Nestled against the leather cushions of the back seat, my oversized sunnies hiding my eyes as I drifted in and out of a daydream, we coasted along the winding roads, climbing higher and higher into the mountains that border the glamorous city of Santa Barbara. Cruising within the narrow spaces separating the massive mountains that stretched above and enclosed around us, my view of the city was progressively obstructed, the sandy hues of the stratified rocks now dominating my visual field. In an hour’s time, we were transported from the quaint shaded Santa Barbara streets to a dry and barren rocky landscape indicative of a Star Wars film.
As we sped to higher altitudes, we finally crossed over the mountains and into the Santa Ynez valley where the roads became flat, stretching infinitely into the distance. Traveling to the picturesque wine town of Los Olivos requires one’s immersion into a variety of unique subcultures characteristic of the anything-but-typical California lifestyle.
The first place to be crossed off our list was the strangely whimsical town of Solvang. Entering Solvang never fails to provide me with a brief moment of utter confusion, where I am forced to ponder whether I am stuck within a strange psychedelic dream or have traveled back in time to the medieval ages. Solvang resembles a bizarre, yet picturesque, scene out of a Danish storybook, where every structure is crafted from timber and stucco and the major exports are wood clogs and homemade fudge. While it is a fun town to look at, I did not dare to actually exit the car when passing through, after all Solvang, and its accompanying culture, is made to be a place of observation not immersion.
Leaving Solvang did not dissipate the aura of playful fabrication that hovered over the Santa Barbara mountains. Where there was once rock and sand, a landscape that denied the possibility of vegetation, lush grassy fields and oversized flowers sprung from the ground in a fashion so abrupt they appeared almost fake. The massive ranches that lined the road looked as though they would be fit for a Hollywood set created for an old Western Film, not a real-life town. The rustic signs posted at the start of the estates’ extensive driveways were meticulously adorned with trademarks from the wild west, such as Horseshoes and cacti, and advertised otherworldly attractions including miniature horse farms and ostrich racing. As we crept by this scene, seemingly fit only for the imagination, the roads narrowed and the white-picket-fence houses were made miniature.
Stay tuned for the finale of my epic adventure to Los Olivos….
