ESCONDIDO, Calif. — "It's cheaper than going to Africa, I'll say that," Christine said as she scanned a rolling savanna where giraffes, gazelles and elephants ambled within a few dozen yards of a tent she shared with her husband, Jim.

For the Claremont couple and more than 50 other safari wannabes like me who spent a chilly Saturday night in March at the San Diego Zoo's Wild Animal Park, the aptly named Roar & Snore campout was also enlightening, fun and a little eerie.

"Oh God, where did I put my earplugs?" my partner Wesla asked, as snoring erupted from nearby tents. "That's going to be louder than the animals."

Not always, we would learn, along with the truth about rhino flatulence and grisly lion treats.

At the park in Escondido, beasts and birds fly, swim, roam and mate, many with only a moat to protect them from herds of camera-wielding bipeds. Or vice versa.

For $129 each (plus $35 for park admission), Wesla and I got a 9- by 14-foot tent, dinner, breakfast, three after-hours walking tours and plenty of face time with park staff during an adults-only edition of Roar & Snore.

We paid an extra $20 each for a so-called vista tent overlooking the nearly 70-acre Africa habitat; less expensive sites are off the rim.

Below us grazed a dozen hoofed — what? I collared Candace, one of several perky camp guides. Those were Thomson's gazelles. And over there were reticulated giraffes, a few fringe-eared oryx, a regal-looking defassa waterbuck, several crowned cranes and, atop distant hills, African and Asian elephants.

Closer in, near the camp's dining patio, a couple of hulking white rhinos snuffled in the dirt.

"They're kind of gassy," Candace said, giggling.

Above us, swirling turkey vultures that I had mistaken for hawks cruised for roadkill. It was not the only time there I would feel like prey.

Speaking of food: A buffet of grilled hamburgers and hot dogs, veggie burgers, barbecued beans and green beans, consumed at communal picnic tables, made for mostly happy campers, although some people growled that the $8.25 mixed drinks were more mix than drink.

Then came two brisk 90-minute hikes through the darkened park.

Candace fed our fantasies.

When we passed a pacing female cheetah that glared at us with shining eyes, Candace said, "You just finished dinner. You smell like food."

Thanks to a moat and a swath of electricity-charged grass, we were spared.

Lounging lions seemed less wild than mild, which they kind of were, having been trained, she said, to open their mouths for tooth inspections and tolerate sundry pokes and probes. Their favorite summer snacks, though, were chilling: frozen rabbit's blood, which park employees dubbed "bloodsicles."

Not all our guide's insights were as G-rated. To give other males a chance to mate, a Cape buffalo had been shunted to a habitat by himself. "He's nicknamed Longfellow, and it's not because he likes the poet," Candace said.

We paraded past black rhinos, nyala antelope and more before returning to camp for a snack of cheesecake, cookies, cocoa and coffee, then headed out on a second hike.

We ogled a day-old African elephant calf and his mom, while, nearby, two researchers sat with laptops, recording his every move.

"These guys would do almost anything for alfalfa pellets," Candace said. As if on cue, one of them bellowed.

"They heard the magic word," she said.

By 11 p.m., Wesla and I had turned in for a less-than-magical sleep, disrupted by the snores next door.

What happened shortly after 6 a.m. banished weariness. That's when the lions started roaring.

In the misty pre-dawn, their majestic chorus obliterated every other sound. It was thrilling, unsettling and unforgettable.

After an alfresco breakfast, another hike took us to view Sumatran tiger cubs, endangered condors, porcupines and bighorn sheep.

About 9:30 a.m. we packed up, then we took a regular zoo tram tour. After the wake-up call by the lions, it all seemed anticlimactic.