Throughout the 20^th century, architectural experiments became the norm, reflecting the technological progress and cultural revolution humanity experienced at that time. It was this trend that engendered the unconventional design of the infamous Futuro and Venturo houses during the late 1960s and early 1970s.

The brainchild of Finnish architect Matti Suuronen, these portable prefabricated units were originally conceived as an answer to the seemingly unsolvable problem of high real-estate prices. As these transportable homes could be mass-replicated in a relatively short span of time while not entailing exceedingly expensive infrastructure, they were thought to be the ultimate remedy for the growing housing crisis.

Somewhat reminiscent of an alien spacecraft, the Futuro Pod (or simply Futuro) was designed by Suuronen as a futuristic-style ski cabin. Made primarily of fiber-reinforced plastic, the oval structure could be transported by air, sea, or land to nearly any location. Once there, the unit was propped up by four stilted legs tailored to fit various terrains.

Each house was 4 meters tall and had a diameter of 8 meters, while its 50 square meters of floor space were enough to accommodate a host of amenities, including a dining area, a kitchen, a living room, a washroom, and a single private bedroom. Featuring an electric heating system as well as thermal insulation, the Futuros could easily cope with the frigid conditions of their snowy surroundings.

Much like its more famous sibling, the Venturo was a portable unit whose outer shell was constructed using layers of fiberglass with polyurethane as an insulator. In spite of their similarities, the two modules differed in shape and function. In contrast to Futuro’s elliptical structure, Venturos featured a square layout with rounded rectangular walls, comprised mostly of glass panels. The house was initially intended as a vacation home, yet most units were eventually repurposed as small shops.

While at first, the modules’ innovative architecture seemed promising, their prime days were short-lived, and after fewer than 100 Futuros and 20 Venturos were built, the Finnish manufacturer Oy Polykem Ab decided to suspend their assembly indefinitely. Many attribute their demise to the 1973 oil crisis, which impaired the plastic industry, but others also laid the blame on the incongruous design and environmental issues.

Roughly a decade after the construction of Suuronen’s alien-looking edifices was officially terminated, tens of these houses suddenly popped up along the northern shores of Taiwan, about 20 kilometers northeast of downtown Taipei.

Akin to their original counterparts in various parts of the world, the futuristic cabins met a bleak fate, as most of them were abandoned within a few years, rapidly falling into a state of disrepair ever since. In recent years, the coastal site has been reborn as a quirky tourist attraction, frequented by occasional intrepid visitors who marvel at its otherworldly sights.

Locally known as Wanli UFO Village (due to its location in Wanli District), this beachside community is steeped in mystery, not least because its muse, the Futuros and Venturos, miserably failed and were scrapped long before this place even came into being. What little information is out there revolves entirely around a sole figure, Su Ming, a local civil servant who forged a new career path as a savvy entrepreneur and developer.

After making a fortune selling fizzy beverages and washing powder, Ming opted to enter the real-estate business. His initial idea was to create a beach resort for the many U.S. soldiers stationed on the island, something which, until that moment, couldn’t be promulgated due to the status of the Taiwanese coastline as a military exclusion zone.

In the early 1980s, following years of experience, Ming managed to circumvent any regulation that might have impeded his ambitious plan, and shortly thereafter, peppered a narrow sliver of land along the scenic Emerald Bay with copious clones of Futuros and Venturos. However, when everything seemed to be on track, the Taiwanese economy fell into a deep recession, leading investors to withdraw their funds from the project one after another.

Since then, nearly all of the oddly shaped buildings have been left empty, becoming more derelict with each passing day. While, over the decades, some of the pods were demolished, others avoided this fate, including a select few that are still inhabited to this day. The degree of decay throughout the village varies greatly, with mildly dilapidated homes standing side by side with tattered structures whose contents are haphazardly strewn across the street.

Quite ironically, the hamlet has gained far more popularity in its current form, becoming the poster child for urbex tourism and modular architecture alike.

Take note that Wanli UFO Village is often confused with another place of its kind, the Sanzhi UFO houses. Built around the same time, this hotel complex featured clumps of Futuro-style units, stacked together around a concrete core. Unfortunately, though, the Sanzhi houses were completely torn down between 2008 and 2010, leaving our protagonists as the only remnant of that architectural style anywhere in Taiwan, at least for the time being.