Home isn’t always four walls and a roof – around the world, people have crafted extraordinary dwellings that defy expectations. From the towering treehouses of Papua New Guinea to the floating reed islands of Lake Titicaca, these homes are shaped by their landscapes, cultures and histories.
Whether carved into rock beneath Australia’s Outback, stacked like the 'Manhattan of the desert' or squeezed into the impossibly tight spaces of Hong Kong’s coffin homes, each offers a glimpse into the ingenuity and resilience of those who live there.
Click or scroll to explore the world’s most remarkable homes, where architecture meets survival in the most surprising ways...
Soaring in the treetops in Papua, Indonesia are the incredible treehouses built by the Kombai and Korowai people. The houses are tall – in this case as high as 15 metres (49ft) in the air – to serve as a watch tower for the clan’s men, but also to keep the structures safe from flooding, dangerous animals like snakes and mosquitoes, and the spirits thought to roam the rainforest at night.
Papua, the Indonesian half of New Guinea Island, remains one of the world's last unexplored regions. Home to around 250 languages, its diverse communities often consist of just a few hundred people, with some only recently making contact with the outside world.
According to a report in the British newspaper The Daily Telegraph, the forest dwellers have lived virtually undisturbed by the outside world until 50 years ago. Scientists and filmmakers first visited the settlements in the 1970s to understand better how the Kombai and Korowai people live but contact was limited until the 1990s.
The area has received a lot of Western media attention in recent decades, and there are reports that the building of some of the tallest treehouses were constructed purely for those wanting to film the process for documentaries.
To see Korowai people living traditionally today you would need to trek into the jungle for several days. The treehouses are made entirely from natural forest materials, such as bamboo and the leaves of sago extracted from palm stems.
The houses typically take several weeks to build and can last for years if well maintained. The engineering feat of creating the homes is all the more impressive considering the lack of tools or measuring equipment often used to build such structures.
Young men often build particularly tall houses – the tallest stretching 40 metres (130ft) in the sky – as a means of showing off, while the houses typically lived in by families tend to be between three and 10 metres (10 to 33 feet) off the ground.
Accessing the towering structures is no mean feat, and requires scaling the metres-high wooden poles to reach the treetops.
Around 400 households, or 1,700 people, make up the population of Hạ Long Bay’s floating villages, according to advocacy group World Monuments Fund. The boats and floating wooden houses are purpose-built to serve the community’s key livelihood: fishing.
The ancient trade has been passed down through generations and for hundreds of years these settlements have allowed their residents to earn a living from the contents of the bay’s emerald waters, and for them to rise and fall with the tide as they go.
Unsurprisingly Hạ Long Bay’s incredible scenery and unique way of life attract scores of visitors, making tourism as big an industry – if not bigger – as fishing. But the bay’s popularity comes with its downsides; pollution and littering levels have skyrocketed as more and more tourist boats travel through the area.
For a long time, the bay was also used as a cargo port for materials such as cement and wood chips, but there are now tighter regulations in place restricting a lot of the transportation of goods.
The tourist trade is key to a lot of residents, with floating restaurants, B&Bs and tiny shops making up part of the community here. This floating guesthouse gives a glimpse into what the water-based buildings look like inside. The interiors of these waterborne homes are often compact but cleverly designed to maximise space, with hammocks and fold-away furniture.
While the waters are generally calm, residents must be prepared for storms. Typhoons can bring dangerous swells, forcing people to reinforce their homes or temporarily relocate. Despite these challenges, life on the water remains a deep-rooted tradition, with generations adapting to the rhythm of the bay.
Life in the floating villages may be unconventional, but homes are far from basic. Brightly painted wooden structures often feature potted plants, washing lines and makeshift balconies overlooking the shimmering waters. Some homes have televisions powered by generators or solar panels, and residents even have internet access, allowing them to stay connected despite their remote setting.
Pets are a common sight, with dogs and cats roaming the wooden platforms. Dogs, in particular, serve an important role, not only as loyal companions but also as guardians of fishing stock, deterring seabirds and opportunistic monkeys that venture too close. Even with the ever-present movement of the water, families create cosy, personalised spaces that feel just like home.
In South Australia, the town of Coober Pedy is perfectly designed to withstand the scorching conditions of the Outback – because it’s mostly underground. Caves bored into the hillsides, known as dugouts, provide refuge from temperatures that have reached up to 48°C (118°F) in the summer months.
The name Coober Pedy is an aboriginal term meaning ‘white man in a hole’, a nod to the unique living circumstances of the town’s population.
Despite the challenging conditions, Australians continue to populate the area thanks to its wealth of opals. Coober Pedy has the largest fields of these precious stones in the world and provides between 85 and 90% of the global supply. Opal was first officially discovered in 1915 by a 14-year-old boy, Willie Hutchison, during a gold prospecting expedition.
Since then, waves of miners have come to seek their fortune with a boom through the 1970s, 80s and 90s. At its peak, the town saw thousands of miners working the land, and even today, many residents still rely on opal mining, selling gemstones to collectors and jewellery makers worldwide.
Around 3,000 people lived in Coober Pedy at its zenith in 1980, but numbers have since dwindled to around half that according to data from 2021. But life in Coober Pedy is a stark contrast to the harsh Outback climate, where summer temperatures soar beyond 45°C (113°F) and winter nights bring sudden cold snaps.
About 50% of people live in dugouts, which provide stable temperatures around 23 to 25°C (73–77°F), avoiding the excessive heat in the day and the desert chill overnight and saving huge amounts of money on heating and cooling the properties in the process.
Though hidden beneath the earth, Coober Pedy’s underground homes aren't as small as you might imagine. The town’s stable soil allows for wide, high-ceilinged spaces and homeowners often carve out custom designs to suit their needs. Some of the largest homes span over 4,800 square feet (450sqm) featuring multiple bedrooms, walk-in wardrobes, and even underground swimming pools.
Residents also get creative, linking separate dugouts via tunnels, expanding their homes into underground mansions. The walls, left in their natural sandstone state, give the homes a warm, textured aesthetic, while modern amenities such as running water, internet and electricity ensure a comfortable lifestyle. With no windows, artificial lighting is essential but skylights and ventilation shafts help bring in fresh air and daylight.
For centuries the Amazon River has supported populations living around it, providing food, shelter and livelihoods, but the second-longest river in the world can be volatile – particularly during the rainy season, which can cause mammoth floods.
But generations of people have built homes perfectly adapted to their environment, and in the Mamirauá and Amanã reserves, home to around 15,000 people, nearly everything is built on stilts. To adapt, locals – primarily caboclo, of mixed Indigenous and European descent – live in stilt or floating houses, embracing an amphibious way of life as the waters swell and recede with the seasons.
The houses stand about around 10 feet (3m) above the ground, a necessity in this flood-prone region. While much of Brazil faces severe drought, this part of the Amazon is submerged for half the year, with river levels rising up to 33 feet (10m) between December and July.
These dwellings, and whatever is inside, have a much better chance of survival when the river swells and bursts its banks. As well as protecting the owners from flooding, the elevation also prevents creatures from the rainforest floor from making their way into the home.
And it isn’t just people who live in stilt homes – pets and livestock are also often kept at a height so that they are safe from predators.
Stilt houses are typically made from local materials, such as wood, vines, straw and leaves, and their assembly is an architectural feat.
Wooden pillars or posts are anchored into the ground as a base for the house, and flooring and walls, usually made from planks of wood, are then constructed around those foundations. This picture shows the bright green interiors of a riverside stilt house in Ilha de Marajo in Brazil.
Thanks to climate change, flooding is becoming an increasingly common problem, and sometimes even the stilt houses aren’t high enough to escape the barrages of water.
Villagers close to Lake Tefe (pictured) in northern Brazil have said that their stilts aren’t high enough, so they resort to building extra, temporary floors around a metre above the original. They then use the windows to enter the property rather than the front door, according to reports in Science magazine.
The cliff homes in Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado, are among the most significant archaeological sites in North America. Constructed by the Ancestral Puebloans, also known as the Anasazi, these structures date back approximately to the 1190s.
The dwellings vary in size from single-room units to complex villages with up to 150 rooms, such as the renowned Cliff Palace. These communities thrived for over a century before being abandoned in the late 13th century.
By carving their homes into the sandstone cliffs, the Ancestral Puebloans used the natural landscape to create insulated living spaces that were protected from the elements. It also left the precious arable land for agriculture on the mesa tops.
The cliff dwellings feature kivas – circular, subterranean rooms used for religious and communal purposes – showcasing advanced architectural and cultural practices. After flourishing for generations, the inhabitants began migrating from the area by the late 1200s, possibly due to environmental changes or resource scarcity.
Today, tourists visit Mesa Verde to admire the remarkable craftsmanship and historical significance of these ancient structures. The construction of these dwellings involved meticulous craftsmanship, using sandstone blocks and adobe mortar – a blend of water, sand, lime and clay. Builders employed stone tools to shape the sandstone and create precise architectural features.
Ceilings, which are arguably the trickiest part of building this kind of home, were engineered by placing wooden beams, known as vigas, across rooms, overlaid with smaller branches and a mixture of mud and plant materials to form a sturdy roof.
Residents could access the upper levels of their homes through doorways, but lower levels usually required a ladder, which would go through an opening in the ceiling. The lack of doors and windows on lower-level floors meant that in the instance of an attack, people could easily isolate themselves from the enemy.
The population also benefited from the natural protection offered by the cliffside location, as well as its strategic positioning as a vantage point to see anybody approaching from down below.
In Hong Kong, one of the world's wealthiest cities, an estimated 220,000 people endure cramped living conditions in subdivided apartments known as cage homes and coffin homes. These units, often smaller than a parking space, result from severe housing shortages and exorbitant property prices.
Typically, landlords partition existing apartments into tiny cubicles, each just large enough for a bed and personal belongings, and rent them for several hundred dollars a month. A recent census found 20% of Hong Kong's housing was classed as subdivided units but for the poorest people, there is no real alternative.
Coffin homes, named for their coffin-like dimensions, offer minimal space and privacy. Residents often share communal kitchens and bathrooms, with partitions made of wood or wire mesh separating individual units. The COVID-19 pandemic exacerbated the plight of these inhabitants, as isolation in such confined quarters proved challenging.
A significant number of children in these homes lacked access to computers and reliable internet, hindering their ability to participate in online education. The overcrowded and unsanitary conditions not only pose health risks but also underscore the urgent need for comprehensive housing reforms to improve living standards for Hong Kong's most vulnerable populations.
Cage homes, originating in the 1950s, consist of stacked metal bunks enclosed in wire mesh, providing scant personal space and ventilation. These dwellings are prevalent in older, dilapidated buildings repurposed to accommodate the city's poorest residents.
The pandemic intensified the hardships faced by cage home occupants, as social distancing and self-isolation were nearly impossible in such tight quarters. Recent government initiatives aim to ban substandard tiny apartments by mandating a minimum size of at least eight square meters. However, low-income families fear the regulations may lead to higher rents, further exacerbating their financial burdens.
This photo shows an elderly resident beside his cage as he prepares to settle in for the evening in an apartment area that he shares with four others. Residents of cage and coffin homes often face precarious living situations, with the constant threat of eviction as properties are sold to developers.
The average living space in these homes is approximately 15 square feet (1.4sqm), significantly smaller than the average prison cell in Hong Kong, which measures about 75 square feet (7sqm). Despite government pledges to eliminate such substandard housing by 2049, progress has been slow, and many people continue to live in these deplorable conditions or face having no shelter at all.
Perched atop rugged terrain, Yemen's cliffside settlements were originally designed as defensive outposts and are found throughout the mountainous country. Most famously located in the desert valley of Wadi Dawan (part of Hadhramaut), villages like Haid al-Jazil (pictured) and Al-Khuraiba cling to the edges of towering cliffs.
These traditional mudbrick homes, built centuries ago, blend seamlessly into the desert landscape. Despite their impressive age and apparent staying power, they need constant repair and maintenance as summer rains tend to damage the structures by washing away their mud coatings.
Shibam, a 16th-century walled city in eastern Yemen, is often dubbed the 'Manhattan of the Desert' due to its impressive mudbrick skyscrapers rising up to seven stories high. This vertical urban planning was a defensive response to Bedouin raids, allowing residents to monitor and protect their surroundings effectively.
Strategically located along ancient caravan routes, Shibam served as a vital trading hub for spices and incense. The traditional multi-story tower houses are ingeniously designed to accommodate various aspects of daily life. These structures typically consist of multiple floors, each serving distinct functions, and would house extended families, with multiple generations living under one roof.
These homes are a call back to an original way of life in an old city, with many of the structures still very much resembling how they would have looked centuries ago.
The ground floor is primarily utilised for storage of food, livestock feed and firewood. Upper floors contain living spaces, with the first habitable level often housing reception rooms for guests, while higher floors serve as private family areas and bedrooms.
Kitchens are usually located on the first or second floor, adjacent to living or dining areas. Bathrooms are commonly situated off stairwells or landings.
To maintain comfortable indoor temperatures in Yemen's hot climate, these houses employ several passive cooling strategies. Thick walls made of mud-brick or stone provide natural insulation, keeping interiors cool during the day and retaining warmth at night. Small, strategically placed windows facilitate cross-ventilation, allowing hot air to escape and cooler air to circulate.
Today, many of these ancient cliff villages remain inhabited, preserving traditional lifestyles and architectural practices. However, some structures have been repurposed for tourism or face challenges due to modern migration trends and economic factors.
The Uros floating islands of Lake Titicaca, found in the Andes mountains on the border of Peru, are a unique example of ancient sustainable living. Estimates vary but anywhere between 1,200 and 4,000 people are thought to live on the islands, which are congregated in the middle of the lake. There are thought to be around 60 islands in total but the number fluctuates as islands merge or disappear.
It is believed that they were originally forced to build these islands in the middle of the lake due to threats posed by the Inca Empire to their mainland dwellings. They opted to retreat into the middle of the lake rather than face combat with other local inhabitants.
The islands are constructed from aquatic reeds known as Totora, and the techniques for making these incredible structures have been passed down through generations of Uros people. They start with a foundation of compacted roots, then layer cut reeds in alternating crisscross patterns creating a stable, buoyant platform.
The floating islands include most of what you would expect to find in a village on land, including a school, medical facilities, and even some shops.
People living in these beautifully crafted homes rely primarily on the lake for sustenance, as it is rich in trout and catfish. As threats on the mainland started to subside, the Uros people also inhabited land where they could raise livestock, but the islands are relatively easy to move and connect with others should danger present itself.
Daily activities revolve around fishing, hunting waterfowl, and harvesting totora reeds for island upkeep and crafts. The islands and houses require continuous maintenance, which involves adding fresh reeds to counteract the decomposition of the lower layers.
Traditional Uros homes are single-room structures which are used for sleeping, dining and socialising. Cooking is typically done outdoors to reduce fire hazards, given the flammable nature of the reed construction. Some islands have communal facilities, including kitchens and meeting spaces, shared among multiple families.
While they preserve traditional practices, modern influences have been integrated. Many islands now have solar panels for electricity, powering appliances like radios and televisions. The population of Uros people living on these islands is decreasing year on year so tourism plays a significant role in the local economy, with residents offering homestays and selling handcrafted goods to visitors.
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