Lettin' Loose in Isla Vista

Staring at a large lecture hall across the street in a lot, I sit on a picnic table at Woodstock’s. Up until 1970 the lot was a large Bank of America…then UC Santa Barbara students caught it on fire and burnt it to the ground. I wondered what type of place I was in. Why was I here, somewhere that I avoided going to before?

It was 2008, about a week before I finished my sophomore year at Humboldt State University, and plans of an early summer road trip were ringing throughout the minds of my buddies and I. Our first idea was our last, when we made the decision to go see our other buddy Donny at UCSB in Isla Vista, still in session because of the quarter system.

We were all counting down the days until we would leave for the trip, but as the departure date crept closer, thoughts of doubt began to grow in my head. I'd had an opportunity to make an identical trip winter break 2 years prior but turned it down, at the time not realizing why. It turned out I was reluctant to leave my comfort zone.

As we pulled off El Camino Real on the Storke Rd. exit, I knew we were only miles away from our destination of the college town of Isla Vista. A small town the size of only 2.2 sq. miles, it packs in 18,000. We drove through the streets searching for Donny's apartment complex.

The streets were completely packed, not with cars, but every other form of transportation one could think of: bikes, long boards, scooters, you name it. At that exact moment I thought, 'This is way too fucking packed!' and wished I wasn’t there.

I was overwhelmed by the masses, who seemed like they were all out of frats and sororities from a cheesy college movie. Guys with hats tilted at angles no hat should be at, sporting basketball jerseys from surf companies such as Hurley and Billabong, and to think, I didn’t even know that they had teams!

Girls who were way too tan and under dressed even for a beach town. These were not the type of people I would normally surround myself with. They reminded me of the jock bullies from freshman year in high school that would make fun of me just for having red hair, and the girls that always surrounded them.

A few hours after we arrived at Donny’s apartment, freshened up, and drank some beers, we were sitting on the picnic table outside of Woodstock’s.

The smell of cheap beer, sweat, and skanky perfume filled the thick air, and finally the words I was waiting for came from Donny, “Guys, I heard that there is a way better party down the street, ready to bounce?” I was out the door before the word “yes” came out of my mouth, and we were on our way to the next party. THIS will be the party. That first one was just a test run - a failed one.

Walking down the maze like streets of Isla Vista seemed so foreign to me, coming from the small low-key community of Humboldt county. But happily, the thought of being here was starting to grow on me, and just then a brand new white Rolls-Royce Phantom with Rhode-Island-sized rims rolled past us.

The party could be seen from blocks away, the street was so packed with people that cars were getting out of their way. The overflow that lead into the streets could be traced to a small entryway with houses surrounding all sides. It led to a courtyard style backyard made up of two or three houses, all with one large connective roof covered by people like a massive open balcony.

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Osprey - JournAlum - The Lumberjack - KRFH/610 AM - Travel

2008 Travel Journal

Editor-In-Chief - Matthew Hawk

Copy Editors - Anthony Barstow, Rose R. Miller, and Matt Barry

The sun was beginning to go down past a clear Pacific horizon, almost signaling the masses to come out and party. I kept thinking about how completely ridiculous my cynicism was on a trip that was supposed to kick off my summer…something has to change, and the party we were going to would be the perfect place for change.

Small, cramped, hot, and loud all describe the party we were at. The house had plain white walls with no posters, and all the furniture pushed against the walls making the house seem oddly empty though it was packed.

It was way too packed, taking five minutes to get from the front door to the keg in the kitchen, which even upset those who didn’t mind large crowds of strangers.