For the Birds

Sunday, June 29: The new Parrot Jungle is missing just one little thing: jungle.

The concrete-to-landscaping ratio at this new Watson Island location must be something like 50/50. That’s a lot of concrete. And in case you didn’t know, bird poop really shows up on concrete. Like in the three-story aviary called the Manú Encounter. Our feathered friends haven’t even been here two weeks and they’ve crapped all over its pavement. Obviously there was a good reason for the manicured lawns and mulch paths of the original Parrot Jungle.

People familiar with that old park on Red Road will find other differences at this slick new incarnation, differences that are amusing in the way a Mike Tyson title fight can be — laughable, but not exactly what you paid for. And pay you will. Prices have taken off like a parakeet on fire. Admission is now $20.50 for kids and $22.50 for adults. That means a family of four pays $86 just to get in. Then there’s parking: six bucks for self-park and nine for valet. (Valet parking at Parrot Jungle?) In its former life, as everyone now fondly recalls, parking was free. Food and drink? Add another eight dollars for a cheeseburger (no fries) and three more for a bottle of water and it becomes painfully clear — this is one expensive family outing. For that kind of money you’d expect much more than dirt, dust, and bird shit.

What is here? Plenty of unfinished business, that’s what. Parrot Jungle Island is a construction zone with birds wearing tiny hardhats! Well, maybe not… But once you pass through the primped entrance, it is the proverbial work in progress. Little trees are scattered here and there, still in their pots aboveground. Remember the lush foliage of yesteryear? Today it’s meager greenery gamely trying to sprout out of mounds of black dirt. Muddy water sits stagnantly in an artificial creek that looks like a flood-control channel. This isn’t close to nature. It’s close to postapocalyptic.

According to the park’s guide map, though, this “scenery” is supposed to be green and gorgeous, not to mention loaded with attractions. But a stroll through the grounds offers few worthwhile sights. Here and there along the walkways are ten-foot-tall cages. Not as many as the guide promises, but like so many things at this not-ready-for-prime-time theme park, they’re probably on the way. Bright red, green, and blue birds push their beaks through the cages like desperate inmates as families stand and stare, then move on.

A nearby posing area, where parrots and cockatoos perch on tree branches in the open air, offers a less disappointing part of the Parrot Jungle experience — feeding the birds. Unlike their depressingly caged compatriots, these birds seem free. But a closer look reveals that, except for a couple of trustworthy parrots, most of them are actually chained to the trees with tiny shackles around their legs.

The bird food, by the way, is available at a number of dispensers throughout the park, none of which is conveniently located near the feeding area. The walk to the closest one becomes a death march across hot concrete under a blazing sun. But at least it provides a chance to catch a glimpse of the “Everglades Habitat” exhibit. This “true replica” of the Florida Everglades looks more like an urban cesspool. Flora? Fauna? Forget it. The desolate surroundings bear a striking resemblance to the deserts of Afghanistan.

Even if this new Parrot Jungle did have all the exotic plants and trees, and especially shade, that gave the original park its lush and secluded allure, it will never offer the old park’s tranquility. There isn’t a spot here that’s free from noise pollution. Helicopters churn overhead, full-throttle speed boats and whining Jet Skis tear through the water at Watson Island’s north end, and the roar of cars and trucks and belching Harleys from the MacArthur Causeway can be heard everywhere. In fact the highway is so close that passing cars with blaring radios tuned to the same station can and did piece together an entire 50 Cent song — “In Da Club.”

During the first day of the “Winged Wonders” show, a pair of its star macaws began with graceful airborne maneuvers mere inches above a cheering audience. As they flew around the Parrot Bowl amphitheater, they must have realized this was their chance. So they took off. Hundreds of onlookers, handlers too, sat in their seats for ten minutes before the show resumed without the AWOL avians. According to the handlers, the birds never stay away for more than a day.

Such mishaps are the real entertainment at this roadside attraction. Gone are amazing cockatoos like Pinky, who’d roller-skate and ride miniature chariots. The updated showcases come across as elementary-school show-and-tell. Handlers at the Parrot Bowl bring out a bird and have it sing or talk, but the routines — a squawky “I love you” and the predictable catcall whistle — are so played. Your grandmother’s parrot does the same thing!

There isn’t much to the other two showcases either. The Jungle Theater hosts touring wildlife shows. The current one introduces visitors to several species of rare tiger cubs. White Bengal and snow tigers are paraded out, then put on the floor and allowed to play — or hide under the stage. B-o-r-i-n-g. The Serpentarium follows along the same ho-hum line: bring out a snake or turtle or lizard from plastic containers and let them stew for a few minutes before a gawking crowd.

Parrot Jungle owner Bern Levine finagled some $25 million from taxpayers for this new park — and this is what we get? We now know that animal exhibits aren’t a priority. Lucrative special events hosted in the massive ballrooms are the priority. When Pinecrest officials wouldn’t accede to Levine’s demand for expanded hours and big parties and liquor and all the accompanying racket, he flipped them the bird (so to speak) and split. The City of Miami, always eager to turn over public parkland to private interests, welcomed him with open arms.

Despite its obvious shortcomings, the new Parrot Jungle could evolve into a bearably pleasant if expensive distraction — someday. In the meantime management should at least do something about Flamingo Lake. For years a symbol of Miami, the placid old lake, with pink flamingos flocking on its grassy banks, was the signature scene on Miami Vice. At Watson Island, Flamingo Lake is pebble-rock shoreline sinking into a fishless puddle. The poor flamingos just stand there, looking to each other for answers: “What did we do to deserve this?”