I drove to UC Santa Barbara expecting a prelude to Girls Gone Wild but found myself strangely close to home.
I’d spent the afternoon snacking on dried fruits from a natural foods co-op in Isla Vista, watched the sunset as flaxen-haired bicyclers cruised by and bundled up for the evening in a dusty garage, listening to live folk music from my best friend Michelle’s band.
It was hardly the image of UCSB I’d imagined.
For Bruins across the board, our sister school up the coast has mistakenly become an idealized weekend getaway for drunken debaucheries ““ a makeshift beachside Vegas, complete with the crass “what happens here, stays here” attitude and replete with a plethora of soon-to-be-untagged Facebook pictures.
My initial understanding of UCLA’s relationship with UCSB was one of a strained sibling dynamic.
If UCLA can be thought of as the matronly older sister, who spends Friday nights baking cookies and watching reruns of “Lost,” then UCSB would be her younger, free-spirited counterpart ““ the sister who boisterously stumbles in at four in the morning and wolfs down those cookies in a drunken stupor.
And while we’ve all heard tall tales of Del Playa’s Halloween orgy of costume and clamor, it’s unfair to discount the other side of UCSB ““ the side which I was fortunate enough to experience that breezy Sunday.
Under Michelle’s encouragement, my friend Rob and I decided to take a day trip to see her band, Slumber Party at the Buttery Mansion (a much-disputed band name, she was quick to point out).
For months ““ well, more like years ““ Michelle had sent out friendly invitations to come visit her humble abode in Isla Vista. And I ““ acting more out of laziness than Angeleno pretension ““ consistently declined. But that weekend, I finally caved in to the idea of driving up the coast.
Thus Rob and I made the one-hour-and-45-minute trip down the 101, enjoying the beachside view before pulling into Isla Vista.
At first glance, it’s hard to fully grasp a definite impression of Isla Vista.
Aside from the broken beer bottles that littered the ground, there was nothing about the city that screamed of spring break decadence. And as I strolled along the streets of local shops and restaurants, I felt more at home than I’d initially imagined.
We first sat down for some cheap and quick Indian food at a local restaurant that turned out to be surprisingly delicious, and I observed that the city struck the perfect balance between college town and hippie haven ““ a bit too clean-cut for Venice and a bit too bohemian for Westwood.
There was a natural foods co-op, which would be the equivalent of a downplayed, independent Whole Foods, and an assortment of quasi-fast-food joints that ““ much like Westwood’s own Mongols or Enzo’s Pizzeria ““ were within a college student’s price range.
Indeed, all that was missing to separate Isla Vista from the Bruins’ home turf was the constant sound of traffic bustling down Westwood Boulevard or the image of the Helio building looming over Wilshire.
My biggest exposure to the underbelly of Santa Barbara’s finest would come later that night at Michelle’s band performance.
Tucked away in the garage of Biko Co-op, Slumber Party at the Buttery Mansion displayed an eclectic, communal vibe ““ utilizing a wide variety of instruments that included everything from a Playskool xylophone to a friend’s accordion.
Squashed in confined quarters, the crowd’s attitude was warm and friendly, with audience members singing along or gently swaying back and forth to the music. And for an out-of-towner, it was one of those welcoming moments that humbled a big school like UCSB to a small world.
The show ended on a cheerful note ““ with all band and audience members singing in unison and soft keyboard notes humming in the background ““ illustrating the snuggly and sweet goodness of musical hot cocoa.
After a round of hugs and good-byes, I left Isla Vista with a sense of fulfillment that I had somehow breached the sibling strife with our sister school and found my second home away from home.
E-mail Chung at lchung@media.ucla.edu. General comments can be sent to viewpoint@media.ucla.edu.