SCHOLARSHIP DAY 114: Santa Barbara's Mission, Rocky Nook Park, Botanical Gardens, Rattlesnake Canyon, and a long walk back!

I awoke and peered through the window shutters to greet another appealing day here in Santa Barbara, but was composedly cautious that it was indeed the winter solstice, and I would need to achieve as much as I can out of my last day in Santa Barbara as I could. Keen to get going, I breakfasted, gathered up my lunch, and set off to execute another fulfilling day. First on my list, though it must be noted that I hardly ever stick to such an organised itinerary, was a visit to Santa Barbara's mission.  I padded down an array of streets I had never travelled before, caught soundbites of conversations from people I didn't know, passed cars, buses and taxis yet had no idea where their eventual destiny lay. Once again, I was a stranger far from home making footsteps on foreign tarmac, and yet despite all of this, I was enveloped in Santa Barbara's friendly community vibe. I felt almost as welcome here as I would in my own village, which simply gladdened the heart.

I must confess to being perhaps a tad indolent when it came to researching the Santa Barbara Mission, but from the exterior, which manifested into view as I proceeded up an incline, I could tell it was a structure upholding history and prestige.  It was actually a welcoming change to see that its beauty didn't rely on the powers of symmetry, as so many tourist attractions seem to employ to draw the crowds from far and wide these days. The Santa Barbara Mission, and I commit to using its full name throughout as it certainly deserves that respect, has stood the tests and trials of an eventful history. It was founded in 1786, two years before this country was even officially titled 'United States of America'. The present church was completed in 1820, overlooked the Pacific Ocean until an earthquake in 1925, and then was once again restored in 1927. It witnessed yet another world war, the Great Depression of 1929, and was restored once again in 1953, and since then it has been lovingly cared for by volunteers. If you consider how much you've seen, heard and experienced in your lifetime, and then consider the Santa Barbara Mission; it makes our lives feel rather subordinate.

I strolled in, passing the conventional 'No Flash Photography' notices and the gentleman who insists deliberately on the contrary, enacted a modest salute to the volunteerng personnel, and took a seat on a varnished wooden pew. Encircling the church were the reverberations of a very fine tenor; mellow waves of a well polished voice bouncing of the extravagantly pattened stone walls, and I caught the meditative trail of incense. My only reservation was that apart from staring agape at such an architectural gem, there was very limited room to wander about inside; an incongruous looking piece of string barricaded but a few rows of pews, and so what transpired was an accumulating crowd of eager tourists, finger hovering over their camera shutter button, as if they thought they would only get one chance to grasp the perfect photo, which in some ways of partly true. I made way for them, left my imprint in Santa Barbara's Mission extensive history by way of a signature in the visitor book, and emerged back into the present.

Just aside, over a spacious green which would pleasure any dog for hours, I stumbled upon a few ancient ruins. In my mere blink of a lifetime on this planet, my eyes have been treated to visits of literally hundreds of ruins, thanks to a family enthusiast who simply adores stone assemblages, no matter how abstract, and no matter how far out of our way it may take us. My mother's fascination in these granite relics, these remnants of a bygone age, never ceases to amaze me, and every family holiday, sandwiched in between visits to the beach, are small excursions to these unmapped and forgotten rocks, (or maybe large excursions; it depends how high her enthusiasm is!) So, my wandering through these Santa Barbara ruins this morning, I did in respect to a long lasting family tradition.

I rambled along a very overgrown trail, under half-fallen branches, and over erratic boulders, finding myself staring at what could possibly compete for Santa Barbara's most dilapidated corner. The problem came with trying to identify what each disintegrating pile of bricks used to be, and a distinctive lack of information boards didn't aid the mystery. I decided that the four upstanding walls used to encompass a reservoir, although in its day, the area probably wasn't festooned with moss, infested with weed, and the out of place tree, I'm almost certain, wasn't even a seedling. Later on, I advanced upon the only roofed building, and was pleasantly astonished that it hadn't fallen to the same disrepair that the others had so undeservedly encountered. The frontage even adorned a sign that presented in the least enthusiastic font that man has ever designed, the word: 'Filter'. I can just imagine my Mum checking it with the photo from her guidebook, and upon realising it was just as decrepit as the book made out, supplementing our family 'ruins' photo album with as many angles of it as possible. And then, once every lichen has been individually documented, would she allow us a visit to the beach.

I could have very easily extended the family tradition, and headed to the beach to while away a few hours constructing sandcastles and relishing 99's, but instead, I made my way northwards to Rocky Nook Park; simply out of curiosity. Trekking under the shady foliage of giant oak and sycamore trees, I was led through an oasis of woodland life; not arresting by any means, but an enjoyable amble. Most of the park is littered with Sandstone boulders, as if someone once selected this sight to be the Fort Knox of rocks. Most were garnished with the pioneers, lichen and algae, and others seemed as brand new as notes leaving the Royal Mint. Had I been younger and more easily entertained with the mundane, I might have hopped from one to another in an innocent glee. But today, I simply intertwined a trail of footsteps around them, and departed to meet the road again. And what an agreeable walk it was.

With determination, I made good progress along a twisting web of road, void of pavement as if this corner of Santa Barbara didn't welcome pedestrianised tourism, which is somewhat untrue because it is here that the city's Botanical Gardens can be found. It's hard to judge whether $6 for a student admission to the gardens is value for money (VFM as my family has coined) because from the entrance there appear to be six or seven different trails all leading to destinations shielded by a large expanse of trees. For all the innocent visitor knows, these trails could all abruptly terminate beyond the trees, which might make the $6 a little excessive. Having said that, they might all divide into seven or eight equally ambiguous trails, which individually direct a stroll around every patch in this quilt of flowering shrubs and scented herbs. I'm pleased to say the latter applies, and $6 is indeed, VFM.

It felt impossible to cover the expanse of the gardens, because you would always meet another trail and have to deliberate whether it was more fitting to delve into delphinium territory, or clock the cacti collection. And just when you are about to turn back to visit the one you missed first time round, you find another equally appetising route, and the afternoon turns not into a horticultural tour, but a constant self-inflicted battle with choice. Not that this marred the experience; I was never a devotee to true horticultural tradition. (That is, to stroll around with another equally stimulated gardener, discussing distinctive leaf patterns, ornate petal structures and specific root diameters.)

I inhaled the fragrance of a richly diverse floral world, and took in the views offered from several vantage points. I crossed a 200 year old dam, trotted over stream smoothed stones, and enjoyed my lunch on a slightly slanted picnic table, such was the gradient of the land it sat on. I gloated at another redwood and spied an ant parade across a rugged boulder, and when I had savoured all that the botanic gardens had to offer, I left feeling all the more enriched.

Deciding which way to return wasn't easy either; there's a range of different routes of varied degrees of scenic beauty, so I engaged in a short contemplation with my map, and made for what I assumed to be the best. Needless to say, it was the most dangerous. The road made sudden contortions, and with a pavement as wide as a runner bean, (practically non existent), I found myself crossing the road to get into view of oncoming traffic. For some reason that escaped me then, and still foxes me now, drivers love to hurtle down these narrow passages; perhaps because it's less frequently policed and don't we all like a small thrill every now and again.

If I was to be treated on my indirect journey back to the hostel, it would be manifested in majestic views of the Rattlesnake Canyon. Its conspicuous from central Santa Barbara, but looks even more salient from the position I found myself in now.

It was enlivening to journey through this neighbourhood; a community which seemed miles away from anywhere. Affluent families were outside their houses, absorbing a tranquil semblance this area seemed positively saturated in. I found myself moving through a region that is so evidently cared for, which is heartwarming to see after witnessing the contrary so much in this long and epic trip down the United States. Eventually, after a couple of hours of very enjoyable if eventless walking, I had reached the hostel, and I took a moment to turn around and stare back at the area I had just been browsing. It seemed miles away, which in fact, it actually was. I took myself to the rooftop balcony, sipped on a honey tea, relishing a slice of cake, and surveyed another picturesque sunset. It might have been the shortest day of the year for many; for me, it seemed yet another fulfilled and productive one.