"Man, this place is a zoo." It was official; I had heard the line three times, and was homicidally sick of it. I have to admit, I was not ecstatic to visit the San Diego Zoo. I had reached an age where, in my mind, I had outgrown zoos and animal parks. I work with large animals, and all that they produce, every single day. Peering at ruminants from across a fence hardly seemed like a vacation.
It was with this pretext that Ashley and I joined my mother and father, sister, brother, as well as his wife and three children at Balboa Park. In one big familial flurry, we made our way to the gates. My niece and nephew raced ahead, loudly verbalizing what they planned on seeing that day.
The San Diego Zoo was absolutely spectacular. In fact, I have never seen a place quite like it; it was more of an experience than a destination. Planners and caretakers of the zoo have gone to great lengths to recreate a series of natural environments, rather than an institution that simply houses animals in cages.
One of our first stops was the koala exhibit. Here, elevated footpaths wound amongst live eucalyptus trees, each supporting at least one animal. For the first time in my life, I actually saw activity. Typically, koalas appear dormant because, in the words of one Australian naturalist, "All they do at night is eat and procreate - you'd be tired, too." The San Diego koalas were wide awake, some munching on leaves, while others slowly climbed about. I closed my eyes and inhaled the sweet tang of natural eucalyptus. It was as close to Australia as one could get, without boarding an airplane.
Onwards we pressed, past the jaguars, the lions, the tigers, elephants, and snakes. At each exhibit, the animal was either actively roaming about or easy to spot. A mob of people watched, as an elephant put on quite a display of eating her supper. She would vigorously shake a suspended bag of hay, and then gracefully pick the roughage off the ground. What a beautiful animal - as purposeful as a horse, as solid, powerful, and proud as an aged dairy cow.
I watched, transfixed, as the orangutans swung from poles, played with objects within their environment, and made faces at onlookers. There were benches, where zoo-goers could sit and reflect. Did we, as humans, come from these creatures? I don't think there is any doubt. I know quite a few people who haven't evolved a bit.
At the insect barn, a wall-sized cutaway displayed an active ant farm. The ants were gathering bits of leaves, and carrying them underground. Did you know the ants don't actually eat the leaves they collect? They are in fact farmers. They take the organic matter below ground and use it to fertilize the fungus that they consume. I watched the tiny bugs scurrying about, hauling bits of food into their enclave. Neat little passages connected various chambers, allowing for lanes of traffic to pass in either direction. It reminded me of flying a Cessna over a subdivision.
In fact, there was only one bit of unpleasantness that I can associate with my day at the San Diego Zoo. It was there, on that day, that I was introduced to my new least favorite demography of people: parents with double-wide strollers.
Let me be clear: I am not condemning children. I am not condemning parents. I am not even condemning strollers. I very happily toured the zoo that day with my niece and nephew in tow. My brother and his wife even brought their stroller, which is a single-wide, but seats two. What I came to realize is once the leap is made to a double-wide stroller, all decency and common courtesy is left behind.
At first I smiled and politely stepped aside, each time someone pushing a double-wide plowed through. I quickly realized that the favor was never returned. These people thrust through the crowds, as oblivious to their surroundings as someone texting while pushing a shopping cart through a busy grocery store aisle. In fact, they held their head high, chin out, chest puffed, as self-righteous as an immaculately preened officer of the Waffen SS. So, I stopped moving. I even made up a monologue for the people behind the double-wide strollers:
"I have a double-wide. There is no one on the sidewalk but me. What crowd? What pedestrians? I push right through, because I have a double-wide. I don't move, I don't swerve, I walk on the left-hand side, because I have a double-wide. You will respect me, even though I only have one kid."
Some may say that if you can't beat them, join 'em. I say, rubbish - fight fire with fire. So, I did what every person pushing a double-wide stroller cannot do.
At lunchtime I grabbed a beer from one of the many vendors, and sat on a park bench in total and complete silence. There was no one pulling on my arm, throwing a tantrum over ice cream. I didn't have to worry about parking my stroller (not that those with a double-wide "worry" about parking - they simply put it wherever it suits them, the hell with you). I sipped my Corona and smiled behind my sunglasses. Look at what I can do, and you cannot.
Thus did I enjoy the finest exhibit on display at the San Diego Zoo - people-watching. I highly recommend it, but you know what they say; it's a zoo out there.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
It was with this pretext that Ashley and I joined my mother and father, sister, brother, as well as his wife and three children at Balboa Park. In one big familial flurry, we made our way to the gates. My niece and nephew raced ahead, loudly verbalizing what they planned on seeing that day.
The San Diego Zoo was absolutely spectacular. In fact, I have never seen a place quite like it; it was more of an experience than a destination. Planners and caretakers of the zoo have gone to great lengths to recreate a series of natural environments, rather than an institution that simply houses animals in cages.
One of our first stops was the koala exhibit. Here, elevated footpaths wound amongst live eucalyptus trees, each supporting at least one animal. For the first time in my life, I actually saw activity. Typically, koalas appear dormant because, in the words of one Australian naturalist, "All they do at night is eat and procreate - you'd be tired, too." The San Diego koalas were wide awake, some munching on leaves, while others slowly climbed about. I closed my eyes and inhaled the sweet tang of natural eucalyptus. It was as close to Australia as one could get, without boarding an airplane.
Onwards we pressed, past the jaguars, the lions, the tigers, elephants, and snakes. At each exhibit, the animal was either actively roaming about or easy to spot. A mob of people watched, as an elephant put on quite a display of eating her supper. She would vigorously shake a suspended bag of hay, and then gracefully pick the roughage off the ground. What a beautiful animal - as purposeful as a horse, as solid, powerful, and proud as an aged dairy cow.
I watched, transfixed, as the orangutans swung from poles, played with objects within their environment, and made faces at onlookers. There were benches, where zoo-goers could sit and reflect. Did we, as humans, come from these creatures? I don't think there is any doubt. I know quite a few people who haven't evolved a bit.
At the insect barn, a wall-sized cutaway displayed an active ant farm. The ants were gathering bits of leaves, and carrying them underground. Did you know the ants don't actually eat the leaves they collect? They are in fact farmers. They take the organic matter below ground and use it to fertilize the fungus that they consume. I watched the tiny bugs scurrying about, hauling bits of food into their enclave. Neat little passages connected various chambers, allowing for lanes of traffic to pass in either direction. It reminded me of flying a Cessna over a subdivision.
In fact, there was only one bit of unpleasantness that I can associate with my day at the San Diego Zoo. It was there, on that day, that I was introduced to my new least favorite demography of people: parents with double-wide strollers.
Let me be clear: I am not condemning children. I am not condemning parents. I am not even condemning strollers. I very happily toured the zoo that day with my niece and nephew in tow. My brother and his wife even brought their stroller, which is a single-wide, but seats two. What I came to realize is once the leap is made to a double-wide stroller, all decency and common courtesy is left behind.
At first I smiled and politely stepped aside, each time someone pushing a double-wide plowed through. I quickly realized that the favor was never returned. These people thrust through the crowds, as oblivious to their surroundings as someone texting while pushing a shopping cart through a busy grocery store aisle. In fact, they held their head high, chin out, chest puffed, as self-righteous as an immaculately preened officer of the Waffen SS. So, I stopped moving. I even made up a monologue for the people behind the double-wide strollers:
"I have a double-wide. There is no one on the sidewalk but me. What crowd? What pedestrians? I push right through, because I have a double-wide. I don't move, I don't swerve, I walk on the left-hand side, because I have a double-wide. You will respect me, even though I only have one kid."
Some may say that if you can't beat them, join 'em. I say, rubbish - fight fire with fire. So, I did what every person pushing a double-wide stroller cannot do.
At lunchtime I grabbed a beer from one of the many vendors, and sat on a park bench in total and complete silence. There was no one pulling on my arm, throwing a tantrum over ice cream. I didn't have to worry about parking my stroller (not that those with a double-wide "worry" about parking - they simply put it wherever it suits them, the hell with you). I sipped my Corona and smiled behind my sunglasses. Look at what I can do, and you cannot.
Thus did I enjoy the finest exhibit on display at the San Diego Zoo - people-watching. I highly recommend it, but you know what they say; it's a zoo out there.
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
