there, slipping in and out as it pleases. And the final member of the dino-crew: a magnificent, lumbering turtle found in the garden. Our gardener, Miguel, spotted it first, so we named it Miguel in his honor.
Coming from Belgium, where wild animals are almost never seen and spotting a deer was a rare thrill, the wildlife here feels like a non-stop safari. Most mornings, Jim and I settle on the terrace with our coffee, watching two playful squirrels—Chip and Dale (Knabbel en Babbel in Dutch) —chase each other through the trees in a whirlwind of acrobatics, their antics underscored by the lively chatter of chachalacas, whose calls fill the air with a tropical rhythm.
But the show doesn’t end there. As dusk falls, raccoons rummage through the underbrush, their masked faces barely visible in the fading light. Armadillos shuffle along, their armored bodies glinting under the stars, and we’ve even caught glimpses of snakes gliding silently through the grass. Just yesterday, I had to brake at the end of the driveway to let a skunk saunter across, utterly unfazed by my car. Every day brings a new surprise—colorful birds flitting through the canopy, curious critters poking around the garden. It’s a vibrant, living ecosystem that makes every moment feel like an adventure.
That said, El Salvador’s tropical climate isn’t all cute critters and postcard-perfect moments—it’s a paradise for insects, and they come in supersize. I’ve found scorpions inside the house four times, turning shoe-checking into a daily ritual. Locals also advised us to shake out clothes and check the bed before climbing in, just in case a scorpion’s lurking. Their stings aren’t deadly, but they’re painful enough to send you racing to a medical center. Then there are the spiders. I’m not one to panic over a bug, but during our housewarming party, I walked into the bedroom and froze. A spider the size of a saucer—12cm across—was sprawled on the wall, looking like it was ready to claim the room as its own. Normally, I’d trap a spider with a glass and cardboard, but this beast was too much for me. I called Jim, who bravely captured it and set it free outside. Turns out, it was just a house spider, similar to those in Belgium, but the tropical climate here turns them into giants. While house spiders are harmless, El Salvador is also home to black widows, some of the world’s most venomous spiders, so we’ve learned to stay cautious.
Living here means embracing the wild in all its forms—from charming “small dinosaurs” to eight-legged giants that test your courage. But honestly, the thrill of this untamed world is what makes it so unforgettable.