Glowworms

Glowworms can be found throughout New Zealand, not just in Waitomo. You have a good chance at seeing them during nighttime bush walks as long as you know where to look. They don't always reside in caves, but definitely prefer to be sheltered, either by overhangs or within hollowed trees. If you have never seen or heard of glowworms, then it might interest you to know a few things.

Glowworms are not worms, they are larva.

Glowworms are the larva of an insect called a fungus gnat which looks like a very large mosquito.

They are bioluminescent creatures that hang sticky, silk threads in order to catch bugs. Their eerie green glow attracts the bugs which are then paralyzed in the glowworms strands of death. The glowworms pull up the threads to eat their prey. The hungrier a glowworm, the brighter it glows.

The adult fungus gnat has no mouth so it must mate and lay eggs before it dies of starvation.

They are extremely hard to photograph and the pictures attached do not do the little guys justice.

Christmas in Summer and Other Crazy Occurrences

They say that Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. I respectfully disagree. Suicides skyrocket, domestic violence soars, financial destruction wreaks havoc on the people and still they plaster on their plastic smiles and hang their cheap pathetic tinsel off the boughs of their atrocious plastic trees. The fact that Christmas is no longer really about Christ doesn't bother me nearly as much as having rampant consumerism shoved down my gagging throat. The whole idea of Christmas has taken such a dark and twisted turn, I doubt that even Tim Burton could portray the holiday more scathingly and sordidly than we present it year after depressing year.
A trip away from the cold and snow and holly jolly facade sounded like a wonderful way to spend December 25th. Imagine my surprise when nary a tacky house did I see nor a kiddie fiddling Santa did I read about nor a painful pop star rendition of “Silent Night” did I hear. Imagine a place where Christmas was less about presents and ostentatious houses and more about bbq's on the beach and camping with friends and family. My friends, that place is real, It exists. It's New Zealand.
I spent Christmas Eve preparing a gargantuan salad for Swampy's hostel while all the forty other guests busied themselves with dishes representing their own cultures. Swampy himself prepared venison, ham, chicken and wild hare. Although many people talked about home and what they would have been doing, not one unsmiling face did I see and not one embittered remark did I hear. We feasted. We had a white elephant with a ten dollar limit. We drank Jim Beam well into the night. It was simple, beautiful and perfect.
The next day we cured our hangovers with sun and surf and laughter and naps in the shade. We spent Christmas night camping on White's Bay beach, eating cold cheese sandwiches and drinking lukewarm, sun-drenched beer, blaring anti-Christmas tunes from the speakers of a campervan. At midnight we ran down to the beach and jumped in for a swim under the moonlight. We laid out in the sand and watched the Milky Way and its myriad of shooting stars.
They say that I hate Christmas, I don't, I just hate Christmas the way I've always known it not the way it could be.

'Tis the Season

Nicholas Was...

older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.

The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.

Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves' invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time.

He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.

Ho.

Ho.

Ho.

-Neil Gaiman
Smoke and Mirrors

Milford unSound Part 2 of 2

Day 1
Entering the Milford Track is like stepping into another world. The ferry ride guides you through dense fog that drapes the mountains like rabbit fur coats. The air carries rich smells of decomposing plants and rain. The mountains huddle around you clinging tightly to their verdant, richly green forests. Waterfalls clamor down cliffsides into the sparkling blue water. It's a land untouched, oblivious to the impatience of the modern world, its tranquility is palpable.

The first day the walk is 1 mile to get to the first of 3 huts, you get a head start from the guided walkers (for double the price you get showers, catered meals and fancy titanium walking sticks) so you don't sully their experience with your stick-free walking and immense clumsy backpacks. The walk is completely flat and extremely well maintained. The track winds through tightly wound ferns and psychedelic mosses that blanket the ground and trees. It was during this 20 minute stroll that I got to thinking that I might just enjoy the 4 day hiking trip. However, my next thought was that I had only just completed 1/33 of the journey.



Day 2
The second day begins the slow ascent to the mountain. The walk is largely along a large stunningly clear river that twists and turns through the trees. Eventually the forest opens up into a beautiful savannah like plain. It was here that we listened to the shockingly loud gunshot rumbles of avalanches cascading down the mountains. The day ended at the base of the mountains, nestled in valley wedged between steep cliffs. Keas and wekas darted across the porch threatening to carry off shoes, backpacks or anything that they can drag off between their beaks. The end of day 2 felt really good, I had made the hike with energy to spare and watched the sunset's glow off the mountains with a glass of wine and a sleepy smile.




Day 3
Day 3 is spent arduously hiking to the top of Mackinnon pass and then perillously navigating the way back down again. White mountain flares peak through the snow, the sun sets the mountain ablaze with a shimmering sparkle. The ice and slush demands that the ground not be taken for granted. The summit is blustery and cold. Katie hands me a chocolate bar in the hopes that I won't cry. When asked what I think of the view, I callously respond that I've seen mountains before and I prefer to view them from my seat in front of the fireplace. The top of the mountain has an outhouse with arguably the best view in the world. So while I clumsily undo my many layers of clothing, I laugh, the view from the toilet is stunning.

As a result of the increasing avalance danger we are instructed to take the emergency path down the mountain. This “safe path” is actually the dried up remains of a riverbed, so the next few hours are spent treading atop smooth river worn stones. By the end of it my knees feel like they have just been icepicked by tiny midgets for the last few hours. My ankles are tired and wobbly and my legs feel like jello. Despite the cold I have been sweating and panting. I am dirty. I am tired. I am done with this walk.
After lunch and a few cigarettes we had the opportunity to take our packs off, change into sandals and take a detour to Sutherland Falls (arguably the fifth highest waterfall in the world). The thundering waterfall sprays icey mist into my face and I have to admit silently to myself that the Milford Track is exquisitely beautiful.



Day 4
Day 4 is exciting because the end is in sight. My body is sore and I am grumpy. I do not want to eat any more canned tuna and I yearn for a scaldingly hot shower. The walk out is flat and easy but at just over 10 miles it is the longest single stretch of the trip and it has to be completed before the last ferry leaves at 2pm. An hour into the hike I can feel my ankles bleeding, I don't dare take off my shoes because I know that once I do I will not put them back on. By mile 5 I pick up the pace despite my throbbing knees and smarting ankles. A swarm of sandflies gather around my face and as long as I don't stop they will not eat me alive. The end of the hike looks exactly like the beginning and I don't even bother taking out my camera. The last two miles are torturously long and never have I beamed like I did once we reached Sandfly Point. The walk had finally come to an end.

Looking back on it, I don't regret walking The Milford Track, it was absolutely incredible, it was dramatic and stunning and never have I been anywhere so blissfully undisturbed by humans. In fact, I am proud of myself for embarking on what may have been the dumbest idea I've ever had. However, the best part is that now that I have the distinction of walking the “most beautiful track in the world”, nothing will ever rival the experience so I will never again have to bother.

Milford unSound Part 1 of 2

Dear reader, if you have ever met me personally then you will know that I am not the stereotypical Coloradan. I am not a hardcore nature enthusiast in any sense barring my absolute adoration of daytime porch drinking. I am a smoker, I am a drinker and if I had my way I would sleep fourteen hours a day. That being said, I am about to embark on the 33.5 mile Milford Track. Did I mention that I have to carry in all my supplies and there are no showers? Yup, this promises to be one hell of a beautiful disaster.

The week before the track I was already upset. We had spent over two hundred dollars just to have the privilege of walking around with a heap of shit attached to our backs. Why do people do this, I wondered? I cunningly fooled myself into believing that my holey New Balances and my definitively non-waterproof coat would suffice, I also held fast to the false idea that all those lunges in the vineyard would have my body prepped for grueling wilderness trekking. Yeah, no problem, piece of cake, all the while shaking my head. I was utterly fucked.

During the week prior, I made minor mention about my worries and tried my best not to break down and tell Katie that she was on her own. I actually found that the best strategy was not to think about it at all. I mean, the brochure does say that the walk is suitable for those aged 10-70+, so if grandpas can do it, so can I. All was going well until we made out stop in Te Anau, the last town before Milford Sound.

Our first stop was the Department of Conservation to pick up our tickets (yes, that's right, we had to have tickets, front row seats to the arena of suffering) the lady at the DOC told us the weather was going to be nothing but rain and snow. SNOW! Katie had never mentioned the s word and I had not conceived that we would be walking through that cold, white powdery substance sent directly from Lucifer's wings way down in the center of hell. Then in a most condescending tone she added, “you do have rain jackets, right?” And, “you aren't planning on hiking in jeans?” Excuse me lady, I am from Colorado! Demoralized and insulted we went to the outdoor equipment store since I needed to rent a backpack to carry my gear. Katie insisted that we rent waterproof pants, then she added that I should get a coat. Then to top it all off, in a manner most practical, she suggested that we rent boots as well, which of course meant that we had to buy appropriate socks.

It was here, in front of Gareth, our friendly teenage salesman that I was on the verge of bursting into tears. In fact, finding socks was the perfect excuse to walk away so that I could dry my eyes and pull my shit together. Below pretty much sums up why I was crying

$70 gas to reach the fairly inaccessible fiordlands
$110 renting equipment
$40 fancy wool water wicking socks
$65 tuna, crackers, cheese, trailmix and apples
$135 three nights of deluxe accommodation with 40 complete strangers in a barrack
$61 ferry to start of track
$30 ferry back to mainland
$53 bus back to where we parked our car
Grand Total : $564

To put it into perspective in two weeks of dreadful vineyard work I made $718. So, not only was I about to be physically pillaged, but my bank account had already been plundered. What the hell am I doing? Next stop: Painsville.

900 K's in 5 Days- A Photo Essay

Day 3- Mt. Cook Glacier


Day 4- Wanaka, Lake Wanaka


Day 5- Queenstown, Lake Moke

900 K's in 5 Days- A Photo Essay

DAY 1- Blenheim, Kaikoura, Akaroa




DAY 2- Lake Tekapo, Lake Pukaki, Mt. Cook

Green Lipped and Soaking Wet

New Zealand's seafood industry is thriving and several factors contribute to its plentiful ocean bounty. The country is sparsely populated (beach fronts are often home to cows and sheep) which enables the proliferation and maturation of seafood. Also, New Zealand is a relatively new country and many pains and regulations have been put in place to ensure that the environments are fertile and the industry remains sustainable.

The combination of abundant seafood and lax daily allowances make a free meal for a backpacker just a beach away. Today we went to White's Bay (30 minutes from our hostel in Spring Creek) to collect New Zealand's famous green lipped mussels. As you approach the rocky outcropping you notice tiny black shells covering the rocks like snake scales, I can only assume those are baby mussels. Closer toward the water line is where the bigger ones reside, there are literally hundreds of thousands all wedged together, some on top of others like crusty banana bunches. Most of them are as big as your hand.

So, how hard can it be to collect some motionless shelled creatures from along the beach on a beautiful sunny day? Ha! First of all, going at low tide is imperative as mussels choose to make their homes along the most dauntingly sharp and steep rocks they can “find”. Secondly, the tiny hairs that attach themselves are more like cement than delicate fibrous strands. Thirdly, crabs and other tiny creatures inhabit the same jagged rocks and have no qualms about scuttling across your hands. Lastly, it is foolish to think that low tide is synonymous with no tide.

Equipped with sandals, a plastic bag and my cutest beach outfit I perilously wedged myself and my sandaled toes between razor sharp rocks just above tide line, bracing myself against the rocks I bent down as far as I could to reach the submerged mussels. It was then that I quickly re-acquainted myself with the crashing waves, then the rocks, then the crabs. I couldn't help thinking that just down the road I could catch myself a kilo of mussels for $2.99. Laughing, soaked and raw fingered I headed home with my mussel posse and three full bags to eat ourselves into a crustacean coma.

W(h)ine

Today at work I reminisced about days way back in March when I harvested grapes for Stonyridge vineyard and my friend John called it, “a dreams job for realsville” and it was true, we took our sweet time under the shade of the mature vines and painstakingly examined each cluster of grapes in between bursts of laughter and conversation, they fed us lunch and supplied us with beer at the end of each day, a Dionysian paradise right here on earth... (cue soft focus and a gentle yet perky violin quartet) this is me recounting fond memories from “good old days” gone by. Good old days that seem increasingly unreal the more I try to focus in on them.

Blenheim, the heart of Marlborough, is the viticulture capital of New Zealand. Obscene amounts of wine pour from its valleys, each vintage supplying Kiwi's and those abroad with enough alcohol to keep them good and soused until the next. These massive estates hire out contracting services that send out their middle men to recruit the cheapest labor force possible, this is where the backpackers and Malaysians come in. Gathered by the dozens in the wee hours of the morning we are shipped to expansive vineyards to complete paradoxically simple yet backbreaking work on endless rows of plants. What appears to be the easy task of sliding a green tube-shaped bag onto a bamboo stick and over a budding plant is actually a sadistic order to hunch over into a thousand or so lunges until you can't decide whether your thighs, knees, back or calves hurt more.

Sometimes the labor is paid by the hourly minimum wage (which is currently $12.50/hour) and sometimes it is paid per plant completed either as a team or as an individual. The going rate tends to be 3-4 cents for the easier jobs, like the one listed above. Trust me, you are ecstatic if you can earn over one hundred dollars a day. It's enlightening in the sense that if you haven't engaged in habitual manual labor you can't understand what it does to your mind and body (I have only had its acrid seething taste grace my tongue), However, this is the life that millions of people toil under without ever earning enough to sufficiently care for their family. It's shocking to be a part of the dredges of this vast, bottomless abyss of an economic system we so eagerly abide.

Halloween is Fun Fun Fun!

Halloween is by far my favorite holiday of the year. I would give up Thanksgiving and Christmas for biannual Halloween (as a compromise I would be satisfied if we stepped up our Mardi Gras shenanigans). Unfortunately, I am accustomed to meeting people who do not share my level of enthusiasm for the celebration (I know you feel my pain Rae Rae) but I was extremely disheartened to hear that no one else in the world (looking at you Germany) really cares about Halloween at all. We Americans allied with some awesome Brits to introduce Halloween proper to the rest of Swampy's.

Oh, I was a tree.

Eels Up Inside Ya, Findin' an Entrance Where They Can

New Zealand rivers are swimming (punny!) with slithery, near blind, toothy eels. The stuff of nightmares endemic to an otherwise gentle country. I have always thought of eels as blood-thirsty, murderous demon creature of the deep (no thanks to the Princess Bride) but I also know that unagi is absolutely heavenly, so you can imagine my contradicting emotions while I was getting ready for some good old-fashioned night eel fishing.

Angling aficionados need not apply to this rather rudimentary endeavor. Eels are not clever, they can't see and they eat nearly anything (including cat food). Basically, you need meat (rotten is fine), a hook and some line. Almost comically, plop goes the bait and out comes a writhing, angry eel.

The hard part is getting them off the hook, they are incredibly slippery and strong, they curl around your hand like a lubed up snake. After battling to get the hook out of their mouth my friend Bene recommends sticking a knife through their skull to crush their tiny brain, but be aware that they don't stop moving. THAT is the stuff of nightmares. The next morning, after a night in the fridge in a plastic bag their headless bodies were still quivering. Again, badass Bene took up the grunt work and gutted and filleted them for us.

So, if you dare, I recommend either smoking the eels or frying them up in butter then baking them in garlic, lemon and butter until their skins are crispy. The result is an exquisite flaky, tender fish-like meat with no lingering fishy aftertaste.

South Island Shenanigans

On a clear day you can actually see the South Island from Wellington but the ferry has to navigate through fiords so the journey takes nearly three hours. The day we left the ocean was calm and sparkly as we slowly passed through its massive blue green waters, its sea fresh mist left salty promises on my smiling lips. Jagged kelly green mountains speckled with prickly pines and bright yellow bushes waved us toward them with massive slate arms. Oh to be away from that dreary city of gusts and drizzle!

Once off the ferry we raced through the snakelike overpass pulling over at each lookout, our cameras in hand eager to snap up everything like rabid Japanese tourists. The air smelled alive; bitter and sweet and lingering, dizzying and lovely.

We drove the Queen Charlotte Drive from Picton to Nelson and made our first night in a hostel that smelled strangely like my grandma's house. The weathered, friendly-eyed owner gave us a twin for the cheaper dorm price because he didn't want us to have to stay with a “bunch of blokes”. That night, as I watched the stars from my bed my mind ran rampant with verdant imagination. It feels like the start of an entirely new journey.

Chronicles of Wellington

We bid adieu to you, fair city by the sea and if you ever find yourself in Wellington, here is what I recommend you do and do not do.


Top 10+ Free/Nearly Free Things to Do

1.Wednesday BBQ at Cambridge Hotel on Cambridge Tce.- Come by six, buy a beer and receive a voucher for free BBQ.
2.BATS Theatre on Cambridge Tce.- Email staff saying that you would like to volunteer to sell concessions and in exchange see the play that night for free.

3.Te Papa & Museum of Wellington- Be sure to check out their special events/temporary exhibits.
4.Free Sausages- Every Friday from 10pm to Midnight near Vivian and Cuba (by school of Architecture & Design) sometimes you have to listen to the god spiel but usually it's bearable.
5.J.J Murphy's on Cuba St.- Rocks $5 Breakfast until noon on the weekends.
6.City Park flying fox swings- Up the hill on Brooklyn Rd. Free + dangerous = good fun.
7.Sunday Markets- Excellent, fresh, produce for wicked cheap. One market is alongside Te Papa on the waterfront, the other market is in a parking lot at the corner of Vivian & Victoria
8.Botanic Gardens- Flowers alongside the historic cemetery. Free
9.All-u-can-eat pizza- Mondays from six at Hell on Bond St. $12.
10.Free internet with the purchase of any beverage at Mon Ami on Bond St.
11.Spend the day reading magazines/books or napping in the spacious and awesome public library.
12.Grab a beer at Southern Cross and enjoy the garden patio for free.
13.Get a free newspaper at Te Papa.

Top 10 Most Overrated in Wellington

1.The zoo. It's cute and small and not worth $18.
2.Drinking on Courteney Place- Wellington's weekend meat market.
3.The Cable Car off Lambton Quay- You spend the majority of the ride under the highway's overpass or in a tunnel, “scenic” it is not.
4.Reading Cinemas on Courteney Pl.- Don't bother when you can go to the historical Embassy or Paramount theatres.
5.Pizza King on Taranaki St.- I feel fairly certain that they just warm up frozen pizza.
6.Matterhorn- It's pricey and pretentious.
7.The weather- It's rainy, it's windy, it's cold and after a few months it's depressing.
8.The Kumara- By far, the worst bar in Wellington, unless you like sticky floors and tweens.
9.Shopping on Lambton Quay- The most expensive rent in all of New Zealand leads to the most expensive shopping in all of New Zealand.
10.The Bungee swing on Taranaki- Lame and verifiably unsafe.

Top 10 Strange & Lovely Things in Wellington

1.Carlucci's Land at 64 Owhiro Bay Pde, Island Bay, - A bizarre, abstract metal sculpture garden located just outside the city.
2.Cuba St. on a weekend night. Grab a coffee at Midnight Espresso and watch the kids let their freak flags fly.
3.Check out the ominous metal tri-pod sculpture on Kent Tce & Courteney Place.
4.Alice's Bar on Forresters Lane- take a trip down the rabbit hole and definitely try the Lobster's Quadrille.
5.Karaoke Night at The Fringe on Cuba St.- dirty, grungy, completely absurd and awesome.
6.Lodge in the City at corner of Vivian & Taranaki come by and meet the craziest in Wellington.
7.Welcome Takeaways on Vivian- Literally a hole in the wall that's open arbitrarily. Greasy, cheap and delicious.
8.New & Used Bookstores all over the city- Find heaps of beautifully strange books.
9.Take a drive around the eerie abandoned army barracks that are now part of Weta Studios.
10.Do the Lord of the Rings Tour of Hobittown- If you are into that sort of thing.


Top 10 Must Do in Wellington


1.Te Papa on Wellington's waterfront.

2.Sweet Mother's Kitchen near corner of Kent Tce, & Courteney Pl.- Two words: Breakfast Burritos.
3.Cuba St. Coffee Shops- Cute, independent, quirky and cool. (Midnight Espresso, Espressoholic and Offbeat Cafe are my personal favorites).

4.Parliament Tour on Molesworth then drinking at Backbencher's afterwards- Your chance to rub shoulder's with government officials, or at least their scary busts bolted to the bar's walls.
5.Civic Square Art Gallery in Civic Square near the library.
6.Grab a $10 jug at the Kiwi Pub.
7.See a play.
8.Take a drive up the hills around Wellington and take in the lovely little seaside city.
9.Red Rocks- Seals!
10.World of Wearable Art- An absolutely spectacular fusion of art, performance and magic.

Fun Location Fact Friday

Take a deep breath...

And say this three times fast

Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateaturipukakapikimaungahoronukupokaiwhenuakitanatahu

which means

“The Brow of a Hill Where Tamatea, the Man with the Big Knees, Who Slid, Climbed, and Swallowed Mountains, Known as Land Eater, Played his Flute to His Brother.”

Got a nice ring, doesn't it?

Fun Fauna Fact Friday

Squid and octopi are some of the coolest animals on earth, so today's Fun Fauna Fact Friday is a special one. The reasons that I find squid so fascinating is that they are incredibly smart and curious, often mirroring the observation habits of the divers that study them. They are incredibly adaptable to their environments- Humboldt squid nearer to the shore (quite a precarious place for a squid) have been found to be extremely violent but when seen further out to sea they are calm and playful. They are mysterious and elusive which adds to their allure. They can eat whales and sharks which is, admit it, completely badass for a “mere mollusk”. They are beautiful and strange.

Wellington's Te Papa museum is home to the only colossal squid display in existence and she is a pretty incredible lady. They caught the wee colossal squid somewhere in the Ross Sea in February of 2007. Because they are rare and hard to preserve, we don’t really know how big they get, but, keep in mind that squid’s lower rostral beaks as long as 49 millimetres have been found in sperm whale stomachs. The female squid on display at the museum only measures 42.5, so they can be significantly larger in size.

Now the fun facts:

-Their eyeballs are the size of soccer balls (which is the largest of any known animal) these allow them to see at amazingly deep depths in the ocean.

-Primarily, they shoot out their two largest tentacles to catch prey. Each tentacle is equipped with razor sharp hooks that rotate 360 degrees. The more the prey struggles to get away the further in the hooks get.

-Squid are very dainty eaters, politeness aside; they must take small mouthfuls since their narrow throats pass right through their brain, so too big of a bite would cause brain damage (you can't make this stuff up)

On this particular colossal squid, the large round body (mantle) is so enormous that were you to fry her up you would have calamari rings the size of truck tires and keep in mind she is just a baby.

WOW

What is so endlessly intriguing about the beauty of the human body is its versatility. From lithe, graceful dancers bathed in shadow and light to larger-than-life Boteroesque balls laboriously waddling down the street, the body comes in a myriad of shapes and sizes yet they are all considered the human body. Furthermore, they can be twisted and bended and molded into fantastic shapes until nothing vaguely human remains. Our bodies are chameleonic works of art. Couture and costumery adorn our already artful forms in order to exploit the flexibility of the human body and expand the boundaries between human and non, between anthropomorphism and shape shifting, in essence, it plays on our bodies natural metamorphic abilities and propels it even further.

Nowhere have I seen this better showcased than at Montana's annual World of Wearableart. Every year artists from all around the world create absolutely stunning pieces using any and every material you can imagine to fully transform the models into something that redefines the corporeal and marries it to the realm of the imaginary. If I sound melodramatic, it's because the show is incredible and deserves its due amount of sappy praise. WOW (yes, apparently to make the anagram WOW they made wearableart one word, although I find nothing wrong with WOWA. Better yet, World of Wearable Zany Art, WOWZA. Zany is probably too low-brow for the people that make fancy wine, but the non-word wearableart annoys me.)


Upon walking into the event you are sucked into a Hensonesque carnival of friendly, technicolor monsters, effeminate, silver living statues, masked carnival ladies hunched over, head askew, pecking around like birds, acrobats and dancers sporadically turning each other upside down in front of thousands of other wild-eyed spectators like yourself. You watch as elderly folks with twinkles in their eyes, enthusiastically embrace each other as they timidly ask the purple and green monster to have a picture with him, there is nothing more endearing. The stage is empty save for a small four piece band all in top hats with red ribbons playing that classic French circus music I do not know the name of. The seats are mostly empty this early but a few well dressed young couples have already taken their seats. Then, as if prompted by remote, they flip over the seats, doing handstands and pirouettes on chairs, only to uniformly sit down again as though nothing happened.

Then the music slows to silence the lights dim to darkness and the show begins. A boy is running through a forest that comes to life. Sunflower girls skip around the stage, bushes in suits manifest from the ground like soldiers in battle. Praying mantis' and caterpillars slink around the white, sinewy dandelion seed pods ambling in the foreground. You remember the dump lady with the house on her back from labyrinth? Yeah, she's there too. From there the costumes get increasingly more elaborate, the categories more hazily defined until each costume seems to exist solidly in its own universe amidst the others twirling around in theirs. There are Geigeresque aliens outfitted in cold, sleek white fabrics. There are southern belles dressed entirely in spindled copper wires, one in meticulously carved wood. There are warriors, cars, emotions, furniture and those that do not resemble anything.

The stage is constantly in flux. There are the costumes themselves parading in large, loosely defined bands and there are the performers, men dressed in black ball gowns spinning on ropes hung from the ceiling, superheroines battling Superman's dopplegangers, enormous wooden puppets slowly traipsing around the stage, singers, comedians, dragqueens and bodybuilders. At one point everything is illuminated by black light and disembodied faces dance with jellyfish while blinking eyes curiously zig-zag around the stage, rainbows flutter in the wind and join together to form a butterfly.

It's hard to describe what I saw and felt and it's hard to convey the scope of the show without rambling on, I felt like a kid, like the universe of all my strange childhood imaginings bubbled back up to the surface of me and brimmed over in excitement. I guess, for the sake of brevity at the expense of inaccurate comparisons, if Fashion Week knocked up Cirque du Soleil, their baby could only hope to be this spectacular.

*I would be absolutely remiss if I didn't thank Mark and Allison who made this possible for Katie and I. Thank you. *

Fun Fauna Fact Friday

I must say I never much cared for pelicans because I thought they were nothing but massive sea birds that harass you at the beach (think psycho seagulls on steroids) but I must admit that they are pretty spectacular. I will now attempt to prove this by throwing numbers at you, dear reader. The one pictured above is an Australian pelican and fossil records dates that they have been around for over 40 million years. Their wing span can be as long as 2.5 metres (8.2 Feet). Their crazy huge bills can carry 13 litres (3.4 gallons) of water and they have been known to fly at an altitude of 3000 metres (1.86 miles). So yeah, they are impressive, in spite of the fact that they steal your sandwiches.