Party Boat

"So it's just going to be the three of us on the Milford Sound fiords tonight since all the cruises and heli-tours have finished for the day. Nobody else signed up for the evening outer fiord tour." Said, Tanner, our adept and entertaining Rosco kayak guide. And for all the world, this is where the party is at just like it was on a random Amazonian street almost exactly 8 years ago.

Elusive yellow-nosed penguins slip inconspicuously beneath the surface while a dolphin jumps in the backdrop of two giggly best friends paddling with surprisingly good coordination and matching "Milford Faces". ("Milford Face" is a wide-eyed grin pointed skyward toward the unfathomable cliff heights that shoot straight out of the water and the expression is often accompanied by little regard to what direction one is headed). 

Interrupting the rippled reflection of the mountains and sunset on the water, paradise ducks follow each other around in a sickeningly cute fashion. Paradise ducks are known for being adept at lifelong courtship, followed by literally dying soon after their partner dies. But across the way, there is trouble in paradise: sitting on the rock, she denies passage to her male seagull companion for proverbially failing to restore the toilet seat to it's rightful down position.They remain still, waging a stubborn sit-off, breaking only for a moment to attempt "everything is fine over here" looks as we paddle by before returning to their silent feud.

Still, I'm inclined to believe that there are still a few seals who have been ejected from the clan upon failing to make it through rush week. In particular, there was one blissfully solo seal who caught my attention as he enjoyed his fish dinner, playfully cavorting around, teasing the nearby freeloading seagulls. Sometimes I think maybe I'm becoming a blissfully solo little seal. The other day, I found myself humming over a sink fully of icky youth hostel dishes (even though I had to conquer heebie-geebies by touching the nasty sponge) and I'm making good headway on my goal of developing great smile wrinkles in preparation for old age.

We decided to check out the festival of waterfalls which only makes a tour stop here after heavy rains. There were about 20 stages competing for our attention but somehow, we managed to score front row seats at every splish splashy turn. Some stages even featured accompanying windy droplet dances with interesting asymmetric choreography. While camped out behind one waterfall, we heard the main stage rage so loudly we almost mistook it for thunder. These dueling falls reminded me of boi bumba which is a genre of Northern Brazilian country music in which there are two teams (Garantido and Caprichoso) who perform (Read: compete) at opposite ends of a stadium to (as far as I can tell) see who can get their fans dancing the most. You have to show up wearing your teams colors and logos like a sporting event and you better pick a side before you get crushed.

Yes, this too is the sort of party that gives birth to tangible joy like the samba rhythms of Brazil in which the force is an energy so powerful that it transcends even bodily needs like managing hunger, hydration, needing to pee, and fatigue (despite paddling 15 km with limited upper body strength).

Move over Brazil, this is New Zealand "samba" where dissonance between where you are and where you want to be hasn't been invented yet.