We shall never regret our trip through San Marcos Pass, but if the traveler is to make but one journey between Santa Barbara and Los Olivos, he will probably choose the coast road—the route of the state highway—and if he does not find the scenery so spectacular as that of San Marcos, he will find it as beautiful and perhaps more varied. For many miles this route closely follows the Pacific and we quite forgot the rough road in our enthusiasm for the lovely country through which we passed—on one hand the still, deep blue of the sea and on the other green foothills stretching away to the rugged ranges of the Santa Ynez Mountains.
Near the village of Naples we were surprised to see a lonely country church, solidly built of yellowish stone, standing on a hilltop. Its Norman style, with low, square tower and quaint gargoyles, seemed reminiscent of Britain rather than California. And, indeed, we learned that it was built years ago by an English resident of the locality, who doubtless drew his inspiration from the Mother Country. But, alas for his ambitions, his costly structure is now quite abandoned and serves the humble purpose of a hay-barn, though it is, and may be for ages, a picturesque feature of the landscape.
We supposed that Naples, like its southern namesake, would prove a modern seaside resort, but we found only a group of whitewashed buildings surrounding an unpretentious inn. It seemed a quiet, cleanly little hamlet and its harsh outlines were relieved by the bright colors of tangled flower-beds. A little farther we paused for our noonday lunch under a great sycamore by a clear little stream. Here some bridge timbers served opportunely for both table and seats; the air was vocal with the song of birds and redolent with the pungent odor of bay trees growing near by. It is not strange that such experiences prejudiced us more strongly than ever in favor of our open-air noonday meals.
Beyond this we passed through a quiet, dreamy country. Houses were few and the only sound was the low wash of the sea upon the rock-strewn shore. The sea was lonely, too, for not a sail or boat or even a sea-bird was to be seen. Only the endless shimmer of the quiet water stretched away in the afternoon sun to the golden haze of the distant horizon.