Solvang

I’ll be honest, I came to Solvang ready to be cynical. A fake Danish village in the California hills, windmills and all, built by homesick immigrants a century ago and now selling wooden clogs to tourists, it had every reason to be dreadful. And then Lia handed me an aebleskiver, a little spherical Danish pancake dusted in sugar and jam, still hot from the pan, and I stopped being clever about it. The town is a confection, yes. But it’s a sincere one, and the valley it sits in is genuinely, seriously beautiful.

Walking the half-timbered streets

We spent the first hour just wandering. The main streets are all gabled facades, storks nesting on rooftops, and a scattering of proper working windmills turning slowly in the warm air. It’s kitsch, but it’s committed kitsch, done with care right down to the Danish street names. There’s a bust of Hans Christian Andersen in a little park, and a copy of Copenhagen’s Round Tower. Lia bought a bag of butter cookies from a bakery where the woman behind the counter actually spoke Danish, and we ate them walking, getting sugar everywhere, ducking into shops that smelled of leather and marzipan.

The old mission

Just at the edge of town stands Mission Santa Inés, and stepping into its cool white cloister after the sugary bustle was like changing key. Founded in 1804, it’s one of the old Spanish chain of California missions, and its long colonnade and quiet garden are the real, older history of this valley, the one the Danish theme is layered on top of. We sat in the courtyard among the roses while a bell rang somewhere, and I liked the honesty of it, this reminder that the place had a life long before the windmills arrived. The painted chapel inside is faded and lovely and almost empty.

Out into the vineyards

The real reason to linger, though, is what’s around Solvang, not just in it. The Santa Ynez Valley is serious wine country, rolling gold hills stitched with rows of vines, and we spent an afternoon driving the back roads between tasting rooms with the windows down. We stopped at a small family winery where the man pouring told us about the fog that rolls in from the coast each night and makes the grapes what they are. Lia, who claims to know nothing about wine, correctly picked the best glass on the table. We drove back into town at golden hour with the oak-dotted hills glowing, and even the windmills looked good in that light.

Getting There

Solvang lies in the Santa Ynez Valley, about 45 minutes north of Santa Barbara over the San Marcos Pass, a lovely climbing road with big valley views at the top. From Los Angeles it’s a little over two hours up the 101. There’s no train into town, so drive; a car is essential anyway for the wineries. Come hungry, and don’t skip the aebleskiver even if, like me, you arrive determined not to be charmed.