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Meanwhile... On Christmas Island, millions of red crabs are making their annual migration to the Pacific Ocean

And in Veracruz, Mexico, they are rocking the danzón, while in Suður-Þingeyjarsýsla, Iceland, farmer Ólafur Ólafsson uses a drone to herd his sheep.

Christmas Island red crab
Stephen Belcher/Minden Pictures/Newscom
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Caption
  • Staff

On Christmas Island, millions of red crabs are making their annual migration from the island’s forests to the Pacific Ocean where they will lay their eggs. The astounding number of creatures on the move – as many as 45 million, each approximately five inches long, all traveling at the same time – means that for a short time each year the Australian territory is literally swarming with crabs.

To help keep the crabs safe, Christmas Island officials shut down some roads. They also use “crab fences” to guide the crabs to a special bridge (about five yards high) or to numerous underpasses that allow the crustaceans to safely traverse busy highways. 

The migration to and from the ocean takes place from late October to early December, depending on weather and the phases of the moon. Three to four weeks after the adult migration, the baby crabs will leave the ocean to rejoin their parents in the forest.

In Veracruz, Mexico, they are rocking the danzón. The danzón is a uniquely Cuban dance form, popularized on the island during the 19th century. It’s a slow-moving, elegant dance, done to syncopated beats, and built around pauses during which the dancing pairs stop to listen and appreciate the orchestra. 

The danzón nearly disappeared from Cuba sometime after Fidel Castro’s 1959 takeover, but fortunately a love for the dance had already moved across the Gulf of Mexico to Veracruz, where it is still popular today, especially among senior citizens. Several times a week, according to Rappler.com, couples decked out in formal evening wear can be seen dancing the danzón in the city’s main plaza.

In Suður-Þingeyjarsýsla, Iceland, farmer Ólafur Ólafsson uses a drone to herd his sheep. The drone – which has a range of more than four miles and can operate for about 30 minutes between charges – flies low and slightly behind the sheep, guiding them toward the farm and into the barn for the night. 

Mr. Ólafsson told the Iceland Review that all the drone is missing is the bark of a dog, but he can compensate for that by increasing the speed – and thus the mechanical hum – of the drone.

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