On the night of October 11th, a long line stretched before the ticket booth at the entrance of Tobe Zoo. It was a completely different world from the one seen in daylight. The rhythmic chirping of insects mingled with laughter and conversation, turning the night air into something that felt almost festive.
Held on Saturday evenings from late September through mid-October, the “Night Zoo” has become one of Ehime’s most beloved autumn traditions.
The zoo was crowded everywhere I looked, as if the animals themselves were observing a great gathering of Homo sapiens. And yet, there was beauty in the scene — elephants standing under soft lights, a giraffe gently tilting its long neck, and a hippo surfacing through the shimmering reflections of water — all exuding a quiet, dreamlike charm unseen in the day.
Tobe Zoo traces its origins to the Ehime Prefectural Dogo (道後) Zoo, founded in Matsuyama in 1953. Due to environmental and space constraints, it was relocated to its present site in Tobe Town in April 1988. Today, it stands as one of western Japan’s leading zoological parks, cherished by families, photographers, and animal lovers alike.
When I was little, I misunderstood the name Tobe Zoo — not realizing that “Tobe (砥部)” was the name of the town. In my mind, it meant tobe, as in "to fly (飛べ)," and I imagined a "Flying Zoo," a place filled with roller coasters and soaring rides, more of an amusement park than a zoo.
Anyone who has studied even a little Japanese would know that the language is full of homonyms — words that sound identical but carry entirely different meanings.
I have always loved public cultural spaces — national parks, prefectural museums, city libraries.
There is a quiet gentleness in Japan’s public institutions. Prefectural zoos and museums may seem modest, yet they hold a sincere desire to nurture curiosity and provide moments of learning and joy. You can feel it in the handwritten signs prepared by staff, and in the soft gleam of old display cases carefully polished over the years. Such details reflect the warmth and conscientious spirit that define Japan itself.
At Tobe Zoo, an adult can enjoy all of this for just 600 yen — a price that represents more than affordability.
It reflects a cultural philosophy: that access to knowledge and beauty should remain open to everyone. Public cultural spaces are not only places where memories are made, but also where minds are quietly enriched. I can only hope that such places continue to be cherished and preserved, passed down gently from one generation to the next.
