Travel Tip: should your shampoo bottle leak its contents inside your wash bag, only use dry paper to clean it up. Using anything wet will lead to a national foam crisis in miniature!
And so, after the frozen beauty of the Twin Cities, an early morning ride to the airport and a very sad farewell to Bonnie, I checked my bag and went in search of California. Confronted with hoards of people, and an army of wailing infants at the departure gate, I threw caution to the wind and upgraded to first class. Given that the flight is over 3 hours down to Phoenix, where I was connecting for Santa Barbara, this was a smart if slightly pricey move, and I was able to sit and write my previous blog, sipping white wine and stretching my toes in the glorious extra leg room. I dozed on and off and was quickly landing at Phoenix airport, gazing at the huge red rocks surrounding the city as we descended. Definitely not in the mid-west anymore. A quick hop to Santa Barbara, and we landed to glorious sunshine, the Pacific glinting below as we made our final approach. For anyone who has read any of the Sue Grafton 'Kinsey Millhone' alphabet books (and if not, why?), the fictitious Santa Teresa is based on this beautiful coastal town.
Stepping from the tiny municipal airport building, I was immediately struck by the bright colours brought into sharpness by the mid-day sun. Sun. SUN!! At 26 or 27 degrees C, walking out after 7 hours of travel brought an audible, gasping sigh as I was confronted with palm trees, succulents, vast blue sky and the distant mountain range of Santa Ynez. Saw the familiar profile of my friend Tracy standing and peering at the arrivals board and moments later we were laughing and marvelling at the time past since last we met. Lunch at a beach-side restaurant, and a wander out onto one of those piers you see on tv shows and movies to look across to the Channel Islands, an archipelago running parallel to the coast and apparently where the fossilised remains of a entire woolly mammoth was discovered in recent times!
Back to Tracy's beautiful home set next to the More Mesa wilderness reserve - all huge, light and airy rooms, bougainvillea, Australian bottle brush and orange trees. Oh and crows... flocks and flocks of crows. Seriously, I sat out this morning drinking coffee beneath the pergola, and felt somewhat akin to Tippi Hedren, albeit less coiffed and slightly more beardy, the swirl and echoing calls beyond the lattice-work above my head actually rather disturbing. Apparently, studies have shown that crows make tools with which they can retrieve food from holes and crevices and that they teach their young to recognise danger or menace. Perhaps Daphne Du Maurier was onto something after all!
There's talk of whale watching while I'm here, and a plan to wander downtown Santa Barbara where large quantities of 1920s and 1930s architecture survives. There are few buildings above 2 or 3 stories, and the Spanish-influenced design and construction sits authentically amongst the, for me, exotic terrain and flora. Also, many early silent movies were produced here, making it a prototype 'Hollywood of the North'.
Seeing Tracey and her husband Matthew again is lovely - we worked out that I hadn't seen Matthew for twenty years, when their boys Louis and Vincent were but a hope and an intention. Now 19 and 17 respectively, it's another reminder that the years hurtle past... Louis is away at college, but Vincent and I have already had a few chats about movies. He's a bigger movie fan than I and writes film and music reviews for his high school newspaper. Eager to hear about my marathon to chase the Marathon, I held court over a dinner of Sloppy Joes, which seems to be chilli served over baps - delicious - before retiring off to bed and 8 hours of much needed sleep.
I can see why folks who move to Santa Barbara never leave!
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