Sending the clergy was less expensive than armies and it was intended to culturalise rather than brutalise natives into the Spanish way of life. Although do you really think it was the Spanish that built the missions? The original mission in Santa Barbara stands a few miles from the ocean that it overlooks. Above are the most beautiful and inviting looking mountains abundant in luscious green. We arrived after (5pm) closing time, however it looks as sturdy as the day it was built.
The area is complemented by grassy fields and we followed a road that in it’s title suggested what we should do. Scenic Drive. We went higher into the hills and towards the headland of the bay. The mile or so we drove took us into suburbia suggesting how small Santa Barbara is. The drive is clustered with houses decorated with fantastic panoramic views. I can only imagine the views are a status symbol for residents. Which is something that I picked up in Santa Barbara; locals are smug. Michelle had mentioned it to me before we arrived and it was only too obvious on arrival.
It is important to remember how fertile Californian land is. We passed miles of strawberry farms worked by Mexicans. There were a few stalls and unfortunately we didn’t stop for any. My experience of Californian strawberries is that they are huge! The perfect fruity and highly saturated English strawberries are about a 5th of the size. Yet these beasts taste really good also. Michelle explained that much produce of California is exported, where as most Californians only get fruit imported from Central American countries.
Santa Barbara is an elegant looking town reminiscent of the 1940’s with curved walls reflecting the golden Californian sunshine. I nearly expect to see a diner on every street corner. Instead are restaurants, expensive who like everything and everyone in Santa Barbara is “because I’m worth it”. We meet an old colleague of Michelle’s who now works at a theatre. We dine next door at an unpretentious Vietnamese restaurant with a bike decorating the window. The huge room with a high ceiling and oriental palms looks colonial to me, but I gather it is probably a typical unit with sparse interiors. I remember having to repeat myself several times to the waitress and we doubted what I was served would be what I ordered. The pad tai soup was surprisingly awesome! Full of flavour, very moreish and enough for a doggy bag.
Michelle’s friend recommended visiting The Court House. As suggested by it’s name it is a court and a public building. It is complemented by a lift, sorry elevator, that takes you several stories higher to a tower with 360degree views of the town and the surrounding hills. Unsurprisingly for Santa Barbara, I hear that there is a tall buildings ban which to me means no skyline so symbolic of many places. But I don’t care that much, at least it leaves us with a fantastic view to enjoy.
This is California, so of course the weather is fantastic. From here it is clear to see Santa Barbara as mostly being in a valley with a bay and harbour at one end. The mist shrouds the hills covered in a too good to be true surplus of green. The contrast in colour created by the deep, infinity blue cloudless sky adds a serious wow factor. I immediately understand why people feel so smug about living here.
Unlike southern California, Santa Barbara is a small town in accessible reach of the beach, the sea and being able to escape into countryside. Santa Barbara is wine country, perhaps not famous for the best wines, but we are going to Napa Valley, proper wine country, so we do not need to immerse ourselves with “suitable for spicy food like Thai, or even crab cakes” just yet.
Driving a mile down the main street to the coast, we enjoy seeing a lively and populated downtown. Something many cities don’t have since the American appeal for big out of town malls. Michelle is salivating at a window display full of dresses; as the traffic lights turn to green, I pull out a wet one. I can see Santa Barbara, despite it’s expense, being a fantastic place to live; but there is something missing, something is not right.
The place is really conservative and can imagine residents forgetting the outside world. The community spirit maybe great for some, especially with families and if the desire to be in a centre of cosmopolitan sinks below the passion for having a small boat, then you may love this place! We easily find a free place to park on the waterfront and decide to explore. The waterfront is complimented by a large beach stretching around the bay, a small harbour of private boats and ferries that take visitors to the outlying islands and a pier.
As we stepped out of the car, and welcomed to the sound of Madonna’s classic hits. Music, as made apparent, suitable for hula hooping to. A smiley grandpa is expertly shaking his body to “Papa Don’t Preach”. He is joined by cohorts who were particularly less successful at keeping the hula above their spare tyres. There is something very amusing about the ordeal, but I simply can’t put my finger on it.
Runners colonize the waterfront and I feel jealous at what a fantastic place this is to run. They may no doubt have similar emotions with my regular route under fresh smelling elms and picturesque green fields known as the Clifton Downs; the elms, actually aggravates my hay fever.
All in all, I gather that locals are very content here. Perhaps they are the type that don’t ask for more, but the town is pretty and there are no obvious signs of poverty. We also notice that white is the sole ethnicity. We decide to stroll along the pier in the cooling evening air. Magnificent colours are released as the sun lowers below the surrounding hills. Tangerine and lilac separated by the neutral streaks of clouds flood the sky and reflect in the infinity of ocean beyond.
The pier has an abundance of signs implementing rules to adhere by; including no stilettos. The next sign authorises a speed limit of 5mph; applicable to those powered by motors and wheels that compose a clatter as they bounce from one loose plank to the next. This pier splits into two parts and obviously has space for a sizeable car park. It is complemented by a pretty decent shanty looking sea food restaurant with valet boys dispensed to park ya mota 20 yards away. The other side of the pier is home to a museum and other non-descript shops. A fantastic view of the whole bay, the beaches and the harbour is to be had.
We contentedly sat and watch the plethora of activity of the recreational fishermen, others enjoying the fresh air and even girls dragon boat racing. As we head back to our trusty form of transport, we watch grandpa still going at it like the hit parade, only now to “Material Girl”.
That night we camped several miles down the coast in the Carpenteria State Park. The road between here and Barbara revealed a village called “Summerland” and no less than “Santa-Claus Lane.” The campsite is complemented by a huge beach. In fact I would suggest the campsite is nearly on the beach. Other campers or those in RVs may enjoy a sea view. The beach as typical with California has the finest and most glorious sands and a sea view complemented by oil rigs. A very suitable family place; although I was too nervous to test how cold the water was on our late March visit.
The facilities were pretty diabolical as can be expected when camping like pikies. An electricity hook-up would have been appreciated as a hot shower too; we had ours before 8am, so someone else didn’t use all the hot water! They take quarters, so remember to bring plenty!
As complete sissies, we brought a big air-mattress. We brought a pump with which the power converter, should save a lot of puff. That is if it worked! It did before, it doesn’t now and there is no logical reason why. We were saved by a neighbouring camper with an RV and proper power. We needed to blow the mattress up in the tent otherwise it wouldn’t get in the tent! We had intended to romantically sit on the beach and drink a bottle of wine under the stars with the backdrop of crashing waves. Disappointingly we were both so tired all we wanted was to go to bed.
The night was cold under our mountain of blankets. Intent on waking us, the wind blew and shook our flysheet. It also became apparent that there was a Pacific Coastal Train. It went through the campsite, ran several times in the night and not quietly. Every school boy train driver with knowledge of the level crossing ensured everyone within 3miles would hear him coming with his big horn for at least 2 minutes a time. Yes thank-you!
The next morning, we had a little explore of the campsite under the golden sunlight of the new day. The surrounding mountains could be miles away with their unapparent perspective in size. Looking south and into the sun alerts us to beautiful silhouettes in the shape of trees, mountains and shorelines adorned in gentle mist. We take a short walk beyond the campsite to see a local spectacle of seals or were they sea lions? They weren’t there, but others enjoying an early morning cliff walk were.
