What’s your favorite place to visit?”
If you asked me this question when I was 5 years old, I would have given you this answer: “Grandma’s house … and the San Diego Zoo!”
Not much has changed in the last 20-plus years; I’m almost 28 years old and I still love sleeping over at my grandma’s house and watching hippopotami wiggle their ears at the zoo. I think it’s because both of these places allow me to recapture the wonder, excitement, and comfort of my childhood.
Since no one outside of my immediate family wants to read about my most recent trip to grandma’s house—and my grandma doesn’t want a bunch of strangers staying at her place—I’m going to tell you about the zoo.
As a San Diego native, I started going to the zoo before I was old enough to walk. My animal-loving parents would lather me up with sunscreen and push me around in a plastic, safari-themed stroller so I could make gurgling noises at gorillas and giraffes.
When I got older, my mom let me skip school every once in a while to go to the zoo together. We’d get there early, before the tourists arrived, and walk through the rainforests of Tiger River, stopping at our favorite exhibits to take pictures or sketch in our notebooks. Then we’d eat lunch at Albert’s, the zoo’s fancy “tree house” restaurant. And if my dad got a break from work, he’d meet us there in time for the first course. It was—and continues to be—a family tradition.
Recently, I got to introduce my husband to this special custom. He surprised me with two tickets to the zoo’s Backstage Pass, a tour that allows you to view the animals up close and personal.
Before making the trip down to San Diego, we read up about the program online. We learned that we’d get to visit the rhino exhibit and, according to the website, “touch, feed, and brush our gentle giants.” After that, all we could talk about was brushing rhinos. Seriously—we’d be watching TV and there’d be a commercial for dog grooming, and one of us would shout out, “We’re going to brush rhinos!” That’s how excited we were.
When the big day came, we weren’t disappointed. We started the tour by getting our picture taken with a Sicilian donkey name Sophia. We then took our seats in front of a shaded, outdoor stage and watched breathlessly as a group of trainers brought out animal after animal. There was a tightrope-walking bearcat, a dog-loving cheetah, an ocelot, and an Arctic wolf.
The wolf, it turned out, was afraid of flamingos. The trainer told us he hated the sound of birds squawking. She then told us all to start howling at the wolf, and after several minutes, he threw his head back and started howling with us.
For the grand finale, the trainers divided us into two groups and took us to see the rhinos. We were given cups filled with rhino treats—I think they were giant hay pellets—and told to line up single file. When my turn came, I stepped up on a footstool, reached over the steel bar of the enclosure, and offered by my treat-laden hand to the horned behemoth. I was amazed to feel its prehensile tongue scratch against my hand like a stubby little finger. I rubbed my other hand against the rhino’s skin, which felt like hairy armor. As I brushed the rhino’s back with an industrial-size janitor’s broom, I swear he smiled. Or maybe he was just drooling. Either way, I was happy to see the rhino, and he was happy to see the treat.
After our amazing animal adventure, my husband and I met my parents for lunch at—where else—Albert’s.
Managing Editor Amy Asman wishes she could live at the zoo. Send real estate options to aasman@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Jun 14-21, 2012.
