Inside the secretive California town that’s home to Prince Harry and Meghan

Montecito is a playground for A-listers like the Sussexes and Oprah, but even paradise has its imperfections

It was a mild August evening and the ground was shaking. I was sitting on a wall outside a takeaway pizza spot and the cutlery leapt off the tables at a nearby restaurant. Smart phones and watches beeped with emergency alerts. A passing woman in a ballgown kept her footing, eyes forward as if on a catwalk. Earthquakes always feel a bit surreal, but more so in the most surreal town in America.
If you have heard of Montecito it is probably because it has the highest concentration of A-listers on the planet. Prince Harry and the Duchess of Sussex moved there in 2020 after their escape from the UK, but like a smoothie menu, there’s a celebrity for every occasion. There’s the detox one (Oprah Winfrey), the goopy one (Gwyneth Paltrow), the mood-lightener (Steve Martin) – all are crammed into a town with the population of St Ives. 
I’m not particularly interested in celebrity culture, and less so in hunting them down, but I’m interested in the idea that they have all decided to congregate in one place. Why here?
To understand Montecito’s affluent present, you need to turn to its past. The Montecito area, inhabited by Chumash Indians for more than 10,000 years, was still considered a wilderness until the Hispanic era of 1782–1846, when the King of Spain gifted parcels of land to retiring soldiers in lieu of pensions. It soon became known as an “Old Spanish Town”, with saloons and dance halls serving the residents.
But things changed in 1855 when a gold prospector, Wilbur Curtiss, visited neighbouring Santa Barbara. He suffered from a terminal illness, with just six months to live, and an elderly Chumash Indian led him to a hot spring in the mountains which was believed to have healing qualities. His health was miraculously restored. With a new lease of life, Curtiss bought land near the spring and opened a hotel, becoming one of the first American settlers in Montecito, a land which was still roamed by wolves and grizzly bears (the name, “Montecito”, is an archaic version of the Spanish word for woodland, or countryside).
The population grew with the arrival of the railway in 1887, and as Santa Barbara developed into an exclusive health resort the rich and famous fell in love with the area. You can just imagine John D Rockefeller or Andrew Carnegie on the terrace of the luxurious Potter Hotel in Santa Barbara – with the Santa Ynez Mountains behind them, the Pacific Ocean in front – plotting the blueprints of paradise over a glass of bourbon. 
By the 1920s, Montecito was a sloping Monopoly board of Italian palazzos, English country estates and Normandy castles designed by the best architects of the era, like George Washington Smith and Frank Lloyd Wright. Cultural institutions blossomed to serve the elite. In 1917 the great dancer, Martha Graham, debuted at the local Peppers Ballroom aged 21. The town’s Country Theatre’s 320-seater auditorium was ahead of its time with its central stage. Charlie Chaplin and friends even built a hotel here, the Montecito Inn, as an escape from show business.
In the space of two centuries, Montecito went from a wilderness to a farming backwater to a microcosm of high society.
During the Mexican-American War of 1846, Montecito was garrisoned by New York soldiers, one of whom wrote: “I never yet came across a more picturesque sight, nor do I expect to in the future.” He had a point.
When I close my eyes and think of Montecito I see the Santa Ynez mountain range. It’s visible everywhere you go, with hazy sunlight puddling its crevasses throughout the day, changing from purple to pink to blood orange, depending on the hour. There’s something magnetic about these hills, urging you to drive up the winding Gibraltar Road, to pull over at an altitude of 1,000 metres and to look out in silence.
But daily life in Montecito faces the other way, towards the sea; the American Riviera, so it’s nicknamed. Walking through Rosewood Miramar Beach hotel I felt like I was an extra in a West Coast rendition of The Great Gatsby. The bowls lanes, the manicured lawn and white clapboards, the al-fresco exercise bikes, the pool with water bluer than a Hockney painting, the kind chap who ushers guests (and trespassers) across the railway line to the beach. It is like a different universe from the subversive surf neighbourhood of Funk Zone, four miles west in Santa Barbara. I felt like I belonged in neither, but they are both fascinating places to be a voyeur.
Down the steps from the hotel is Miramar Beach, surely one of the most exclusive in the world, fringed with properties that can happily collect $10m (over £7.5m) according to the local newspaper listings. Neighbouring Butterfly and Hammond’s are slightly less preppy, although my favourite beach was Refugio, around half an hour’s drive west of Santa Barbara, where dolphins and seals played in the shallows alongside paddle boarders and pasty British travel writers.
The thorn in the side of Montecito is the 101 Highway, which thunders through the village. It’s like the M4 running bang smack in the middle of Henley instead of the Thames. But the locals don’t seem bothered by it. Actually, the opposite seems to be true, given that it offers quick drives by American standards down to LA (two hours) or up to San Fran (five hours). Coast Village Road, the main drag in Montecito, runs more or less adjacent to the 101 and is lined with many independent businesses. It’s Jeannine’s for brunch, Rori’s for the best ice cream you’ve tasted since childhood, and then the Honor Bar for a margarita. And repeat.
Sure, you might be joined by somebody you recognise, but the locals and workers of Montecito pride themselves on giving their famous neighbours a wide berth: “We treat them like we’d treat anyone else,” says the owner of one boutique in the Upper Village.
Montecito is by all appearances a 21st-century paradise with its mansions, juice bars and Mediterranean climate. But the town is only just emerging from a recent tragedy.
In late 2017, terrible wildfires spread across California, burning vegetation that helped to stabilise the land. After the fires, an intense storm struck the Montecito area in January 2018 and caused several significant mudflows. Debris, mud and boulders crashed down creeks and valleys from the Santa Ynez Mountains right down to the coast. More than 21,000 people were evacuated, with 23 deaths, 150 people hospitalised and 100 homes entirely destroyed. 
Since my last visit in 2021, the town has recovered from much of the visible damage of the disaster, thanks in large part to the efforts of community organisations who rallied together. But like much of California, floods, fires and storms are as regular as the seasons, and mudslides remain a risk. That beach I mentioned, Refugio, had only just reopened this August after a large sinkhole emerged at the park’s entrance, with many of the palm trees chopped down due to safety concerns.
And yet, as I learnt during that 5.2-magnitude earthquake on a warm August evening, life in Montecito has a way of carrying on. There’s a pleasing regularity to this irregular town. A morning mist hangs above the sea through the summer months, before making way for blue skies in the afternoon. Teslas, Mustangs and SUVs the size of tanks whizz around roundabouts (not quite grasping the notion of indicating). Lizards scuttle on walls and sandpipers zip along the beaches. The unlit streets fall dark after hours. And out of sight, up in the hills and behind high hedges, people who you know well, but who don’t know you, enjoy their portion of paradise in peace.
If you’re going to dine out around Montecito, you may as well eat with a view. My favourite spots in the area are Padaro Beach Grill, which serves excellent fish tacos in a grassy setting bordered, entertainingly, by the railway line. Reunion Kitchen on East Beach, Santa Barbara, serves up fine portions of fish and chips, while Boathouse at Hendry’s Beach is a diner-style restaurant specialising in pancakes, bottomless coffees and great views. I’m also a fan of the shamelessly naff saloon-style bar in Summerland, called Nugget.
The aforementioned Rosewood Miramar Beach is the place to see and be seen, but it comes with a price tag fit for people who don’t need to check the price tag. The same goes for the San Ysidro Ranch Hotel, up in the hills. There are plenty of more reasonably priced options in Santa Barbara: Telegraph experts have reviewed the best of them.
Carpinteria is a cool little town 10 minutes from Montecito, with surf shops, an expansive beach and fine coffees at the Lucky Llama Coffee House. You could also consider a day trip inland to the chilled, low-rise town of Los Olivos, where you can enjoy wine or olive-oil tasting depending on your mood. And don’t miss the otherworldly Lotusland, tucked away in the hills of Montecito, a botanical haven packed with exotic plants and themed gardens, devised by the gardening visionary Madame Ganna Walska.
Speaking from experience (I travelled with my partner and our energetic two-year-old) I can vouch for the community-built, 8,000-square-foot playground in Santa Barbara, Kids World, which is guaranteed to put your measly local playground to shame. The Wolf Museum of Exploration + Innovation, AKA Moxi, is probably the best interactive children’s museum on the planet, offering little ones the chance to enter a giant guitar or build their own race car, and then race it.
The quickest way to get to Montecito from the UK is to fly into LAX and then hire a car, hop on a Stagecoach to Carpinteria or catch the Pacific Surfliner train up to Santa Barbara.