We made our way through the gates and the ambling crowd, on the lookout for our guide. A short, outdoorsy man in the khaki and cargo uniform approached us, introduced himself as Robert, and greeted us enthusiastically. Just like that, we began the tour.

The Taronga Zoo seemed like any other I had been to. There were a few refreshment stands scattered at the entrance, a long line of tacky tourists waiting for the restroom, and a discordance of various animal noises. I couldn’t tell if they were coming from the animals themselves, streaming artificially from hidden speakers, or a mixture of the two. I had been to the zoo in my hometown more times than I could count. I vividly remember hiking up the steep asphalt to the primate house, avoiding the insect and reptile exhibit entirely, and watching a lanky giraffe scoop up a cracker from the top of my dad’s head with its impossibly long tongue, depositing a generous amount of drool on his hair in the process.

But as Robert began to describe the types of animals we’d be seeing and even touching on this special Australian tour, I perked up and listened. This was not going to be a traditional zoological experience. Our first stop was to greet a porcupine-like creature called an echidna. Its long, tubular snout made it look like something out of a sci-fi movie. It squirmed in Robert’s arms, eager to get back to its dwelling in the dirt. A few stalls over, we were introduced to a creature I had no idea even existed. As Robert started rattling off facts about the Red Tree Kangaroo, I stared wide-eyed at its long striped tail. It looked suspiciously like Tigger from Winnie the Pooh.

The real fun began when my dad was invited to feed the emu, a bird I did not expect to be so unnerving. Its glassy red eyes bulged as it eyed the strange flowered branch my dad held out gingerly. In a sudden, jerky motion that made my dad recoil defensively, the emu lunged forwards and stripped the bounty of flowers from its branch, then promptly turned and sauntered to the other end of the stall.

On our way to the marsupial house, we passed a wombat, which was really just a fat badger, a quokka, an animals whose distinguishing features and behaviors I’m still pretty confused about, and a Tasmanian devil, a tiny black puppy-bear hybrid that looked nothing like the Loony Toons imitation.

As we entered the dimly lit building, I expected to see a six-foot creature swimming jovially within the glass tank. The foot-long, meandering mammal was nothing like what I expected a platypus to be. It looked tiny and boring, but Robert insisted that it was actually quite exciting. Along with claiming the title as the only mammal that lays eggs, the platypus was also extremely poisonous. My mom asked exactly how much pain someone would be in if they were stung. Robert cheerfully announced that if stung by a platypus, morphine would not be able to mask the 48 hours of unbearable pain. We filed quickly after him to the outdoor stalls.

As soon as my eyes adjusted to the sunlight, my jaw dropped. Right before me was a grey kangaroo, heavier and stronger than my dad, and just as tall. It lay lazily on its side, its powerful back legs positioned like a dog’s. It was propped up on its bony elbows, its front legs crossed politely as if it were expecting us for tea. Robert went off into his spiel about how kangaroos and wallabies are essentially of the same species with a simple weight difference categorizing them, while I continued to stare at the massive symbol of Australia seated calmly before me.

Robert finally took a breath and led us over to an adjoining stall. A baby red kangaroo sat next to a half-eaten bowl of grain. He told me to go ahead and pet it, and I reached forward tentatively. Its fur was thicker than I expected, but extremely soft. It didn’t react when I touched it. Once everyone had gotten a turn, we moved on to the final exhibit of the tour.

I just about peed when I saw the five koalas perched high in the trees, hugging the trunk for dear life. Most of them wore expressions of bitter irritability, and when I asked why, Robert said that the eucalyptus leaves that made up their entire diet were poisonous, but that it they also gave them a high followed by a crash, which is why they slept about twenty two hours a day. We weren’t allowed to hold them, since their cantankerous temperament sometimes ended with a set of claws to the shoulder blade, but we did get to take selfies with them.

On our way back to the entrance, we heard an odd birdcall that seemed to stand out amongst the others. Robert pointed directly above us. There, nested in a tree that closely resembled the Tree of Life from The Lion King, was a kookaburra. Its light plumage and squat body gave the impression of a cockatiel on helium. It opened its long beak and began to laugh. It was the eeriest sound I had ever heard in my life. There I was, sitting under the Tree of Life, listening to a laughing kookaburra. Life couldn’t get any more interesting than that.