Fleeing to the American Riviera
Sometimes, one simply needs to get out of town. Perhaps you might owe money to mobsters who are now hunting you, wanting to collect on the debt you owe them. Or perhaps you might need to flee a raging disaster, like a fire or flood. Or perhaps the very sight of your home fills you with dread, as flitting shadows conjure dark memories that torment you, day and night.
Or perhaps you just need a temporary change of scenery. Either way.
Recently, my wife and I took a trip to Santa Barbara to celebrate her birthday. Santa Barbara, for those unaware, is a lovely city situated on the central California coast. It's kind of like if Santa Cruz had continued going to Sunday School instead of dropping out to dabble with peyote. Its mild climate and gentle shores make it the perfect destination for a summer getaway. What follows here is a chronicle of a getaway of this nature.
DAY 1
We stayed at the Hotel Californian, which, despite lacking mirrors on the ceiling and pink champagne on ice (in our room at least), was quite charming. It actually consists of a few buildings on the corners of an intersection, with hotel rooms, restaurants, bars etc. sprinkled between them. We stayed in the same building as the pool, which we didn't end up having time to take advantage of, but it was nice all the same.
Our main priority upon showing up (our arrival was a few hours later than we planned, as tends to be the case) was to prepare for our planned dinner that evening. As it was Sheila's birthday proper, we had decided to mark the occasion at Blackbird, the fanciest restaurant on the hotel premises. It has an old Hollywood feel similar to the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror, with a distinct Alfred Hitchcock influence. And I mean that in a very overt sense.
The ambiance was great, but how was the food? Well, dear reader, I am pleased to inform you that our meal was equally delightful. We started off with some tasty oysters..
...and some even tastier yellowtail crudo.
The latter dish in particular was a revelation, owing to the freshness of the seafood and the incredible blood orange aguachile sauce. I had never had a seafood dish quite like it, and I highly recommend it to anyone who happens to be in the area.
Entree-wise, we went the red meat route and each got a different cut of steak. Sheila's filet of beef came out textbook...
Our meal was concluded with what our server described a "special chocolate tart" and special it was! Here's an image of the moment right before Sheila extinguished the torch atop it.
Our bellies full, we decided to poke around town, starting towards Stearns Wharf. However, it was a matter of mere minutes before we decided that said full bellies, combined with our general sense of exhaustion resulting from the day's lengthy car ride, dictated that we would be better served heading back to the hotel. So our evening concluded with a preview of the rooftop pool (as I insinuated earlier, this was our only trip up there, but I'm glad we did it). We inhaled the salty sea air and took in the Santa Barbara skyline by night, as some old song about airplanes or something softly played from the pool's sound system.
DAY 2
Though I wouldn't go so far as to say this vacation had an itinerary, we definitely went into the second day with a plan. Before I get into that, though, I suppose this would be as good a time as any to show what our room looked like.
Nice neutral color palette, modern design touches, cobra wall lamps, turn down service, sexy tattooed sailor Elizabeth Taylor on the wall. 10/10.
Anyway, first order of business was breakfast. Fortunately, due to the various perks available to us via the credit card rewards program we used to book the trip, we got what amounted to a free breakfast at the hotel's cafe, Goat Tree. The best breakfast is a free breakfast, as my grandpappy used to say. And it was not only free, but quite tasty as well! Sheila and I each ordered a different combination of coffee and bread-based dish, with her pleasure being avocado toast and a cappuccino...
...and mine being smoked salmon toast and a latte.
Great stuff, and perfect fuel for the day ahead. The aforementioned plan was for some sightseeing and relaxation, with our first stop slated to be Chaucer's Books. Chaucer's is a true rarity these days: a large, independently owned bookstore. In an age where most people seem to do the bulk of their reading on their cellphone and even the Borders bookstore chain is long gone, there's something refreshing about a good old-fashioned purveyor of tomes. Their inventory was impressive, too, which was perfect given our search for something to read at the beach. But much as we could have spent all day looking through the dizzying selection of books, we had places to be, so before long we were back on the road, new reading material in hand.
We weren't on the road for long, because our next destination was basically right up the street: Old Mission Santa Barbara. Now, let me preface this by saying that I am aware of the fact that missions and the history associated with them are...problematic, to say the least. But seeing how the mission would grapple with/present this history was one of the things that most fascinated me about it. Plus, I hadn't been to a mission since I did that project in elementary school where you build a model of a mission (do schools still even have kids do that?), so I was really going into this with no idea what to expect.
I have to say, I was impressed! The architecture of the mission was lovely, delicately walking the line between preservation and renovation. The displays throughout were thoughtful and informative, and did not sugarcoat the complex, often exploitative relationship between the missionaries and the native Chumash tribe, including the latter's revolt in 1824 against the settlers. Chumash artifacts and historical accounts were presented alongside the expected Catholic elements to create a fascinating cultural tapestry.
I have to say, though, there were definitely some pretty creepy elements.
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| I'm certain I saw this doll move out of the corner of my eye |
One thing old school Catholicism excels at is definitely art that straddles the line between terrifying and badass.
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| Imagine being this chill while standing on top of Satan |
Honestly, this whole room of artwork was great, but my reflection showed up on the paintings' protective glass in most of the photos I took, so I don't want to use them. Here's one that turned out OK.
And for context:
Outside, the center courtyard was a serene escape, an impeccably landscaped vista of...oh, sorry, flashed back to my days of writing real estate fliers for a minute there.
The chapel, meanwhile, definitely had that tranquil but sacred vibe you look for in a historic church.
The painting, sculptures, etc. were similarly *chef's kiss*.
Of course, there are telltale signs of the COVID era even in a sanctuary.
And then you go outside, and that sense of creepiness comes back, because, you have entered...
...THE CEMETERY.
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| I sent this photo to my sister with the caption, "Having a great vacation!" | |
It's quite something out there. You're surrounded by tombstones and crypts and this giant tree that looks like it's about to reach down and strangle you with its branches.
I managed to get this shot of a sundial at noon, which feels like more of an accomplishment than it actually is.
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| What happens when we turn in the clocks back in the fall, though?? |
But as we were staring up at this big Jesus, we realized something. The bells were about to ring.
The ringing of the bells at the mission is a powerful experience. The sound is loud and clear, reverberating through the grounds in such a way that you feel it as much as see it, the vibrations lingering even as the peals fade. We managed to capture it on video, more or less.
I gotta be honest with you, though. The combination of tolling bells and tombstones had me expecting The Undertaker to emerge from the chapel.
The gift shop on the way out, I should note, posted a rather cheeky reminder to its patrons.
Before we left, I did want to get a photo of the front of the mission. And it was in pursuit of this that I witnessed a curious incident. You see, some enterprising bro was pacing back and forth right in front of the edifice, having a loud and animated conversation with someone on his cell phone that was clearly business-related. Which is fine, in the abstract, except for the fact that his choice of venue for said conversation was causing his to physically obscure the photos of a growing, disgruntled group of people.
"Sir! Sir!" the woman next to us yelled, making a shooing motion with her hands. "Could you please move?"
It was no use. The bro was oblivious. Any photo to be taken was doomed to be pre-bombed.
But then it struck me. If the bro was to remain, then perhaps some trickery was in order on my end in order to capture the photo I desired. I told Sheila my plan, then headed up the stairs.
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| Pictured: me in the middle, bro to the left, mid-convo |
The thing is, the bro wasn't standing still. Rather, he was pacing back and forth while yelling about logistics issues. As such, there was a window of opportunity. The timing had to be perfect, but maybe, just maybe, if we managed to get a photo right as he was pacing behind me...
Success! Bro, blocked. And with that, we returned to our hotel room for a quick lunch and the next phase of our plan: the beach.
Now, I'm not a big beach guy. I'm notoriously hydrophobic due to a whole drowning thing when I was a child, so I don't swim. I can't help but look at large bodies of water and think, you almost got me once...I bet you'd like to give it another shot, wouldn't you? It's a thing that we do, me and the water. It's not super relaxing.
But I went to UC Santa Cruz, and in my pursuit of higher education I also formed an uneasy truce with the ocean. I don't go in it, and it doesn't come after me. And so, in this spirit, I set up a chair in the sand far from the water and busted out my book from Chaucer's, Wise Blood by Flannery O'Connor. And yeah, I'll admit, it was relaxing.
The afternoon passed quickly, and with neck and arms perhaps just a slight shade darker than before, we found ourselves back in our hotel room. Once we had showered the sand off of us, the question of dinner began to loom. We ultimately decided to roll the dice and walk over without a reservation to an Italian restaurant, Toma, that had excellent reviews.
Our gambit paid off, as there was a table for two just waiting for us upon our arrival. The restaurant was crowded, but fortune had smiled upon us. We eagerly ordered our food, taking in the warm, charming atmosphere. What we did not do, however, is take any photos. I don't know, it felt gauche or something.
I got the halibut and Sheila got the braised short rib. Both were fantastic, and Toma will absolutely be on our to-do list next time we find ourselves in Santa Barbara. I'll probably get a reservation next time, though. Just in case.
DAY 3
Sheila and I found ourselves back at Goat Tree for breakfast. And it was at this breakfast that we discovered something quite important: the croissants at Goat Tree are incredible. Seriously, incredible. The ones we ate were absolutely the best croissants either of us have ever had in our lives. That admittedly may merely a sign of how basic we are in terms of croissants, but I stand by my ringing endorsement of these buttery, flaky wonders regardless. Just amazing stuff.
We also got a parfait (hers) and a Monte Cristo sandwich (mine), and enjoyed them both, but the croissant! My goodness.
As we consumed our breakfast, Sheila looked at the window and pointed to something that I could not see from my angle. "Oh, hey!" she said. "There's a pizza place over there!" Given our overwhelmingly positive experiences with local restaurants so far, she looked it up on Yelp. "Eh, the reviews are...OK," she said. "Never mind. Anyway, what time should I book for us at the zoo?"
The day's game plan involved a couple of destinations, the first of which was the Santa Barbara Zoo, which required making reservations in advance. These were fortunately not overly strict (it certainly wasn't booked solid months in advance or anything), so we made reservations online while finishing up our food. We gave ourselves an hour and a half to change, apply sunblock, and otherwise prepare for our journey into the carefully-curated virtual wilderness.
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| The hotel minibar, minus the bottle of Tito's |
The Santa Barbara Zoo strikes a nice balance between being large enough to offer a nice variety of animals and environs while not being so massive that it completely wears you out. Highlights included these geriatric gibbons, who were just chilling and scratching each other:
This toucan, who was an absolute prima donna, hopped onto the branch closest to us and assumed multiple poses for photographs. He really put the "zoo" in "Zoolander."
When I say we got close to the giraffes, I mean we got close. This giraffe's name is Michael. Right after we took this photo, Michael turned around and took a big dump in front of us.
Meanwhile this noble lion, much like our dear house cat Amelia, hardly moved the entire time we viewed him. This, of course, makes perfect sense. Imagine the hubris of trying to wake the king of the jungle from nappies time.
Though not a living animal in the strictest sense, I felt the need to take a photo of this fish statue while Sheila was on the phone with her mother, confirming that Amelia had been fed in our absence.
These gorilla bros are part of the "bachelor troop," according to the posted materials, so though they kind of look bored now, they've likely got an exciting future ahead of them.
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| Bachelor #1, Nzinga | |
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| Bachelor #2, Bangori | |
On the way out of the zoo, we made the ill-fated decision to grab a quick lunch there. What we didn't realize at the time was, due to the abundance of like-minded folks, we would be waiting a long time for our hot dogs and fries, while this kid at the table next to us kept feverishly activating his brand new toy (a zoo ambulance or something), setting off siren after siren until my brain threatened to slither out of my skull and join the Prevost's squirrel exhibit. On the plus side, we got to drink some Zoo Brew.
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| Zoo Brew, bruh |
After leaving the zoo, we went downtown to get our culture on at the Santa Barbara Museum of Art. Oddly enough, I have a weird reluctance to take photos of artwork...it sort of feels like I'm bootlegging. But there was a lot of great stuff there, and you should go if you happen to be in town and have any interest in art. From ancient Asian artifacts to mind-warping modern masterpieces, they've got it all, baby!
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| Some of the rooms gave me Animal Crossing : New Horizons vibes |
I did capture these masks. Captured on film, not captured like I looted the museum.
And Sheila took a picture of a Van Gogh, which I'm planning on selling as an NFT for $250,000.
Outside, I had a conversation with a local that, frankly, was a bit one-sided.
As the afternoon faded into the early evening, we returned to our hotel to sample some cocktails at Djinn, a bar with a punny name (djinn the spirit and also gin the other kind of spirit, there's layers) and some real fancypants drinks. I mean that in a good way!
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| I'm a sucker for a smokebox cocktail | |
As we paid our tab and prepared to head back to our hotel room to clean up and rest a bit, the bartender asked us what our dinner plans were. We shrugged, saying that we'd looked up a few places online but would decide later.
"Later?" he said. "Um, don't forget that you're in Santa Barbara. You should probably get that figured out soon, get some reservations somewhere or something. It might already be too late. Things close pretty early around here and they tend to fill up quickly."
"It's OK," I said. "Last night we were able to just walk in to a restaurant without reservations before closing. I'm sure it'll be fine."
"Yeah, but this is Friday night," the bartender said. "Weekend nights are a different story. I'm just saying, you probably want to get something reserved ASAP. Otherwise...you might end up having to eat dinner at that pizza place." He pointed past us, to the pizza restaurant we had noticed during breakfast. His words were firm and ominous. I could swear I felt a chill wind blow through the room when he said them.
"I guess we should try to make reservations somewhere," Sheila said once we were back in the hotel room. So we set to work scouring Yelp for dinner options. There were a number of enticing ones, but we clearly noticed a common theme: none of them had reservations until after 8:00 PM, if at all. There was one spot, Santo Mezcal, which looked great, but they didn't seem to accept reservations at all, and by all indications it seemed they would be very busy.
It suddenly occurred to me that we had yet to visit the wharf, despite it being within easy walking distance. Given that it was our last night in Santa Barbara, I decided to see what our meal options, hypothetically, might be out there. What a relief to find that a number of restaurants on the wharf would be open until at least 10:00! That settled it: we'd simply clean ourselves up, head over to the wharf, and pop in at one of these establishments to enjoy a meal on the water. No problem.
It is at this point that I beseech you, my friend, to not believe everything you read on the internet.
Secure in our decision, there was little sense of urgency to our preparations. We dawdled, lounging in our hotel robes and prettifying ourselves at a snail's pace. Something about seaside cities encourages a languid manner. And thus it was with some surprise that we did not exit our hotel room until after sunset.
"We probably should have just taken one of those late reservations," we joked. "We'd actually be right on time." Of course, with the moon hanging bright in the inky sky and the gentle throbbing hiss of ocean waves amplifying as we headed toward the pier, such concerns seemed laughable. The warmly lit restaurants on the pier were sizable and lively. Surely a mere table for two would prove no obstacle.
Yet as we strolled down the wharf, we couldn't help but notice that every other person we saw was headed in the opposite direction from us, retreating from the dark ocean in favor of the glow of the city beyond. The small shops we passed, curio vendors and fortune tellers, were shuttered for the evening. The lonely strains of an acoustic guitar from a solitary musician pierced the night. We approached the first restaurant with a sense of relief. But the sign in the window said, "CLOSED."
"That can't be right," I said. "They're supposed to be open for another hour at least."
But right it apparently was, as they were no longer seating new guests. Of course, this had to be an anomaly, right? Google had very clearly noted later closing times for these restaurants.
"Sorry," said the hostess at the restaurant at the very end of the pier. "We're closed, not seating anyone else."
Flabbergasted, Sheila and I headed back toward dry land. Nothing had gone as we had hoped. If only we had planned ahead and secured a spot somewhere. If only we had heeded the grim warning of the bartender from Djinn. And yet, didn't our predicament feel somehow appropriate? It was hard to shake the feeling of preordination.
As we exited the wharf and turned down the street, in search of lights and noise and some food harbor that might accept us weary travelers, we saw it. The end of the line. The prophecy fulfilled. The inevitable.
The pizza place.
The dark archway beckoned. Were we not, in the end, summoned here to fulfill the destiny hinted at during our breakfast conversation? Did our fate not inextricably lie within the pizza of which we had been cautioned? These were the thoughts that flooded my mind as we approached what was assuredly our final destination. Hopefully they at least had red pepper flakes.
"Hey, what's that?' said Sheila, motioning toward a lively, raucous establishment nearby. "Looks like a restaurant. Why don't we see if they're still open before we commit to the pizza place?"
Now, I'll admit, it's hard to walk away from what feels like a predetermined outcome. Everything coming full circle is a tantalizing proposition, even when the end result is *ostensibly* mediocre Italian food. And besides, just because a restaurant looks open does not mean they're still seating people, as we had repeatedly been reminded that evening. But there was really no harm in taking a look, right? So, cautiously optimistic, we headed over to investigate this one final refuge.
It was Santo Mezcal. The very place we had earlier wanted to eat at, but passed over due to its lack of a reservation system. And they were not only still open, but just so happened to have a table for two available!
In a way, things were still coming full circle. It's just that this circle had a smaller radius.
Anyway, would you like to know how much I enjoyed Santo Mezcal? Well, I'll just let this picture say a thousand words.
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| Om nom nom, as the kids say |
Look at this.
Look. At. This.
The upper photo is what remained of our ceviche de mariscos after about two minutes of intense devouring. The lower photo contains a multitude of salsas and sides and the absolute star of the evening: cazuela pibil. I've always wanted to try puerco pibil since I saw Johnny Depp murder a chef in Once Upon a Time in Mexico for making the dish too well, but it's not exactly a common menu item in the Bay Area. This cazuela pibil, as far as I can tell, is essentially a variation on that dish, and my goodness, it is sublime. Adobo-marinated pork slow-cooked in banana leaves? Just thinking about it is making it difficult for me to finish writing this. Santo Mezcal, can you just mail me some? I'll pay extra for overnight shipping.
I guess you could say it all worked out.
BONUS: DAY 4
Alas, it was time to head home. But! There was still fun to be had on our way back. I'm speaking, of course, of picturesque Solvang, CA.
Solvang, as you can see from this sign, is the Danish capital of America.
It also is an incredible place to purchase Christmas ornaments, if you are so inclined. And despite the fact that it was mid-August, people were packed in this Christmas shop like sardines in a particularly festive tin.
Don't be fooled! Despite its old world charm, the citizens of Solvang aren't looking to sacrifice you in a village ritual to appease the god of the harvest. Rather, they just want you to chill in a sausage garden and eat wieners like this rød pølse, which is something I absolutely had to copy/paste from Google because I definitely do not know the keystrokes for all that.
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| Rød pølse at the bottom...getting some extra bang for my copy/paste buck |
Alas, our sausage feast kept me from sampling authentic Danish pho.
But we did get to catch a Pikachu at a Solvang gym via Pokemon Go (yes, I still have that on my phone) to keep as a virtual souvenir, and we also had the privilege of seeing a seedy hotel room get raided by the cops on our way out! Overall, Solvang is a five star attraction, would recommend to anyone that likes apple pastries and leather jackets.
And that's about it! I don't really feel like writing about the gas station we stopped at on the way back or the traffic jam in Salinas, so here ends this travelogue. I hope you enjoyed it as much as our poor cat enjoyed finally getting some lickable treats after our absence. As they might theoretically say in Solvang, farvel!
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