Watching them together—rubbing heads, licking each other’s faces, lying with their paws almost entwined—made it impossible to think of them simply as “exhibits.” For a moment, they were just two living creatures sharing a bond, even if that bond was unfolding in a space designed by humans.
We wandered on slowly, in no rush at all. One of the nicest things about that day was the quiet: no school groups, no shouting children, no crowds pressing against the railings – not like the first time we’d visited the zoo. well over ten years ago! The animals seemed to appreciate it, too. Some were basking in the cool winter sun; others moved lazily, as if they were soaking up the peace as much as we were.
As often happens in zoos, I found myself reflecting on contradictions. On the one hand, it still troubles me that wild animals are kept in enclosures, no matter how large or thoughtfully designed. No fence or artificial landscape can truly replace a savannah, a jungle, or a mountain range. On the other hand, zoos like Pistoia—or Berlin, for that matter—clearly make an effort: space, stimulation, and dignity are priorities. They also teach visitors, especially children, to care about animals they might otherwise know only from cartoons or books.
The rest of the visit flowed in the same gentle, unhurried way. We lingered by the Asian otters, which were endlessly entertaining—slipping into the water, popping back up, rolling and tumbling as if play itself were their main occupation. There was something joyful about watching them, a kind of lightness that made you smile without even realising you were doing it.
The alligators, by contrast, exuded calm, frightening power. Still and statuesque, they seemed like living fossils—until one shifted, opening an eye or flicking its tail, a reminder of the strength and alertness lurking beneath their motionless exterior. The reptile house was a brief step into another world: snakes, lizards, and strange, beautiful creatures I’d only seen in books or on TV. The branch filled with leeches that could easily be touched made me glad I was living in an age which no longer used them for medicinal purposes.
The giraffes were elegant and serene, their long necks reaching for leaves with an almost dreamlike grace. Watching them chew thoughtfully, we fell silent, caught up in their calm.
Other animals we loved watching included meerkats, capibara, the largest rodents in the world (their size frightened us), wallabies, giant tortoises like the ones we saw in Mauritius in 2024, mongoose, parrots, cassowaries, emus, penguins, peacocks which included beautiful albino ones. monkeys, pelicans, bears and wolves (who are some of our neighbours where we live).
But the star I’d been hoping to see was the red panda. Enchanting—part bear, part cat, part something else entirely—it moved quietly among the trees, half-hidden by branches and leaves. Following it required patience, and when I finally caught a good glimpse, I felt a little thrill, like I’d discovered a secret. And it took me back to the ones I’d seen in China.
Yet even in that joy, a pang of concern: it seemed alone. I didn’t spot another red panda nearby, and that thought tugged at me, a quiet ache amid the delight. Zoos can make you feel joy and sadness in the same heartbeat.
The tickets were slightly more expensive than Berlin Zoo which we’d visited last year, and which is much bigger, but nothing close to the ghastly entry fees of Edinburgh or London. Considering what you get, it’s a bargain—and that made enjoying the day even easier
Pistoia Zoo did give me mixed feelings, but gentler ones than I expected. I didn’t feel the shock and sadness I remember from childhood trips to Milan Zoo (now closed), where I stared at bears and lions in tiny cages. Instead, I felt cautious acceptance: a recognition that zoos are imperfect, but some are genuinely trying to do better. Perhaps that’s where I stand now—not someone who can celebrate them without doubts, but someone who can enjoy moments like that afternoon, watching two lions in the sun, while remembering their real home lies far beyond any fence.. So. on the whole we left Pistoia Zoo with warm, favourable impressions for it had given us curiosity, pleasure, and real moments of emotion.