It's a strange place full of screaming kids traumatising themselves as tiny parrots climb over their bodies on sharp little talons, hunting the little plastic pots of nectar. Meanwhile parents wave futile arms, trying to flap away the unflappable.
Then there are the photographers, zooming in on each brightly coloured feather, awed by the blues and yellows and reds and green, admiring the detail in the pinpoint black eyes and the curve of the orange beak.
The birds pose for them, hoping for a sugary reward.
"Who's a pretty boy then?"